Notebook

Six

Aiden would forever be in Reid's debt.

Without the chipper blonde to guide him, he would have wandered the school hallways for hours, finding each of his classes.

The multi-story building was vast and filled with an army of ants, all marching to their destinations with determination and clear vigour. He didn't have the same conviction as the other kids walking through the school.

They kept bumping into him as they ran past, determined not to be late for their lessons.

Every time a shoulder connected with his back, Aiden's breath caught in his throat. Each time a raised voice whizzed past his ear, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end, preparing him for imminent danger.

Although nothing happened, and Reid yelled at the by-passers for crashing into his friend, Aiden felt his nerves frazzling.

Stepping in and out of new classrooms was stressful. He scrutinised every face in search of any signs of malice or disgust directed at the new pink-haired boy. But there were none, for now.

And luckily, Reid would pull the boy to an unoccupied seat next to him every class, so they didn't have to be apart. He would have lost it if he had to sit alone or be beside a stranger.

Aiden would calm down until dismissal, then repeat the process. Trudging the school halls, being barged and shoved by people who didn't look where they were going.

By lunchtime, Aiden was completely shaken.

He buried his hands in his pockets to hide the tremor and clung to Nathan's note as Reid linked their arms together, being optimistic and light-hearted. The blonde noticed his friend's stressed eyes. He knew a bit about why Aiden found school so difficult and traumatic.

He understood why he reacted defensively whenever someone collided with him.

Reid didn't know the extent of the pink-haired boy's trauma in his old school. Nobody did. But he had noticed the odd way he pinched at the skin on his left hand whenever dismissal came close.

The boy would enter the classroom with him, his fingers wrapped in a vise grip on his backpack as kids stared up, and then he would sit down and start digging at his skin, scratching and pinching himself. Almost like he didn't know he was doing it.

Or maybe he did. Perhaps the sharp twinges as he left fresh bruises were grounding for him. Reid wasn't sure, but he knew the boy's skin was raw and needed to talk to Evan about it.

Evan asked his cousin what happened to him several times, worming the truth out of him, but Aiden never said a word.

He didn't want people to know what happened to him or what others did to him, how he ended up with a scar on his face and others littering his body.

No.

Aiden would never tell them. He was ashamed of his weakness.

Reid continued with the role he adopted early that morning and guided his friend from the third floor down to the first floor, towards the double doors leading to the cafeteria.

The pink-haired boy's steps faltered, the sound of his boots squeaking as he ground to a halt and stared through the doorway, where he couldn't move any further.

Aiden could hear the cacophony of sounds coming from the lunch hall, which was intense. Deafening.

The sounds of kids shrieking with laughter and yelling at one another, serving trays and plates clanging together, cutlery scraping plates. It was too much.

He felt sick to his stomach.

For a split second, he considered running, bolting out the nearest door and not looking back, but he didn't. He couldn't. Reid held Aiden's arm so tightly that he wouldn't get away if he tried.