No one could hear her. No one wanted to. She was silent, unmoving, blind, mute - something anyone in their right mind would hate. She walks the school hallways in silence, her ballet flats hitting the ground and coming off without a sound. The world around her flashes - students running to lockers, teachers grabbing last minute snacks from the vending machine, the principal searching the sea of students to find her - But she ducks her head and slithers away with the crowd.
As the students around her disperse into their respective classes, she slides into an old art room - the place she calls her only home. There, she runs to the corner of the room, coils into the wall, and lets her tears fall.
My name is Naminé. I am seventeen years old. My mother and father are dead. I cannot speak. I have no heart, she recites to herself, over and over again.
In her tiny hideout, she curls her legs up to her chest and rocks, back and forth, back and forth. She counts her breaths. In, out, in, out. She counts the time. Tick, tock, tick, tock. She counts the number of seconds she has alone until he comes to find her. 1, 2, 3, 4...
And, right on cue, he pushes the sliding door away and immediately beelines for her corner. He crouches down next to her, rubs soothing circles on her back, and whispers sweet words in her ear. But all she can think, is why are you doing this for me?
Eventually, he lifts her off the ground and begins to straighten out her messy uniform. Fixes the tie, evens the sleeves. Then he mats her platinum blonde hair down with a comb hiding in his back pocket and props it over one shoulder, the way she liked it.
She peeks up at him through her messy bangs, staring into his warm, dark blue eyes. Why was he so nice to her? What did she do to deserve him? She never did anything to make him happy - but he still tries, with solid determination, to please her, make others accept her. He stares back into her icy blue eyes for a while, then straightens up, pushes a cloud of dirty blonde spikes away from his face, and takes her hand.
He takes her back to class, where the teacher smiles encouragingly and the students laugh. Laugh and point, laugh and point. What a freak Naminé is. She's such a loser. Eventually, the teacher calls order and makes the owners of the outbursts suffer detention, but the damage is done. Even with his warm hands encasing her own, she shakes. The sobs internally rack her, unable to escape. She cannot speak. No one can hear her. No one wants to.
My name is Naminé. I am seventeen. I cannot speak. My mother and father are dead. Everyone hates me. I am a nobody. I have no heart.
At lunch, she sneaks away to her deserted art room and hides in her corner. The Goosebumps rise on her arms and legs, but she ignores them; she can't feel the cold anyway, even though she's sitting underneath the air vent. She curls her legs up to her chest, and continues to recite. I am Naminé. I am seventeen. I am a loser. I am a nobody. I am an orphan. I am unloved. I hate life.
Naturally, after ten to fifteen minutes, he returns. He holds two brown paper bags filled with food, and props one on her lap, coaxing her to eat. She complies halfheartedly. She didn't need food. She didn't need water. She didn't need air. She was already dead.
She watches him from the corner of her eye. Taking large chunks off of his sandwich, staring up at the window across the room. He isn't repulsed by her presence, isn't going insane in the silence. He just sits and eats. She drops her unopened tub of applesauce back into the bag and pushes it away. He doesn't make a sound, just frowns at her like a father to a child. She picks the bag back up and retrieves the meal. He nods his head in approval.
Why did he care about her so much? He had been taking care of her since freshman year - since her parents had died, and she had gone mute. He was so kind, so gentle, so patient with her.
Once he's done with his meal, he picks himself up off the ground and holds a hand out for her to take. She ignores it and clings to the wall. A flash of hurt crosses his eyes, but he shrugs it away and takes her hand - the warmth flows through her body, and before she knows it, she's clinging to his arm.
"Sheesh, Nam. You're freezing," he comments, using his other hand to rub those soothing circles on her arm. He drags her to the other side of the room and points to the various paintings - the paintings she ignored on a day to day basis - scattered on the wall.
"Do you remember these? You drew them yourself in freshman year. You drew them before I found you in this room," he tells her slowly, and she stares at the portraits.
Her red-headed sister, Kairi, holding her favorite fruit in her hand. Before she was adopted and forced to move away. Her old home, an oddly designed mansion with green sunroofs. Her parents, their blonde and red hair hugging the frame as they smile at her through the colored pencil sketches. She turns away, tears riding up to her eyes. He wraps his arms around her as she cries into his chest.
She wanders the halls before last period at school, trying to beat the crowd. She returns to her art room, Her quiet sanctuary, her home. But when she opens the door, a soundless scream shoots up her throat.
