His long fingers gripped the granite counter top tightly, his knuckles turning white at the strain. The flex of his forearms seemed dramatic in the dim light as the muscles were grossly defined. The shadows under his chin were drawn sharp as he clenched and unclenched his jaw rhythmically. His shoulders were hiked up, like feline hackles, and his head hung low between them. The loud, heavy thoughts weighed his brain down to that painful position, with his eyes glued on the manila envelope before him.
Your fault, your fault, your fault. The words floated in his skull, reverberating off the bone and back into the pink flesh of his mind. His brows furrowed as he vainly tried to block the voice out. Angrily, he shook his head hoping to give himself a moment of silence.
Your fault, your fault, your fault. Traveling from his head and down his throat, the phrase found purchase in his heart. The once steady beat started to pound wildly with some untapped rage. He could feel the blood rushing through his body, echoing in his ears.
Your fault, your fault, your fault. Suddenly, he was moving, his fingers wrapping around the handle of the knife. A sharp turn, a slight snap and the blade was lodged in the drywall. It sunk deep, chipping the paint as it found its mark.
My fault, my fault, my fault. With a scream so loud that the heavens shook, he fell to his knees. His shaking hands pulled at his short, dirty blond locks in pure frustration. If he had just stayed away, kept his distance like he had been, you would have been spared.
It was a brisk day in Hell's Kitchen. The chilled air nipped at your face, flushing your face with a dusting of red. You shook slightly, pulling your too-thin jacket closer to your chest in an attempt to combat the cold. Sadly, the attempt was feeble as the wind picked up a freezing breeze, seemingly just for you.
"Ms. L/N! Ms. L/N!" You turned quickly to greet the small voice that shouted for your attention. A small boy from your homeroom rushed up with a large amber leaf clutched in his tiny hands. "It's huge!! Look at it!"
"It is, Tyrone! Why don't you trace it like we did in class today?"
"By rubbing a crayon over it?"
"Yes," you said sweetly, "but be careful. Even with the paper protecting it, the leaf is still brittle. It might break."
"Okay," Tyrone said, a giddy smile on his face. "I'll show you when I get done!" The little boy quickly ran inside the cozy schoolhouse and you couldn't help but envy the fact he would be sheltered from the cold. You gazed out at the rest of the children in the playground yard and felt a smile grace your lips.
Children clad in brightly colored coats and knitted wool hats screamed with joy as they played about. Some braved the freezing chains of the swing set and took to new heights while others were intently focused on the kickball match at hand. You felt a rush of warmth despite the immaculate weather roll through your body. It had taken a while, but you had made it. You were home, in New York, teaching a new, blooming generation of bright students. Now, you just couldn't let them freeze to death before they changed the world.
"C'mon in kids!" you shouted, "It's lunchtime!" A chorus of whoops and cheers greeted your ears as the bundled-up children funneled inside the small school. You waited until those few lingering students had walked through the doors.
Before you went inside yourself, you wandered the playground and picked up the stray play equipment. You leaned down slowly, picking up a jump rope and a doll one of the kids had snuck outside. Letting out a sigh, you turned to stand up straight. Your eyes wandered briefly over and across the street. Even though it was a mere glance, your gaze locked with another's.
