"I'm not rude; I just have the balls to say what everyone else is thinking."
Anonymous.
Life falls into place. Sometimes.
When it does, it seems as if a ray of golden sunshine has crept into you're grey world. Waking up on a December morning, the anticipation causing you to become giddy and light headed. You pull back the pale-blue curtains, a bright and cheerful smile on your face. With that, you discover that your once pear-green lawn, is covered in a thick coating of pearl-white snow.
It's like solving your first puzzle. The magenta-purple and sparkling, yellow jig saw pieces, clicking together, forming the most indescribably fascinating picture. Like a vast strawberry field, the crimson-red almost infinite, incomprehensible, to the human mind.
Life is wonderful. Sometimes.
Kissing you. Kissing you is long and breathless and epic. I can taste the very same blueberry bubblegum
you chewed on the way to school and I can smell the same lavender scent that lingers on your skin every time I'm with you. It's raw, intense. A fire which spreads, flames rising as it reaches its peak. Yet calming and reassuring, like floating on a stone-grey smoke cloud or swimming in the baby-blue waters of a tranquil stream.
Confusion has disappeared, the wholesomeness of the situation becoming clearer as you take my hand in yours. Fingers intertwining with mine, heart beat in sync and minds at ease, knowing that in a few years, we will be reminiscing this. We will recall this with the exact fondness, which has been shared between us.
Embarrassment tends to hurt my pride however pride has recoiled, and fate and hope embrace me, smiling whilst I too, treasure this moment.
Life is complicated. Always.
But you are the one who chooses which one to dwell on. The sometimes and always. You are the one who chooses which one to focus on. And even if some days you feel as if your body does not belong to you, even if you think that living is only to occupy the space between the beginning and m end, you have the choice to change the present and make what you want of it.
Take what you want out of this.
All I'm saying is, days are worth living, even if all you want to do is cry.
Life is full of moments you'd rather forget. Sometimes.
And life makes me want to laugh and hold his hand.
Always.
Breaking apart, Wyatt stares into my eyes as he breathes heavily, running a hand through his hair. After, a grin quickly appears on his face and he gives out a little chuckle.
"I-I don't know what to say..." he whispers.
"Then don't say anything" I smile.
Emerald-green eyes shining, he then says:
"I love you. I'm stupid and paranoid and a lot of the time, I don't know what I'm doing but I love you."
Gazing up at him, I notice that he's shedding a tear. Hastily, he wipes it away and stares back at me with a newfound confidence.
"I get jealous," he adds. "I get jealous, I make mistakes, I say things I'd rather not repeat and I'm not perfect. I'm not perfect because I'm a mess, I'm not perfect because I don't approach things like a 'man' (whatever the hell that means)..." Wyatt mutters under his breath with a scowl.
Giggling, I shake my head, permitting him to continue.
"I cry and I'm not ashamed to admit that. I get insecure and I'm not afraid to admit that. I get scared, I'm corny and I'm a hopeless romantic and my sadness and anger blinds me."
Pulling me closer and caressing my cheek, he sighs.
"But I love you," he reiterates.
"Well don't say it like it's a bad thing!" I exclaim.
"It's not," the imperfectly perfect boy smirks. "It's not. It's great."
Embracing me, we hug. As we sway slightly and he rubs my back, the bell rings.
"Time to get to registration," I state.
"Yeah."
Silence hangs in the air and I've never felt so seen before. So acknowledged as a crucial person before. A happy undertone, that's what he is. A happy undertone that's hidden behind the darkest of places.
"Wyatt," I begin, "will you be my boyfriend?"
My words echoing, I await for the response, the question lying between us. Creaking of floor boards and the murmurs of the wind sporadically fill in the quietude. The voices of students rapidly dies out, their footsteps resonating as they smack against the marble floors.
"Wyatt?!" I bleat, anxious and curious.
"Of course!" He rejoices, a smile of relief appearing. "Yes. A thousand times yes."
"Well done," my inner voice congratulates. "You finally did it."
His eyes light up and the weight on my shoulders lifts as I see his familiar smile. Grabbing my hand, we exit the secret place, chuckling whilst we stumble to our home room. Observing the curve of his grin, the life in his eyes, the happiness present within his facial features, I know for sure that his joy is genuine. I know for sure, that he truly likes me.
Ambling past a corner, we enter the P.E. department in which our home room is roughly located. Descending the stairs, we enter the music department, where I can hear our teacher inviting the rest of the class in.
Reaching the last step, we're about two meters away from the pastel-green, double doors when I hear a soft cry.
"What was that?" Wyatt asks, flabbergasted.
"I dunno," I say, turning around in order to find the true essence of the noise.
Serenity.
Underneath the stairwell, she's shivers. Knees drawn to her chest, eyes wide in fright and her face pale, she proceeds to cry again, tears staining her checks as the whites of her eyes redden. Lips parted, she lets out a shaky breath, her body shaking with such violence that she drops the book in her hand. The slap of pages against the floor is enough to make Serenity sob louder, howling as if she were cut from deep inside. Covering her ears, she shakes her head, appearing she's in denial.
