"Matteo would never let someone hurt Valentina- can we write Bella on the papers now, please?"
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Was I dreaming of being up in the treehouse and comforting Valentina while she was crying about somebody hurting her just last night?
When I get to school the next day, I find Valentina standing next to a locker with an arm around her shoulder. Because I am a stalker, I moved around to find that it's from the guy that she called her boyfriend. Called? I'm not sure because, as I continue to watch, he leans over and presses a kiss on her temple while she buries her head in his chest.
The hell?
Was she fucking stupid?
My mind is whirring, and my hands ball up because I watch him running a hand through her blonde hair that has gotten darker from the lack of sun. He is caressing her, and she is letting him, her hand wrapped loosely around his torso. My anger rises when she pulls away, only to kiss him on the lips.
No, bella, no, the mind of my younger self screams in my head. She was staying with a guy who had hurt her yesterday. She was staying with a guy who had left his handprint on her face, and for some reason, I didn't think that was the only reason she was crying yesterday. He had abused her, and she was staying with him.
Oh, Bella, I think in my head as I walk past her and toward my classroom. She didn't deserve this; she didn't need that guy. She deserved someone who wouldn't hurt her. My bella- the one I had known in the past-would never let anyone hurt her. Hell, when I teased her when we were younger, she was always quick to call me out on it. She didn't tolerate any type of hate, and yet she was still wrapped in his arms.
I shake my head and try to forget about it. It's hard to forget about it because she comes over to my house the next day for another tutoring session. I was staying on top of my work, but it wasn't easy with the setback I had. My teacher had given me a nice packet of assignments to make up for my awful test grade (14%).
She comes over on time and closes the door behind her. I move my hair from my forehead and look up at her to find that she was heading here with a soft smile on her face. I move off of my bed and take a seat on the desk, giving her room to sit on the other chair.
"A topic I know," she says, immediately reaching for my stuff. "Nice," she comments, and then starts to erase the equation that I had started. I frown as she continues, "That was definitely wrong." I watch her as she grabs my pencil and starts to draft out the correct equation on the other paper.
"You know, if you pay me in ice cream, I'll do it all for you," she says, not looking up at me. She starts to rattle off what ice cream flavors were her favorites, but I'm not listening to her. I already know her favorite flavor-cookies and cream. I wasn't listening to her because she was sitting here and pretending like she wasn't holding on to me while she was crying yesterday night.
