Midnight Silpper

Part I, Chapter 1

Part I

Chapter 1,

Adrienne

Pain was something I didn't realize people could adapt to until I began to identify it as a fundamental and integral part of my own existence. It twists and notches itself inside your heart, like the gash of an inflicted, stinging wound, embedding its marks deeply into you, until you weren't sure who you were without it.  It wasn't until I was older that I realized that its signature could be differentiated among those who walked a similar path.  No matter how much you tried to numb yourself to it-your body's natural defense mechanism-it also somehow had a way of reminding you that you were simultaneously alive.

The first time I met Zayne Novak was when I was nine and he was eleven. I found him lurking in the park that saw better days. There wasn't much to it, except the mulch beneath our feet and the somewhat rusting, red swing set that groaned and squeaked like it was on its last legs and needed greasing, looking halfway abandoned and in disrepair.  Off in the middle, was the main jungle gym with one of those twisting slides, and just beyond that was a basketball court, where a pick-up game was always being held with teenagers shouting at each other with unfair plays being called out.  On the weekends, the park was much more occupied during the day.  It usually filled up with a few smaller kids that would ride their bikes along the asphalt trail, while some would play tag near a field of grass and trees.  

That was where I saw him, sitting alone on the swing set. The park was empty this time around, the evening beginning to set in, painting the sky a golden color. Clouds were soon edging in. It was going to rain tonight. I wondered if the boy would go home.

I wandered over to the swings, curiosity drawing me. Zayne looked up and glanced at me and an angry, pained expression struck his face. I sat beside him, as if it was only natural.  I glanced over at him, concern marring my face. 

"Are you okay?" I asked after a moment.

Zayne and I went to the same elementary school. I saw him around the other kids, but they tended to keep away from him because of the mean look on his face. Sometimes, I thought he was much older than eleven, like he'd seen more of the world than most eleven year olds even though I knew that didn't seem likely. My friends had nothing good to say about him because he looked too mean, unapproachable, and rude, but every time I watched him, he didn't seem that way. In fact, he just looked...sad. Dad had a saying, that people oftentimes surprised you and it wasn't enough to judge them based on a moment in time. You never knew what they were going through, so it was best to withhold judgement unless you've walked a mile in their shoes. Dad was observant about people like that.  After all, he was a lawyer. 

"Why the fuck do you care?" Zayne asked, as he turned to me, his expression hard and pissed.  His tone was aggressive and unfriendly, but somehow I knew it wasn't because of me.  

In my nine-year-old mind, I knew he had said a bad word, but he didn't strike me as someone who was angry at me because he really didn't have a reason to be angry with me.  The pained tone in his voice only reinforced my own suspicions that he was angry about something that had nothing to do with me.  Didn't people lash out when they were angry?  I once saw Penelope throw her box of crayons across the room because Tasha had used the yellow one.   He sounded more hurt and that seemed to be the only thought that carried in my mind, as I justified my continued interaction with him.

"Because you look upset," I answered easily. "My dad told me that sometimes it helps to talk about it."

"Your dad?" Zayne asked, his intense gray eyes, the color of the clouds above us, pinned themselves on me. He sounded skeptical, like he didn't think my dad would say something like that.  I was pretty sure he thought I was being stupid.  He also appeared curious, thrown off by the fact that I wasn't reacting how he expected me to react to him.