"Have you seriously been trying to avoid me all day?"
I turned around, startled by the sound of the familiar male voice. It was loud yet not overwhelming. It was almost inviting.
"N-no," I stuttered, nearly slamming my fingers in my locker as I slammed it shut. Evan had a sleepy look on his face, but he seemed awake enough. People were glancing at us, curious as to why the new guy was actually making conversation with the one-man freak show. They probably thought he was going to start picking on me. I wouldn't be surprised, to say the least.
Evan kept a space between us as he got his own stuff from his locker. I looked uncomfortably down at my shoes, making marks on the floor with them. Then I felt bad about scuffing up a tiny area of the dirty tile, so I tried to rub the mess away. I was unsuccessful, of course, and only made things worse. It was typical of me, though--I never knew how to make anything better.
"If you're trying to unscruff it, rub it the opposite way you did to cause it," Evan said, making me jerk my head up. I'd forgotten he was still there. I felt my cheeks heat up when our eyes met; I immediately looked back down at the tile markings and took his advice. It worked, surprisingly. "Hey, about last night," he continued, shutting his locker carefully. "Thanks for letting me use your washroom." The sincerity in his voice made me look up again.
I only shrugged, then looked back down, feeling uncomfortable with his gaze on me. I didn't like being stared it. It brought up the memories of him looking me up and down. And with every thought of him brought every feeling of his touch, and with every feeling of his touch made me want to lay in my bed and break down, to let all the pieces fall wherever they may. It was hard, you know, trying to stitch the pieces back together when you were running out of thread.
"You wanna walk to study hall together?" he asked, saving me from plunging into the depths of my mind where nothing but bad memories lurked.
"N-no," I stuttered, once again. I hated my stutter, even if it wasn't exactly permanent. I only stuttered when I talked to new people, which was incredibly embarrassing and one of the main reasons I avoided communicating with anyone besides my parents as often as possible.
"Then . . . do you wanna skip to study hall together?" he joked with a teasing smile. I almost felt the corners of my lips pull upward, but I forced them back into a straight line. I refused to show him any approval of his being--I didn't want to give him any false hope about actually being my friend. It was best if he stayed locked out of my hell, just like everyone else.
I shook my head, no.
"Okay, shall we run to study hall? Sashay? Skateboard? Snowboard? Rollerblade? Steal a wheelchair from the nurse's office and have a race there?" The ghost of a faint, involuntary smile creeped onto my face brought on by his attempts at trying to ease my nerves. "We don't have to study, you know. We can, like, see how many books each of us can juggle."
I couldn't stop noticing the glances coming from the students around us. My smile disappeared. "P-people a-are st-staring," I told him in a very unsteady, hushed voice.
"Let them. You're human, you know how to speak. People say you don't talk often, but who cares? I dare one of those assholes to make fun of you in front of me."
I winced slightly at the curse word; his voice surged through my head.
"You bunch of fucking whores, acting like little fucking pansies! You're all worth nothing! No one is looking for any of you dumb fucks. And you know why? Because all of you are little good-for-nothings whose only talent is sucking di--"
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Healing Gabriel (BoyxBoy)Teen Fiction
Haunted. Terrified. Alone. Those three words seem to be the only emotions that seventeen year old Gabriel Adams knows how to feel. At the age of thirteen, when other boys were chasing after pretty girls and playing in the dirt, Gabriel had been kidn...