Torn

Chapter 8 - True Colors

Why don’t you stop?

I stared at the fairly wrinkled words etched between the blue lines, my mouth almost gaping at his audacity.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

It means that maybe you should stop pushing me away. I already told you I’m not giving up, Willow.

I read and reread the words over and over, my eyes burning. I hated the way Flynn could read me so easily sometimes, how he always jumped in when he wasn’t wanted…or needed. He had a girlfriend, his football team, and his friends from his own group. He couldn’t just let me live my life the way I always had, with no help from anyone and no one to worry about? He didn’t seem to understand that I wasn’t going to change for him. I wasn’t about to let him in and tell him everything going on with “Jack” and the past behind the bruises and red marks etched into my skin. Nothing made him special; nothing made him unlike everyone else who tried to find out what was wrong with me.

When I wrote my reply back, I threw my arm over my shoulder while the sub was writing the assignment on the board. The wrinkled paper filled with so much agitation and frustration between us dropped to his desk with a simple, whisper of a thud. But right as I was about to pull my hand back down, his large, warm hand grabbed onto mine quickly. I felt myself freeze, but not as harshly as I once did when he touched me like that. Why did he do that?

“What is that?” he whispered, his voice so light and full of what seemed like sadness. He hadn’t let go of my hand, and if the sub decided to turn around right now, she would probably have as many questions about this position as I did.

And that was when I realized what he was talking about. I gulped almost audibly and tried to free my hand from his iron grip. He wouldn’t budge, and I could practically feel him breathing down my neck, his head probably full of questions he knew I wouldn’t answer.

“Willow…” he breathed. “That’s not what I think it is, is it?”

I couldn’t do it; I couldn’t utter a single word. Not that this was so much of a surprise to him. So I tried with all I had in me to pull out his grip, lay my hand back down and forget this horrifying encounter ever happened. But in true Flynn fashion, he still wasn’t letting go. I didn’t know what to do, how to get this situation to erase itself. I was on the verge of tears, the liquid fire burning at my lids and practically begging to be let through.

But I was saved by the bell.

When it sounded, I jumped a few inches in my chair. Everyone around us was getting up from their seats, and Flynn had suddenly dropped my hand. His friends walked past us, clapping him on the shoulder to say goodbye, and making plans for a Friday night out with their significant others. While Flynn was distracted, I quickly threw my books into a pile and slid the pen into the messy, blonde bun on my head. My nerve endings seemed to be blazing where Flynn had touched my wrist and my mind was in a frenzy. I needed to get out of his sight as quickly as possible, so the multitude of questions wouldn’t come flying in different directions from him.

“Willow!” I heard him shout, faintly, while I scurried through the mass of kids in the halls. I had to push a few, and some of them sent dirty looks in my direction. “Willow, wait up!”

This running seemed to be a constant game between Flynn and I. Questions were always asked, answers were always hanging somewhere in the air between us. He was always so curious about things that weren’t his business and I was always the one not knowing what to say.

But the recurring ending always seemed to be me…running away.

I managed to make it to a hidden corridor just as the next class bell was about to signal. I leaned against the caramel colored wall and let out a much needed sigh of relief that I out ran him this time. I finally escaped without being asked what was wrong, or why I was acting so weird. I didn’t have to face the sad look in his eyes when he came up with scenarios of his own; that he was probably wishing weren’t true.