The desks were thrown against the wall, obscuring her corner and half of the white blankness. The words DIE, BITCH were scrawled in graffiti on the window, and her precious portraits were all over the ground, ripped to shreds and stomped on with someone's angry boot. On the whiteboard that stretched the length of the opposite wall, many pictures of her hanging by her neck, jumping off buildings, and taking forty pills were crudely drawn there, with a messy tipped black marker. In bold red letters all over the rooms walls and floor, were many sayings she's heard countless times: No one likes you. Everyone hates you. You're a loser. You're a nobody. You should die, No one would notice. You're so lame. Why do you bother?
She stood, frozen in time, and then crumpled like a broken doll to the floor, her silent sobs finally breaking free. She cried and cried, her eyes filling with endless tears.
My name is Naminé. I am seventeen. Nobody likes me. I'm a loser. If I die, would anyone notice? Would anyone care?
Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass. She feels something off. Something was different, wrong. Twenty, twenty-five, thirty. Something is definitely wrong. What could be wrong? There was a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that something was missing.
Two minutes later, she realizes that she's gathered a laughing crowd - laughing at her, at her weakness. Class had ended, the bell had wrung, and students were supposed to be heading home - but they chose to stand by and watch her suffer. Pointing. Laughing. Whispering. Insulting. Each cackle sends a knife into her heart. She feels vulnerable, empty, cold. And as the menacing laughs continue to haunt her, she realizes something. The missing something.
Him.
"Rox…"she murmurs, very quiet, like a needle dropping to the ground. The first word she's spoken in three years. Her voice is hoarse and croaky, but it's former wind-chime tinkle comes through. Determined, she faces the crowd around her and searches for his face. The spectators continue to laugh.
"Roxas…"she squeaks in a somewhat louder tone, and the one of the laughing student stares at her in surprise. "She talked!" he shouts, and the crowd falls silent. She continues to pan her eyes around the hall, looking for his friendly smile, his warm embrace. Her tears continue to fall like rivers of sorrow, and her body still shakes with her unheard sobs. She is desperate to find him now.
"Roxas…" she mumbles again in a whisper. The crowd bursts into a new fit of laughter. "You think your boyfriend is going to save you?" someone shrieks. Her will deteriorates as each word stab her. She falls to the ground and She lets out a wail. The crowd wavers slightly at this; the noise was so damaged, like a wounded animal. She looked so broken. What were they doing to her?
Why couldn't he hear her, when she finally spoke up? you have to be out there, somewhere. Where are you? I'm waiting for you. She cried his name four more times. Why couldn't he find her, when he found her so many times before? Was he listening to her sobs? Her cries for help?
"Roxas…please find me…" she squeaked, the last of her fire burning out. Her sobs quieted until they were silent once again.
Without warning, she picked herself up off of the ground and sprinted away up the stairs. Distantly, she heard her name being called; but she ignored it and ran. One flight, two flight, three flight, four. When her legs could no longer carry her up, she bolted through the stairwell and ran down the hall. At the very end, she found a janitor's closet - without a second thought, she flung herself inside and cried harder than ever.
One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four. Five. And the door creaked open, revealing the one face she wanted to see.
"Roxas!" she shouts, flinging herself at his stunned form. He hugs her close.
"I'm so sorry, Naminé. I got held back in class for breaking a beaker," he mumbles swiftly, and she feels the tears - his tears - fall onto her back. "I couldn't protect you."
He found her. He found her when no one else was looking for her. She realized that he was her light; the only bright figure in her broken life. He knew where she was. He always knew where she was. And she always knew he would know where she was hiding. She couldn't hide from him.
"I'm sorry, Roxas," she whispers into his chest. He rubs her back.
"You spoke up," he replies. He picks her off the ground. "Remember, Namine. I'll always be around to hear you."
No one could hear her. No one wanted to. She was silent, unmoving, blind, mute - something anyone in their right mind would hate.
But he heard her. He wanted to hear her. She was silent, unmoving, blinded, and mute - but he loved her anyway.
My name is Naminé. I am seventeen. My mother and father are dead. I can speak again. Nobody likes me except him. I am an orphan. I am somebody. I am loved. I have a heart.
All thanks to him.
Ok, did this honestly make any sense to anyone? Cuz it sure as heck didn't make sense to me. XD
HAPPY B-LATED B-DAY JAMIMLIA! I told you I was writing. Sorry you have to face THIS creature I created. :/