Young Justice
A Fiery Passion
Chapter one: Heartbroken Foundation
Five days of a week, normal kids attend school. They get up early to get ready for the day, have a small breakfast, leave early for the education, talk with friends, and go to class. And when the day is done, they all go home late to homework and chores. Eventually when night falls, the students crawl into bed to repeat the schedule again the next day.
At least, that's how I feel about it. It's repetitive, and a bore. No excitement but the new gossip. And my name is certainly in everyone's mouths. Especially today.
I trudge down the hallway to my next class, keeping my eyes down on the floor to hide the unbearable tears that leak from my eyes. The flood of students pushes past me as I try to squeeze my way around a left-hand corner. Groups of students crowd around the classroom doors, pretending to be so cool to stand out in front of the classroom entryway. The anger in me begins to bubble. My cheeks are flushed with heat so bad that the tears that land on them instantly dry on my skin.
I push my way through the hoard, using my elbows to shove off the people who give me dirty looks. My dark green eyes burn with intensity as I scowl back at them while I make my way, not saying a word. I enter the room, my backpack feeling a thousand times heavier than it was meant to be. I don't even bother to look over my shoulder to see the group of kids snickering at me. They whisper my name and his.
"She really shouldn't be so heart broken of him." A student chimes in the crowd, her voice slices through the commotion. "He's got bigger and better things in his life, and Rhyleigh should totally be respecting his life choices."
My heart tightens. I know she's right. And the absence of his ring on my finger is another reminder of that.
Three months ago, he promised that no matter the paths we take- no matter the different colleges, or careers, we'd be together. Forever. Today was proof that his promise was a bold face lie. He never had any intentions for our lives to be one.
We had everything planned down to the last moment. Graduation in the spring. International touring in Europe by summer. And in the fall we would be attending college- together, hopefully. That was our plan.
Now there is no future for us but our own paths.
Okay, so they have reason to laugh. My blonde hair is a mess, and quite pathetic for me. But that's what I get for playing dodge ball with a group of athletic guys after the breakup. I just wanted to release all my hurt and agony into the game. I can feel how my make-up has smeared from rubbing my eyes to keep the tears from erupting. How are you supposed to react to such a dreadful event?
I head to my desk at the back of the room, once I was settled, I turn to the mob and a sickly-sweet smile graces my lips.
As usual, I happen to be the first to class, since I'm one of those rare people who settle in their seat before the tardy bell rings. I shrug off my backpack and fold my pale arms on the desk so I can lay my head on them. And suddenly, I feel so much heartache that I don't care if I look like complete trash. I sniff and sit up, trying to keep the headache from turning into a migraine as the class begins with the teacher entering and the classroom filling.
I come from a strong family for Pete's sake! And here I am crying over a stupid boy who dumped me. What would my father think? What would my mother say? Would she laugh at me after I told her the story when I got home? Would she give me a quick hug before diving into a story of her own from her teenage years? Would she… Would she tell me everything would be okay, and that you were too good for him anyways?
No, she wouldn't.
With that, I break down.
I have a really bad habit of crying, and when I cry, I cry. It's like a busted dam, with all the water pouring out all at once. When the session it starts it is typically hard for me to stop. Usually, I start with a cough, an awful cough that brings with it tears. Big. Heavy. Tears. Tears that are so powerful, it makes any bystander wonder why anybody would cry like that.
Because I'm just pathetic like that.
A couple moments into my fit, I feel my teacher's light hand on my shoulder, and she whispers a question to me: "Do you want to go to the nurse?" She's telling me in a nice voice and without the direct words. But I know the answer to her secret code. I'm disrupting her class and she wants me to leave before humiliation sets in for me.
Because I'm just that pathetic.
I nod my head reluctantly and lift my head from my wet palms. I wipe my hands on my light blue jeans, and send her a shaky smile. "C-Can you write me a pass?" I ask softly.
My teacher nods her head and goes to her desk while I slip my backpack on my shoulders again. We hadn't even gotten through ten minutes into class before my meltdown.
"Did you know when you cry, you lose testosterone?" one of the other girls in class loftily informs her friends. They all giggle, and I frown. At least I'm glad that I happen to be a girl in this situation. This outburst wasn't because of a hormone imbalance. More of a complete life imbalance.
