Polaris

Transfer

Trigger Warning: Rape mention, Abuse mention

-Blaine-

I woke up in the school's infirmary, everything hurting like nothing I've ever felt. Especially my face, from where Dylan had just recently punched, and my bottom, where my father had just violated the previous night.

The nurse came over and looked at me, keeping a small scoff to herself, most probably having heard about how I was in a gang and how I got into fights often. Yet, even at her small action, I could feel a pang in my chest. It's ok, I'm used to this. I'm fine. I'm okay. I told myself over and over again, but I could feel tears building up.

The nurse threw me a piece of paper, and said with an indifferent tone,"Permission to leave school on break." I paled immediately. My parents were at home, sending myself back there would be a suicide mission!

Not like I haven't tried suicide before anyways.

I tried to stop shaking, grabbing my arms and hugging myself. "Um...I'm actually fine, so c-can I stay in school?" I asked, bracing myself for the worst outcome.

The nurse looked at me confused. "This is basically a pass to let you hang out with your gang and you're wasting it? Hah, you must be as retarded as your mom says you are. Expected from a Low Colour." The nurse scoffed, rolling her eyes at me.

At this point, I didn't care what they said about me. I just don't want to go back there.

"Um, y-yeah, so can I go back to class?" I asked. "Whatever." The nurse brushed me off. So, I got up, with much difficulty, and left. Who even sent me to the infirmary anyway? Everybody in this school hates me.

I checked my timetable, and it was time for Art, my favourite subject, although I definitely wasn't the favourite student, even though I could draw well.

Back when the abuse wasn't as severe yet, around 30 whips a day, and a reaming served by none other than dear Father and his friends, I spent my free time in my little corner with my pillow, and used a small piece of chalk I found to draw on the ground. I had to hide it from my parents though, but other than that, I immersed myself in my little doodles, my drawings of the perfect families, to keep my mind off the pain.

Right before I was going to enter by the front door, I saw a new student in the midst of introducing himself.

"-name is Luka. I hope we all can get along."

I stood there awkwardly, listening to him introduce himself as "Luka". He had red hair, cerulean eyes with flecks of red, and he looked absolutely stunning. He was the epitome of beauty itself. The class seemed to share the same thoughts as me, the girls fangirling and the boys looking shocked, and even a little bit jealous.

His voice, too..so deep and calming. So low.

He wore glasses, but it didn't give him a "nerdy look" at all. Instead, it accentuated how his eyes shined. He was tall, he looked around 6'2, even topping Dylan, who was only 6'. He definitely worked out, just from looking at his biceps. They weren't necessarily huge, they flexed enough to say "I work out." Just then, he turned towards me. Our eyes met.

He looked at me with a little glint in his eye, and tilted his head, before turning back. What was that?

The girls in the class were squealing in joy, excitedly clutching one another's arms. "He looks just as hot as Araya Ezra!"

"No, he's even hotter!"

"Oh my gosh, I'm gonna die!"

"What's his cloak colour? I wanna know!"

"Mr Carter, the whole world doesn't revolve around you. Quit wasting everybody's time and move." Mrs Abbotts, the art teacher, said. I flushed red, and dashed to my seat, narrowly missing Dylan's outstretched leg, making me stumble a bit, and I let out a small yelp when it pulled at my whip wounds on my back. I heard the class snicker softly, and I turned around to see Luka frown.

At me or Dylan? Probably me. I'm pathetic and I'm nothing in this world. Luka might just band together with Dylan and make my life worse. I bit my lip a little, and I saw Luka's frown deepen. Weird. "Luka, you can go sit beside Jen. Jen, raise your hand." Mrs Abbotts said. Jen raised her hand, batting her eyelashes at Luka.

The class proceeded on, with Mrs Abbotts telling us to draw our thoughts. After thinking for a while, I decided to draw a baseball bat, covered in blood. It had been used to hit my ankle by my parents. My ankle throbbed at the thought. After sketching out a blur version of the baseball bat, I lined it out, drew some features, and added colours and shading. It looked pretty decent, considering that I never could draw a lot at home.

Mrs Abbotts came over and looked at my drawing. She looked a little surprised, before scoffing and ripping my art from my hands, before raising her voice and saying "Why do you draw this? A bat? Who do you think you are? Can you even play baseball? Redo this!" The class exploded into pits of laughter, led by Dylan, who was laughing the loudest. I whimpered softly, my face heating up from shame and my eyes filling from humiliation. I tried to shrink myself into my seat and tried to hide myself in my ragged hoodie, the only clothing I have, and felt my tears build up, a few escaping my eyes.

"What's so wrong with that?"

The class was silenced by one sentence. Everybody turned to the source, all eyes locked on none other than the new student, Luka.