Quiet people have the loudest minds.
- Stephan King
January 25th:
Staring at the pale brick walls, Elias sits there, not really watching anything but taking all of it in nonetheless. His English teacher, whose breath smells like coffee as she leans over his desk, hands out the new essay assignment.
She passes through rows of hormonal, impulsive teenagers who have shoved their desks together despite her asking them not to. The room buzzes with the low chatter as they whisper to each other a web of gossiped lies that just continues to grow more elaborate and more inappropriate with each mention.
Nobody makes a move to talk to a quiet Elias. Not that he wants them to anyways. He's heard the web of lies spun up about him.
When she reaches his desk, her pearly teeth smile brightly, she sets a white piece of paper at the front of his desk. His pencil, which he hadn't realized he'd been tapping rapidly, halts as he reads the single sentence typed in black brick letters.
What is a moment in your life that makes you who you are now?
This question makes Elias stop. His heart pounding against his chest so rapidly, his breath seizing in his throat. The peripheral of his eyes turns fuzzy in anxiety. He doesn't realize the liquid dripping from his nose, a red copper tinge brushing his lips, until the girl with too much perfume next to him squeals. His nose, bleeding fiercely, stains dots his desk.
His teacher, not knowing how to react, sends him out.
Somehow he makes it out of the buzzing classroom, clutching the orange nurses pass so tightly in his fist he crumples it. The hallway feels like it's spinning, swaying back and forth as he continues to stumble forward, his hand dragging down the blue lockers to keep him steady. He is making a mess of the white pearl tiles, speckles of red blood trailing behind him.
Eventually, his vision turns to dancing black spots. Blinking rapidly, Elias can't seem to make them go away. Alone in the hallway, he has no choice but to lean against the locker for support. With his back against the cold blue metal, his lethargic frame sinks to the ground in a heavy slump. He hangs his head low between his legs, trying to slow down his rapid breathing.
The speed of his heartbeat is irregular, the feeling of nausea rolling over him in crashing waves with each failed gasp of air.
Who knows how long he sits there, breathing heavily, before the sound of boots clicking in the background sounds. The echo of them against the tiles grows increasingly loud as they approach him. They continue to speed, their strides long until they abruptly stop. The shadow of their long figure looms over the panicking Elias, making him look up. However, the pounding in his temples that follows makes him lower it once again, breathing raggedly through his nose.
"Well, geez, I know I look a mess but do I really make you that sick," a slick, familiar voice grazes his ears, making Elias fight the pain to look up at her. A little less snow-covered than before, her eyes are still the same spectral blue.
He hasn't seen her since the day in the library.
"Hey weirdo," she greets, her eyes finding his big doe-like ones. She takes him in, in all the disarray. His hair flops in front of his face with sweat forming at his temple, his lips turned down in a grimace, his eyes watery with tears. A streak of red begins at the base of his nose, trailing a line that slits through his full lips and stops at the tip of his chin. His bronze skin, stained.
He nods, his version of hello.
She notices the bright colored paper in his grip, realizing he never made it to wherever he was supposed to go. Extending her hand out to him, he looks at it, then her. His brown eyes flicking between the two, unsure if he has it in him to accept the offer.
"Don't be weird, I'm stronger than I look, Elias," she smiles. On instinct her long fingers wrap around his wrist to pull him upwards into a standing position. Surprisingly he doesn't recoil in distaste, though his fractured state does make him a little less wound tight.
He doesn't help much other than stumbling forward, being caught by her fingers wrapping around his broad shoulders. Her red, manicured nails, digging into the fabric of his shirt.
"Woah," she drags out, breathing heavily, as she makes sure he's stable before retracting her touch. Even if he could talk, he wouldn't be able to right now, feeling both embarrassed and disoriented. Extending the crumpled piece of paper to her, she unfolds it, reading the words.
"Nurses office, hmm," she bites her lip, racking her mind for where that is again. The principal, with his beady-eyed gaze had showed her that small box played off as a room first. Backtracking her steps, she wraps an arm around his torso.
Elias flinches at the touch, freezing up. She instantly retracts her arm. The ringing in his ears springs up again as he painfully squeezes his eyes shut, blocking away the traumatic images that rush through his mind. Nobody other than his mother is allowed to touch him, and on the bad days he even rejects her touch.
Mara looks impossibly apologetic, her lips folding into a frown, but she doesn't leave him. Still lingering at his side, teetering back and forth on her feet, trying to think of what she can do to help. It's clear there is no way he can make it there without some sort of support.
"Can you at least put a hand on my shoulder? To steady yourself is that.. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I don't know how else to get you there" she asks, tripping over her words as she shifts her backpack to her other shoulder so he could place his hand on the one closest to him. Like an offering, she is giving him the option for touch.
He can do that. As long as he is in control of who he touches, and when he touches them, the thoughts don't seem to appear.
It takes them a little while to get to the nurse's office, stumbling the whole journey. The pair receive a few odd glances from students who skip their classes. The on teacher disregards them, the two being the least of their worries as the rush to wherever they are going, their head in a stack of papers.
In a Mara-like fashion, they burst through the wooden door of the office. Its hinges keen as it slams against the brick wall, the nurse's wide-eyed gaze turning to where both Mara and Elias stand in the doorway. Elias, leaning his weight into a stronger Mara.
Mara's smile is broad and manic-like. Her straightened teeth beaming, while Elias collapses into her side. The bleeding has stopped since Mara's shoved a tissue in his hand and insisted he keep it to his nose.
"You don't have to see me until later, Mara," the nurse shakes her head, her eyebrow raised. She has striking gray hair and pleasant blue eyes that are a much darker shade than Mara's. Her voice is soft, the type meant to read children's stories at the library. Her room, too, resembles the image of calm. Light pastel medical pictures decorates the plain white brick walls, the soft cracks of a computer playing soft jazz in the background.
"I know, Miss Patricia," Mara laughs, helping Elias to sit in the last chair against the wall. He somewhat falls into it, his head sagging against the wall in pain. "I'm here for my friend Elias. He's sick or something, I don't know I just found him like this. Fix him, please."
Miss Patricia moves to Elias, shaking her head in a gentle type manner. He looks a reck, his face losing the last drops of blood, turning pale. His eyelids are heavy. As his head falls to the side, he notices the light blue cots in the back room, hidden behind a door, longing to rest in one.
"You can go back to class Mara, I will keep Elias here."
Mara nods, winking at Elias in secret, who meets her eye with a small smile.
"Don't mess him up Patty, he's my only friend," she snickers. Spinning on her heels, the door slams promptly behind her. It only makes his headache hurt more, but still, the ghost of a grin brushes over his lips as the nurse ushers him to the back room to lie on the cot.
He is asleep before his head hits the tuff pillow, swallowed by the blackness of his dreaming state. His body is so exhausted by the nightmares that kept him awake last night that in this room he dreams of nothing. A rare, if ever, occurrence.
Two years of nightmares, years in which he's spent not talking. Two years of being afraid of a simple touch. Most of the boys his age love physical attention from others, but it only terrifies him. Years of vulnerability spent being afraid of his own shadow.
All because of her.
---
Authors Note:
If you don't know by now, Elias was the one who was assaulted. We will learn more about his story throughout, but I want to bring awareness that this can happen to boys too and I don't think it is touched on enough.
Thoughts?
Like, comment, and follow.
- ❤ Nia
Edited 3/26/23