As the final bell of the day rings throughout the school, hordes of bodies begin to flood the halls, making my desperate desire to melt into the crowd a million times easier. Or so I thought . . .

As I quickly dart between people, I'm suddenly shoved from behind, and not expecting the attack, I fall down onto my hands and knees. All my books scatter out before me as a small clearing begins to form around me. I have to bite my bottom lip against the tears that threaten to fall as I see one of Garrett's friends emerge from the crowd of people all video taping me on their phones, and by the smugness of his face and the barely contained hatred in his eyes, I immediately know he was the one who pushed.

I try to make a futile escape, and when I reach out to quickly grab my books, his booted foot comes smashing down on my fingers and my mouth widens with a silent scream. It hurts so much, and I bite down so hard on my tongue so not to give him the satisfaction of hearing me crying that I taste blood. He keeps his foot there for a split second longer before slowly easing it up, I immediately bring my hand to my chest and carefully craddle it as Smith crouches down in front of me.

He looks at me like I'm some sort of disgusting substance on the bottom of his shoe, and with a sickly sweet smile he opens his mouth and softly says, "You owe Garrett an apology, you little shit."

I don't even know how to react to that, I just feel my throat constricting and air becomes harder to breathe. I immediately recognize it as a panic attack —- something I haven't experienced since middle school in gym class when the teacher forced me to swim in the deep end, even after I repeatedly told him I couldn't swim. I had to be rescued by the life guard, and it was one of the most embarrassing and horrifying moments of my life, so it's only fitting that I feel like I'm drowning once again, without any oxygen to help me swim.

I can feel my face beginning to heat up, and small tears begin to trickle down my cheeks as I struggle to catch my breath.

"So what, are you not going to answer me?" Smith demands.

I want to scream, "I can't breathe, you moron!" But clearly I can't, and I'm starting to feel worse.

Second, minutes, hours —- I don't know how long it is until I feel a hand touch my back and immediately begin to rub soothing circles as they softly whisper, "Breathe, Beau. Breathe." And slowly, I begin to inhale shaky and constrictive breathes. "It's okay, I'm here . . ."

"Th-thank you," I hoarsely rasp.

Peter continues to rub my back, and I'm starting to feel better when Smith starts up again. He's such an asshole . . .

"Awe, does poor Beau need his sexually confused friend's help?" Smith asks with a mocking pout.

Peter sneers at him and shouts, "Fuck off, Smith, we all know you're a closet gay!"

People laugh as Smith's cheeks turn a bright red in response, and Peter just smiles back smugly as he helps me to my feet, and stares everyone down until they move. The crowd has fallen silent, and now bored, they disband to go their separate ways leaving Peter and I to escape without anymore abuse.

Peter keeps a protective arm around my shoulders as he leads me to my locker to switch out my textbooks, and then we're making our way outside to catch the buses. I know my face is probably still read and dried tears streak my cheeks. I'm a mess, and I don't want to suffer a whole bus ride surrounded by even more judgemental people.

"Peter," I mumble as I shrug out from beneath his arm. "Thank you so much for helping me back there, but I think I'm going to walk . . ."

Peter frowns and looks me over concernedly as he asks, "Are you sure, I can—-"

"Peter, I'm okay now, really," I say, and smile with what I hope is reassurance.

Peter sighs. "Okay, but call or text me when you get home, so I know you're safe."

I nod and force a weak smile before I reply, "I will, I'll see you tomorrow, Peter. And thank you again so much."

Peter smiles warily and says, "You're welcome, Beau."

I wave before getting a secure hold on my backpack, and then I'm ready to begin my long, mind clearing trek home.

I don't normally mind walking, it's only when the weather is merciless that I hate everything about mother nature, but with the sky a beautiful cloudless baby blue it's enjoyable. Walking home as opposed to school is so much better and stress free; walking home gives me the peace to enjoy my surroundings, and I can even stop to smell the roses if I so please. As I walk, my mind is clear to wander, and like it so often does these days, I find myself thinking about a boy with brunette hair and chocolate brown eyes.

I wish I knew what he was thinking, maybe then he wouldn't leave me so stressed and confused and mildly insecure. I hate how hard Christian is too read. Some times I just want to crack him open and read the ink written inside his veins, but I—-

Speak of the devil . . .

Just then I hear a motorcycle driving up behind me, and just maybe I intentionally chose the road I knew he'd be taking too. My steps gradually slow as the sound of the bike grows nearer, until I hear the engine cut off and Christian's deep voice call out, "If I didn't no any better, I'd say you planned this Beau!"

I bite my bottom lip and force the smile to leave my face, but when I turn around and see Christian smiling too, I can't help myself and I grin. I walk towards him slowly as I reply, "You know, I can say the exact same thing, Christian."

Christian laughs, and then he holds up his spare helmet and asks, "Would you like a ride?"

I purse my lips at the offer, and although it's temping I find myself wanting to walk. "Ahh, I don't know, I'm enjoying the walk . . ." I say.

Christian purses his lips and glances up at the sky, he nods before getting off his bike and says, "You're right, it's a beautiful day. I think I'll walk with you."

My eyes widen and I gasp, "Are you sure, that bike has to weigh a ton, no way—-"

"I'll be fine, Beau," Christian says, cutting me off as he softly smiles.

I purse my lips doubtfully, and choose not to question him as I mumble under my breath, "I think you're crazy...."

"Did you say something?" Christian asks.

My cheeks immediately redden as I chirp, "Nope!"

Christian eyes me doubtfully, and a ghost of a smile tugs at his lips as he says, "So, this would be the perfect moment to play twenty questions . . . What do you say, want to play?"

I grin as I find myself moving closer, and balancing on the edge of the curb I reply, "Yes!"

