Saved By You

Chapter 2

As usual my day was crap, I got taunted, glared at, followed, and of course spoken to like trash. Just my usual school day – beats being at home though.

It wasn’t any better when I walked into my English room, my last period of the day, as everyone was already sat at their table some even sat on top of their table, talking and whispering, laughing and mucking about as the teacher tapped away on his laptop ticking off the names already knowing everyone. When I walked in everyone stopped and stared at me, some curious, some glaring, some just plain staring which still happened to creep me out.

‘Gales. Late again,’ my teacher announces loudly turning to glare at me as he stands up to inspect me.

I kept my head down and waited for the detention that never came; instead when I looked up he was staring at me worriedly eyes concerned and questioning as he stared at my neck then flicking to my wrist. I tug up the sleeves again so it covered even my fingers almost, and looked back down so my hair fell across my eyes and covered my neck; at least I hoped it did.

‘Gales, go take a seat, I would like to have a talk to you after school,’ he says sternly before turning and walking off to the white board.

I turned and took a seat at the middle off the side; the popular’s sitting off at the back and sniggering at me as I pulled my hood over my head and secretly put the headphones back on as it droned out the teachers rambling and the insults whispered to my back as well as paper and pen lids hitting my head and back as I leant it against the wall and spaced out.

‘Gales. Gales!’ I hear a deep familiar voice say loudly and making me jump. I blink once, twice, before focusing on the face in front of me.

Mr Winston.

When he notices I was finally back on earth he lets out a calming breath before pulling out a chair and sitting in front of me, only then did I notice no one else was in the room.

He leans forward, clasping his hands together as he leant against the table. Out of instinct I lean back from fear of any man or guy. I couldn’t be near anyone. I hated it. The personal bubble my father always came into without a care, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. But with others; I could always stop it.

He frowns and tried to hold my gaze but I purposely drop it and stare at the fascinating titles of my books. ‘Claire,’ he starts, and I know it’s important as he barely ever says my first name. ‘I’ve been noticing your change in grades and lack of attention during school; the other teachers have noticed it too. Is there something going on at home that you would like to talk about?’ he asks, brows furrowed as he still tries to get me to look into his eyes but failing miserably.

I finally looked up as he mentions home and freak out as I realise I’ll be late, as much as my father’s always passed out these days he somehow always knows when I come in by the opening of the door and my light footsteps. He just somehow knows and is always waiting for me.

I shudder and just give the teachers a plain look, not bothering to shake or nod my head. It doesn’t faze him and he keeps up with staring back, ‘are you sure? Anything at all you would like to tell someone?’ he pushes.

I swallow and still stare into those grey-blue eyes of his, the eyes that reminded me of my father. Mr Winston was 32 as well and just being the same age as my father scared me so I stayed quiet and still and waited for him to give up and tell me I can go.

He doesn’t though and that upset me.

Somehow he notices my change in mood and sits straighter, his stare intensifying and sending a chill down my spine, forcing me to look back down again, lips squeezed tight.

‘Claire, you need to let someone know what's happening. I know that something is happening and I don't like seeing you turning up at school with bruises and distracted moods. You need to let someone know, whatever it is that’s happening. You can't go through it alone.’ He says softly, moving to pat my hand. I snatch it away quickly as I knew what he was going to do but he just sighs and puts his elbow onto the table instead, putting fingers into his temple as if to soothe him as he starts to circle it slowly.

But still I sat there and stared at nothing, sat there and waited for the moment I can leave even though I didn’t want to go back to that house of mine.

‘Claire, if you do not start talking to at least one person to this school, teacher or student, I am going to have to be forced to call up your parents.’ He says sternly, a line of patience waiting to be snapped.

My eyes widen and they flicker back up to him my head shaking into a no straight away as my hands clench into fist, nails digging into my palms beside my hips under the table, the flesh more sensitive after last night.

He watches me closely, seeing the fear in my eyes before I look away again thinking and wishing he wouldn’t see it. Of course he did though, if things at home weren’t so bad this person could be my favourite teacher. I loved English almost as much as history. But he was a man. He was 32. And he reminded me too much of the man I hated and dreaded to go back to.

I hung my head low so he could no longer see my face; my eyes squeezed shut as I tried to focus on nothing. On the black that was behind my lids. On the black I wished could consume and take me away from the pain like it had exactly 535 days ago.

‘Claire,’ he says softly and a second later I feel a warm gentle hand rest on my shoulder but I flinched remembering my father touch me that way but harsher, and stood up quickly, the chair scraping and making a loud bang as it hits the tiled floor.

I stared at him, eyes wide, thinking it was my father for a moment and braced myself for a slap or a punch or anything.

‘Claire…’ he says quietly, so softly it was as if he was afraid I was glass and I'd shatter into a million pieces before his eyes. He stands up but I just blinked at him, remembering where I was, before grabbing my books quickly and running away through the door and towards my locker. Who cares about my bag? Who cares about homework? Who cares about life? I threw in my books, ignoring the teachers’ protests as he followed close behind before closing my locker carefully knowing slamming would do nothing and also hating loud noises.

‘Claire, please, I want to help you!’ he yelled after me as I ran out of the hall and out the school gates, my body screaming and throbbing in pain.

I can't go home now; I’ll have to wait until night. Until he’s passed out again and can't hear or feel a thing but the puke that pours out of his mouth in the morning.

I ran and ran and ran until my legs gave way beneath me, my body shivering in the snow as I lay on the snow-covered grass beside the sidewalk, cars zooming past, some honking, some blaring music, and some just plain driving past without a sound.

I lay there and shut my eyes, my face and body numbing in the freezing cold snow as I just lay there motionless.

‘Hey,’ I hear an unfamiliar deep voice say. It was a guy, but his voice was smooth and nice, something I could listen to forever.

I feel a soft nudge on my arm, his shoe, ‘hey, are you okay?’ I hear him ask.

I open my eyes and stare at him through unblinking eyes, watching his green ones stare down at me concerned.

Please leave. I was quite happy freezing to death over here.