Love Will Free You

Chapter 4

     The overpowering sense of suffocation yanks me from my slumber. Images flash through my mind: shattered glass on blood-stained pavement, a sheet over Ronan's unmoving body, a hospital nurse rubbing my back gently and telling me it's too late, that they couldn't save him but she's so terribly sorry. I realize I'm dripping in sweat and breathing hard; these nightmares visit regularly...it's nothing out of the ordinary. Since it's already 5:30 and I'm not going to go back to sleep anyway, I decide to go ahead and shower for school. As I shut the bathroom door behind me, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. Oh crap. The left side of my face is bruised from my father's rush of rage last night. I strip down and step into the already hot shower, gently pressing a washcloth to my cheek.

     After changing and combing through my wet hair, I realize the bruise isn't going anywhere anytime soon. I brush some powder over it and dab on a bit of concealer. It's barely noticeable now, but I just hope later through the day my makeup doesn't come off. I dally as long as I can before going down to breakfast. I just don't feel ready to face my parents yet, but I don't have a choice. When I reach the kitchen it's empty except for Grantham, our dog.

     "Hey buddy," I say whilst rubbing his ears. Ronan and I got Grantham as a Christmas surprise three years ago. The handsome boxer is no longer a puppy; he's grown so much since then, yet still retained his goofy attitude. I grab a quick bowl of cereal and race back up the stairs to brush my teeth and grab my bag. I make it out to the bus stop just as it pulls up, somewhat relieved I didn't run into my parents.

     An hour later, after assembly and roll call, I'm seated at my desk waiting for English class to start when Mrs. Hale, my favorite teacher, approaches me.

     "Finley, we have a new student arriving today. Obviously, since he's transferring mid-year he hasn't had a change to make friends or get acquainted with the school. I was wondering if you could be his English partner and help him settle in?"

      "Of course, Mrs. Hale, I'd be glad to." I answer.

      "Thank you, dear," she says, straightening up and heading back down the aisle to her desk. The bell rings and she steps out into the hall as a few students scurry back to their seats. When Mrs. Hale comes back into the room there's a boy following her. He's tall, with honey-brown loose curls and tanned skin. She introduces him as Phillip and the ushers him to sit next to me.

     "So, you're Finley?" My breath catches in my throat as I look up to respond. His eyes are strikingly green; there's a certain beautiful mystery within them.

     "Yes," I manage to stutter. He smiles, and I notice his front tooth is slightly chipped. The rest of class goes quickly, during which he asks me questions non-stop and I answer them best I can. Sometimes they're on-topic questions, like "what's the grading system for this class," but every once in a while he pops a completely random one, like what my middle name is, or why I'm so quiet. At the end of English, as I'm clearing off my desk, I realize that for the first time in quite a while, I didn't feel sorry for myself. That, I decide, is an accomplishment in itself, and when I get home, all I can think of is the boy with the crooked smile.