Guns For Hands: A Violent Haven

Chapter 3

Emerson’s POV

 Through the course of seventeen years, I’ve learned that hiding from the world is the only way to truly protect yourself from the damaged people. It’s the only way to not become wounded. I used to think that people like me always lived by that philosophy. He is different though. Sure, we appear to be similar- between not having friends and apparently both coming from families where the image of “true love” is broken- but he seems to have a much easier time coping with the world.

The mysterious boy behind those jade eyes is one of the weirdest, maybe even the weirdest, person I have come across. One moment he is alone copying down notes or drowning out the world through his headphones and in a moment’s notice, he is taking pictures of everything. What is with that? Not to mention, I have seen him taking pictures of me, like that other day in photography! What the hell?

I know that I’m not normal. I mean who is? But he sure as hell is the definition of aberrant. And the weirdest part... Why is he always occupying my thoughts? After I hit him with my car, he has always been in my mind. However I did accept the idea that that would be the first and last time we would run into each other. God was I wrong, and now I have to do this stupid project with him about "love". We have two weeks to fake love through photographs.

I’m a good actress. I mean if I wasn’t, my mother wouldn’t buy into my lies and I’d still be in therapy with the shrink set from hell.  However with him it’s different. I’m not exactly sure why he makes me think differently, but this project will be the end of me and hopefully “us”. I don’t think I could fake my way through this. He reads me like a book.

As I pulled into my driveway, I swore to myself that this thing between him and I was all mental. I needed to get him out of my head. I proceeded to the front door in hopes of escaping my mother and fleeing to my room to write.

My attempts to go unnoticed fail as my mom calls for me to join her in the kitchen.

“Hey sweetie, join me?” She asked, looking up from the magazine.

“Hey mom, I wish I could but I have so much homework and I promised Leah I would help her study for chemistry too!” I lied. I have had to lie to my mom so much since Doug’s death that it’s become like a second nature to me.

“Well, how was school?” She continued. She just wouldn’t give it a rest. My mom is always on my case about every aspect of my life, like I live such an interesting life.

“Like every other day. You know how high school is.”

“What about Leah and Amber and Veronica, how are they doing?” She is truly clueless.

 “They’re fine, I guess.”

 “You guess?”

 “Yeah I only saw them in lunch because like I mentioned earlier I was so swamped with work today.”

 “Okay well I’ll leave you to it sweetheart.”

I ran up the stairs and locked myself in my room, like every other day after a dreadful day at school. I threw my empty backpack on the ground and moved over to my desk and unlocked my drawer. I pulled out my journal and began to write. To write about the inexplicable boy that has been invading my thoughts.

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 I woke up to a series of knocks on my door. What time was it? When did I fall asleep? Who keeps knocking on the goddamn door?

I closed my journal, put it back in the drawer and locked it. I unlocked my bedroom door to find my mom.

“Dinner is ready and I have been calling you!”

“I’m sorry I fell asleep on the phone helping Amber.”

“Amber?  I thought you were helping Leah.”

“They both needed help.” I said lying was a second nature, but I never said I could always keep track of my lies, especially the tiny, insignificant ones.

“Oh okay, well come downstairs I made your favorite, lasagna!”

“I’m sorry Mom, but I promised Veronica I would meet with her at the library to finish our History project.” I responded as I picked up my backpack from the floor.

“Um I guess that’s fine. I’ll just leave your food in the oven for when you return.”

“Thanks. See you later.”

“Bye, Em. Love you.” I left before I could answer her. Dinner was one of the few opportunities my mom had to interrogate me. I wasn’t up for it tonight though.

I pulled out of the driveway and made my way to my calm haven. The community park.

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 Here in White Mesa, Utah, the parks were beautiful and often inspired a lot of my stories. I would stroll around and listen to the conversations people had and make up characters from what I could hear.

I sat down by a big tree near the center of the park and pulled out my other journal that I had stored in my bag. I found a pen within the mess in my bag and began to write, letting my mind wonder through various topics.

“What are you doing here?” A voice spoke. I looked up. Was this person talking to me?

There he stood, the boy with the indescribable eyes, staring at me, like always, waiting for a response.