The teacher hands me my pass as I realize how pitiful it is for me to be crying at all. As I walk down the aisles to go back out the door, I hear someone whisper, "Yeah, Rhyleigh pulls the waterworks trick to get out of math class. I wish I was that much of a genius."
I turn around swiftly and send a hard glare at the person who spoke. Nathan Warner. His joking demeanor fails and his face sags into sadness, he doesn't look back at me. He knows, he must know how badly this is killing me. My fingers curl into fists by my side. My palms are hotter than they've been all day. This was his fault. His choice. There is nothing I could do. I refuse to beg. The damage is done. I should have never, ever looked at him. I could feel my heart cracking again. A small part of me hopes that he is hurting as badly as I am, but him and I both know that he won't express it.
My teacher sends me a parting smile, as others wave good bye, mockingly. I don't look at their faces.
Was I dreaming? No, I couldn't possibly be. This was a nightmare lived, a nightmare in which my already insane life took another left turn. Everybody I know suddenly hates me for something I can't handle well enough. An event like this, to me, has not happened before. Like ever. My first love dumped me over a program where he was one out of fifteen students to be chosen for a military program.
I should be congratulating him, he deserves it...
I storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me thunderously.
In a controlled fast-paced walk, I go to the restroom. Releasing a frustrated sigh, I shrug off my backpack and look at my miserable hands. They're throbbing and hot. So, so hot they ache. My skin, from the center of my palms to the tips of my fingers, are singed, as if I just shoved both of my hands into a bonfire for a good few minutes to cook them off their bones. The skin is dry and taught, peeling upwards around the edges.
How did the burns get on my hands?
I dry heave another sob, wishing this day would end. It'd started so badly and it was getting progressively worse. Closing my eyes, I turn on the sink for cold water to cool my hands.
Deep down, I know I'm being dramatic. Maybe it's the stress between home, here at school. And this burning sensation. It won't stop. Confused, I look back down at my hands underneath the running cold water, it begins to steam. Stifling a silent scream, I turn the water off, shuffle my backpack over my shoulders and head directly to the nurse's office.
"Maybe, I'll just get sent home," I mutter to myself, holding my burnt hands close to my chest. "Yeah, It sucks Rhy, but you, you are going to get over this, because you're better than this," I tell myself in an angry whisper. Slowly the strands my sanity are threaded back together as I near the nurse's door.
"Your temperature is…. Very high," the nurses says, pulling the thermometer out from under my tongue. "Are you nauseous at all?"
"Uhm, no. I have a headache from crying. I know that…" my voice trails off as I watch Ms. Wisp cover my hands in burn ointment.
"How did this happen to you?" She's concerned. That much is obvious.
"I don't know," I whisper, trying not to concentrate too hard on the sting of the bandages. They're worse than the dull pain of my skin trying to heal.
"Well, clearly you couldn't just burn your hands with out something emitting fire," the nurse lectures in a serious tone. I'm beginning to think that it will be more beneficial if I just simply call it a day and head home now.
I frown. "I don't know how they got burned. I just know is that they hurt." I clench my hands, ignoring the pain signals.
"Did you have a chemistry class recently?" the nurse persisted, her eyebrows twitching.
"No! I took that class two years, as a sophomore!" I shouted at her, my knuckles showing white and my heart racing. Are these the signs that I'm having an anxiety attack?
"Okay, well the burns are going to need medical attention," the nurse concedes, eyeing me carefully. "I'm going to call your mother to take you to the hospital."
I gawk at the nurse in shock, my stomach tightens at the thought of my mom hearing about this. Was that not the reason I came down here, to get medical attention in the first place? I glare at her, shaking my head, my mouth still hanging open.
"What? No! I came here so that I can get confirmation to just go home!" I shout at her again. My hands are burning in agony again, with my anger. "Don't call my mom!"
Then the nurse's eyes go wide with fright, staring directly at me.
I follow the nurses' gaze to see the sleeves of my sweater sputtering with red-orange flames. Flames that emanated from my hands and crawls up my arms, licking the skin away like greedy wolves.
My vision fades to darkness.
~End Chapter one~
It's been 84 YEARS! Not really. Editing the story- going to be some huge changes. Welcome back YJ season 3!