Metanoia.「skephalo」

07 | Letter.

The day continued slowly, and finally last period finished. Darryl thought he was able to talk with Zak since they had private lessons, and he was terrified but totally settled to resolve that question.

Waiting in the library, he took his phone out of his Jean's pocket, unblocking it for rereading the messages without reply he sent to him, blocking his phone after doing so.
Anxiously bouncing his leg, he looked around, searching for him.

An unexpected notification made the phone vibrate in his hand, it was a message. He unblocked his phone, hoping with all himself it was from Zak, and surprisingly, it was.
Darryl automatically smiled reading the little boy's name on the screen, and opened the chat as fast as possible.

Zak please can we talk? >
I'm sorry please >
Zak >
I'll wait for you in the library, ok? >

< i hvae baseball pratcice. laeve me alone. sotp texting me, ill aks for a new hepler. bye.

His smile disappeared faster than it appered.

Zak please don't > !
Not delivered.

Zak... > !
Not delivered.

Darryl let his head fall into his arm that was resting on the table, tightening the grab on the phone.
In his head full of thoughts, he was searching desperately for a solution.

Minutes passed.
He rotated his head on his side, now staring at his bandaged palm. Not moving from that position, he thought about the hours passed with Zak. His smile, was it real? What about his laugh? And those strange glances? What were those for?

Suddenly, he got up, packing his belongings in hurry and putting his backpack on his shoulders.

'I won't let him go this easily.'

×××

Putting his phone back in the backpack, that was lying on the ground, after blocking Darryl's number, Zak leaned his back against the door of the small bathroom.
He fought against himself, trying not to let those tears to fall down his face. But it was already too late.
Sliding down the door, he crouched on himself, hugging his legs.

"What did I do to deserve this shit...?" whispered to himself, clenching his teeth.

That day was exhausting.
All eyes were aimed at him.
Vincent distanced and ignored him.
Last but not least, he ended up arguing with Dave, since he was insisting way too much on him talking about that situation with the principal.

He couldn't.
Police would get involved. Again.
More questions about the bruises.
Proofs he was at home when he got them.
That awful nightmare he lived only two years before, would repeat itself.

He needed to wait just five more months.
His freedom was only five months apart.

"Only„.

After conceding himself a pair of minutes of crying, he wiped his tears away with his palms covered by the sleeves, then got up grabbing the backpack and laying it back down on the closed toilet.
He pulled out is uniform and stood there, looking at it, asking himself if he was doing the right thing.

'Bet there's gonna be other freaks ready to throw more shit at me...' he tightened the grab on the clothes in his hands. 'This is fucked up.'