"Serenity," I think. "What have they done to you?"
From the corner of my eye, I see my boyfriend's face contort in utter perplexity. His eye brows raised in alarm and mouth agape in shock, he remains planted to the ground by my side.
"I'll go get help!" Wyatt declares after a while, already wanting to rush off.
"No," I demand, grabbing his arm. "No you won't. I'll handle it."
"Val..."
"I'll handle it," I reassure him. "Tell the teacher that Serenity and I are doing a job for one of the P.E. teachers."
Looking into his eyes, I plead Wyatt not to tell anyone. His eyes dart between Serenity and I, unsure whether to follow me or simply call for adult assistance.
"Please," I beg, softly.
Sighing, he agrees and despite being clearly conflicted, I'm assuming he trusts me enough to take care of our friend. Nodding, Wyatt gives me a quick kiss on the check, before dashing to registration.
I turn to my friend, her fear evidently amplifying by the second.
"I-I c-can't do this," Serenity stutters. "I c-can't take t-this any more."
Kneeling, I put a hand on her thigh.
"Hey," I say. "It's gonna be okay."
"No!" She shrieks. "H-he d-did it a-again. He's gonna k-keep doing it a-again."
"What did he do?" I ask quietly.
"He..." she burst into a fit of tears, the melancholy taking over her.
"H-he t-touched me," she wails. "Coach S-Sanders touched me and..."
Serenity bows her head, struggling to speak.
"H-he g-gave me t-those," she splutters, pointing to the book that just fell.
Leaving her side, I retrieve the book. Its dark-brown cover has Serenity's name printed in black italic across the front and the pages are neat and smooth.
"Drawing paper," I think.
Silently skimming the pages, a gasp escapes my lips each time.
Inside, were photos. Various photos and drawings.
Some of them were photos of Serenity near her locker, maybe searching for her phone or a textbook of some kind. The annotations becoming progressively more horrific. 'Beautiful' was one word scribbled in red. 'A gift from God' is another phrase written at the bottom. 'Future Mrs Sanders' said the other.
"Oh my goodness," I think.
Another is her when playing sports, roughly similar things written. Her playing tennis, football, basketball, etc. Occasionally, I'd see photographs of my friend talking to other girls.
"No Valentina! Do you think I'm the only one?! He's doing it to other girls!"
This is a remark Serenity made a while back.
"These must be the 'other girls' she was referring to!" I realise.
Some pictures, were of Serenity outside a house.
Her house to be exact.
All of the drawings were equally disturbing. A majority was either Serenity in provocative outfits or in her P.E. uniform.
Last but not least, there were d!ck pics.
As in loads of them.
Shutting the book, I sit on the school floor. Mind reeling and heart racing, I come to the conclusion that Coach Sanders, a forty year old delinquent, was not only a p*dophile.
He was a stalker.
A complete psychopath.
"How could he?" I gawk. "How could he be such a monster?!"
"He s-said they were a-all his," she answers.
"So he's the one that took these?! All of these?!"
She nods, eyes red.
"This cannot be happening," I mumble, running my hand across my face. "This is not real."
"Sanders w-wants me t-to come back to the P-P.E. department after school," Serenity informs me, sniffing slightly as she calms down.
"Why?!" I ask, baffled. "Why?!"
"F-for his 'special' d-detention," she tells me.
Shuffling closer, I pull a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Are the other girls you told me about coming to this detention too?" I question.
"Yeah," she sniffs, getting out a pack of tissues from her pocket.
"Are they all on scholarships too?"
"No," Serenity retorts, shaking her head. "Well, not all of them at least. Some of them are only in his class because they need the credit in order to graduate."
"Therefore he's giving those girls good grades in exchange for sexual favours!" I whisper in realisation.
"Exactly," She nods. "And the girls with scholarships- the girls like me-are getting used because he knows we need this. He knows that our families can't afford to send us to other schools so this scholarship is our only chance of a good education. He's aware of that and he's using that to keep us quiet." Serenity concludes.
"How f*cking disgusting," I hissed. "What a monster! Serenity..."
Taking her hand, I look into her eyes. She's so full of innocence and charm. Overall, she's a beautiful human being. A wonderful human being.
I feel the strange urge to protect her.
And that's why I have to help her.
Her, and the other girls who are afraid to speak out.
"Serenity," I begin, quite nervously. "I think I know how to resolve this."
"You don't," she states in disbelief. "No one does."
"But I do!" I exclaim. "Listen, we don't have to go through with it if you don't want to. However, to live trying is better than to die with the redemption of what could have be done. So please, Serenity. Please let us try."
Gulping back the bile at the back of her throat, she stares at me with the most stoic of expressions. Biting her lip and fumbling with her hands, Serenity proceeds to ponder over the situation in silence, not giving any indication of agreeing or disagreeing.
Finally, a decision is made.
"I trust you, sis. So don't disappoint me."