The First Time. 🇺🇸

Chapter Five.

The weeks went by without I seen again over the unknown of cafeteria.

Although I wanted to forget his inquisitive eyes, I had past my time to reopen the book devoted to him once again.

I had not really sorted it for fear of not putting it in an good section of my mental shelf. So it's the first thing I find when I return to the library. Sometimes, he distracted me from my real research, and I lost myself in seeing his face again.His black eyes were not really what had marked me the most, even though I thought I did not see anything else.My memories were so detailed. So complex about him.
The good is, no other disturbing memories came back to me without warning, and I began to believe that I had worried for nothing. The so-called "school trip" week was fast approaching and my future move too. My parents did not really know where they were going but we must leave. I had heard bridles of conversations that allowed me to understand the plight of our family, but I was doing nothing. I did not really have a childhood, so I had to at least try to have a normal adolescence.
My brother was struggling with this new move story.
Unlike me, he enjoyed a lot in this new high school. He had made friends, and I was happy for him. I did not know if he was suffering as much as me.
His mind was not shaped like mine, but he did not seem happier than me in general.
Although I had seen some positive change since we were here.
It was a Wednesday.
I laugh sometimes when I realize that is the french word " mercredi" used by french adults to say "shit" -merde- more audibly for us youngest.

They're right, Wednesday is really shit.

I wait in front of the gate without knowing what I'm going to do the next two hours. This is the first time I go out so early. I look at the little police station looming in front of me. I feel safe near this kind of building. My uncle was a policeman, he was saving people. He would have saved me if he was still there, I'm sure.

I do not really know why I do not take my headphones. The sky is gloomy, and I could lean against the wall in front of me. This is what I often do while waiting for my father's car. But the idea of ​​staying there for two hours does not tempt me. Instead, I go to the small park in front of me. My brother told me not to go, that there are not only good people.
I smile.
He wants to protect me, but he does not realize that I'm not a good person either.

I enter by one of the smallest entrances, and I sneak quietly to a shaded bench.
On such a gloomy day, no one will want to hide from sunlight.

I settle down by leaning on the bottom of my bag. I do not really like it, but it has the merit of being rather comfort.
I do not sleep, too dangerous.
I just close my eyes to sort out the bazaar that reigns in my library.

I go to the living languages ​​section when a shiver runs through me.

I see a shadow on all fours in the driveway. This metaphor of danger appeared in my mind very early. It represents the alarm that I developed to tell me to get out of there quickly.

I'm never fired from my mental library, and my heart races before I open my eyes.My eyes do not take a long time to acclimatize to the brightness, and I congratulate myself once again for not being in the sun.

Two pairs of eyes are leaning over me.

I do not move backward, it could only encourage them. They are motionless, scrutinizing me carefully. A quick inspection in my memory, and I let out a brief but noisy sigh. I do not know them. Of course, by dint of spending time with my nose stuck to the ground, I become like everyone else, unable to remember. And above all, an easy prey.

The logic would be to get up and run away, but they could follow me, and I have two hours to go. My right fist tightens, before reopening. Violence is not a solution either.

I begin to detail them, ready to use every detail as a weapon. One is big and beefy. A tattoo appears on his neck, and it seems to me to descend on his entire arm, reappearing slightly on the top of his left hand. A piercing pierces his nose, which he keeps twisting. A rather annoying tick, and slightly scary.

The other is a little more unremarkable, he is rachitic and of average size. He looks older than the first. If he has tattoos his t-shirt informs cover it.

The common person would be terrified by the first. Yet I do not distrust him, the most.
The second gives me a glance that I know only too well, for having seen it in my mirror.
He is cold, and detached.
Nothing can reach it, and seeing me panic would only bring more pleasure than embarrassment for him.
That's why I'm silent. Biting my lip so that not reminiscence of memory will come to me before I can put myself in a safe place.I know they are aware that I am trying to find a way out of this situation.

What they do not know is that it's not the first time.