Beautifully Strange

Chapter 17

dedicated to robertlover12 my new stalker and who without, this chapter would have not been posted!

the long and awaited chapter...duh duh duh!!!

Chapter 15

Zane’s Point of View- Friday

I stared at Payton in horror. Almost every inch of the skin on her arms was a different shade of yellow, green and in the worst spots black. It looked as though she had been struck by something several times.

I felt bile swell up in my mouth as I ran my fingers lightly over her skin, feeling the scars that remained, and would forever remain on her arms.

She quickly put her sweater on, but that didn’t help me at all the image of her arms was forever imprinted in my head.

“Payton?” I whispered, momentary embarrassed by how shaky my voice sounded “what are those?”

She refused to meet my eyes. We sat there in silence for over five minutes neither of us speaking a word. The silence was worse then anything else. I wanted, no needed to know what had happened to her.

I opened my mouth to ask her the same question again when she whispered. “Bruises.” it was barely a whisper off her lips, if a pin would have fallen at that moment I would have missed what she said.

Already knowing this but feeling encouraged by the fact that she had answered me I whispered to her, not wanting a loud voice to startle her. “How did you get these bruises?”

“My Father.” she whispered to me. I clenched my hand I to fists as I though about the man Payton had to live with, her own blood, would touch her in that way, to harm her.

“When?” I managed to choke out, trying not to let the rage what was slowing bubbling to the surface show, not wanting to frighten the already trembling girl who sat beside me. I could feel my heart beating erratically, my nails were biting into my palm, close to drawing blood.

“Monday.” still refusing to look at me.

“but Monday you were me all day.” I said gently. That was the day that everyone had posted cruel things about her on Facebook.

A tear escaped Payton’s eye and cascaded soundlessly down her cheek “later that night.”

Her tears were killing me I tried to get closer to her, to take her into my arms.

“Don’t!” she shrieked “Just don’t touch me!” I pulled away feeling hurt, I noticed then that my body was trembling in suppressed anger. Not at Payton of course, but at her Father.

“How long has he been hurting you?” I asked her.

She closed her eyes, but not before I saw then fill with grief “Since my Mom died when I was 9.” I quickly did the math in my head, over 8 years.

Then her entire life’s story came pouring out of her mouth without any prompting from me anymore. It was like she was a bottle shaken and just waiting for someone to open it slightly so it could explode all over them. I sat there in shock intently listening to the stories she was telling me about the ways her Father had torched her, it made me want to vomit. I literally felt nauseous. By the end of her story Payton and I had moved colder together my hand was gently stroking her hair as she leaned against my chest.

By this time I don’t know if she was holding onto me to clam herself down, to myself. I knew I was shaking violently and my palms were bleeding slightly, because of how hard I had been clenching my hands together. Thoughts of how I could make her Father suffer were flashing through my mind.