Christian laughs. "Okay, let's start out easy. Hmm, favorite color?"

I laugh. "That's too easy," I reply. "And it's blue, because it's both warm and cold, and I love every shade." Christian laughs. "What's your favorite color?" I ask.

"I really like orange; it's bright and warm."

I nod. "Hmm, any hobbies?" I ask.

"Hmm, let's see, I like to play guitar. I'm not good at it though, the sounds I create could peel paint," Christian admits with another laugh; I laugh too. "But my real passion is rebuilding things. For instance, I found this bike on the side of the road one day out with the trash, and all it needed was time and love to get it running again."

My eyes widen in amazement as I gasp, "You rebuilt your bike? That's amazing, you did a beautiful job."

Christian smiles proudly with a hint of embarrassment at my apraise, and replies, "Thanks. So how about you, what's your favorite hobby?"

"Painting," I reply.

I can practically see Christian mentally face-palming himself before he cries, "That's right, you dropped your paintbrushes when you—-"

"Please, don't finish that sentence!" I cry.

Christian laughs. "Why not, are you embarrassed?" he jokingly teases.

I try not to blush, but despite my efforts I feel my cheeks redden as I cry, "N-No!"

Christian laughs and grins at me, and says, "Don't worry, I haven't told a soul." Hearing him say that just causes me to blush even more. "Okay, my turn.... Hmm, pizza or tacos?"

I laugh. "Pizza, of course! Action or horror movies?"

Christian purses his lips and mumbles, "Ahh, that's a tough one . . . I'm going to say action."

I grin and say, "I love horror. Do you have any siblings?"

Christian nods. "Yeah, I have an older brother."

I nod and mutter, "Not me, it's just my mom and I."

"Was it always like that?" Christian asks.

I bite my bottom lip and mumble, "Not always...."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything . . ." Christian trails off.

I glance up at him and force a smile as I reply, "No, it's okay. Um, my dad, he left when I was little for another women. I haven't spoken to or seen him since, and I don't want too."

Christian nods. "You shouldn't, someone who walks out on their family isn't worth the trouble or heartache."

"Yeah, you're absolutely right," I mumble, and then we drift into a silence, and I notice we're growing closer to my house. But I don't want our conversation to end, even though it has grown sensitive, I want to continue talking to Christian and learn everything I can. So, I ask him the first thing that pops into my mind.

"How long have you been working at that Italian restaurant?" I ask.

My question pulls Christian from his thoughts, and he glances over at me and nervously chuckles. He rubs the nape of his neck and says, "Actually, my parents own it."

My eyes widen in surprise, and I gasp, "Wow, you haven't lived here very long. It's impressive how nice the place looks, or are they going to remodel?" I ask.

Christian bites his bottom lip and continues to nervously rub the nape of his neck, and replies, "Ah, actually Beau, I-I have a confession . . ."

A confession? I think. What could he possibly have to confess?

I frown at him curiously and mutter, "What do you mean by 'I have a confession' . . .?"

Christian chuckles and nervously bites his bottom lip, and by this point we've stopped walking, and I can see my house just around the corner. "I, um...." Christian trails off, and then he clears his throat before softly muttering, "I've lived here my whole life actually, I just haven't gone to public school in a few years . . ."

I frown confusedly, his words not making any sense to me. "Wh-what do you mean?" I ask.

"I was homeschooled for most of my childhood, and then I . . . went through some stuff and my parents deciding being around people my own age would be beneficial," Christian explains vaguely.

My frown deepens as I ask, "So you were homeschooled, and you've always lived here.... Why haven't I ever seen you around town until now?"

Christian shrugs and replies, "You have . . . I was homeschooled until middle school, and when the family business began to pick up my parents couldn't do both so they signed me up for school. We weren't friends, but I . . . I remember you, that's why I was surprised when I saw you at the church. I never expected you to have problems, you were so nice I just thought . . ." Christian trails off and nervously laughs. "Ah, I mean, um...."

I frown, and by this point I'm not really listening as I mumble, "How could I not remember you...."

"Anyway," Christian says, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts, "I went to school during sixth and seventh grade before . . . before my parents pulled me out. I was going through something rough, and just this year I was well enough to return to school. My parents, they didn't want me to return but I told them I found this youth group and it was helping...."

I frown. I can't make sense of anything I'm hearing, it's all so sudden and makes me feel blindsided. If Christian had gone to my school, surely I would remember him? And why did he have to leave?

"I-I don't even know to say right now . . ." I mumble.

Christian smiles weakly and replies, "That's not surprising, I know I'm not making any sense."

"Maybe if you explain it more slowly?" I suggest.

Christian chuckles, and he glances up at me from beneath his lashes and mutters, "I can trust you, right?"

I frown at the question, honestly hurt he even has to ask, before I quietly reply, "You can always trust me."

A small smile twitches across Christian's lips, and the toe of his boot plays with the dirt as he replies, "It's a long story, and I don't feel comfortable telling it here . . ." He mutters before glancing up to meet my gaze, and I stare at him for a moment, searching his eyes.

I want to know his truth, and I'm ready for whatever he has to say.

"We can go to my place, if you're . . . if you're comfortable with that," I suggest.

"I'm comfortable with that . . ." Christian softly replies.

I nod. "Okay, me too," I softly mutter as I step forward, and with a tentative bravery I climb onto Christian's bike and ask, "Drive me home?"

Christian nods, and gets on the bike in front of me, and I slowly wind my arms around his waist as he starts the bike, and drives the short distance to my house. I inhale a steady breath before climbing off, and then we're going inside.

Word count: 2,375

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A/N: Hello, lovelies. I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and thank you so much for reading. Have a lovely day/night!

Love from,
BunnyBaekkiee ❤️