Simply Breathtaking

CHAPTER TWO

Charles R. and Tiffany V.

Charles let out a long sigh as he limped through his front door. Today was a very eventful day to say the least. After some much needed alone time in the school cafeteria, he managed to pull himself together to get through the rest of the day once recess was over. He spent the majority of class with his head down, making sure to avoid eye contact with Miss Donna. Especially when she started to notice the slight swelling to his face and expressed concern. He told her he was fine and that there was nothing to worry about. It was obvious she wasn't convinced, but she let it be.

Tiffany wasn't there when he walked in. Actually, she wasn't there for the rest of class. During her absence, Charles couldn't stop himself from constantly making quick glances at her empty seat. Each time his eye shifted to it, the sudden image of her face from moments ago would appear in his mind. Her eyes glazing over, her lip quivering, her jaw clenching as she held back tears. Tears that he caused.

He sighed again. He shouldn't be feeling bad. She was being a nuisance for too long and needed to be put in her place. If she had caught on and left him alone, none of that would've had to happen. He wouldn't have had to explode like that. If she had just kept her distance...

" ...then no one would've gotten hurt." he finished the thought aloud.

After putting his bag down next to the coat rack, he walked to the kitchen to grab a drink. After grabbing a cola from the fridge, he noticed a note on the counter. He took a sip as he read it out loud.

"Charles,

I'm working overtime again. There's a list of chores I need you to do before your father gets home. Practice your music. When your father gets home, make

sure to tell him his plate's in the microwave. And remember don't provoke him. Love you, mom."

He rolled his eyes at the last sentence. 'Don't provoke your father'. Really? He crumpled the note. Don't provoke your father, she says. The fuck does she know? Maybe he shouldn't be so easy to fucking provoke. Any little thing Charles did provoked him.

What are you looking at?

Smack!

Why can't you do anything right?

Punch!

I didn't come to America to end up with an ungrateful disappointment like you...

He felt a trickling down his arm. In his trance, he crushed his cola causing the soda to overflow.

He took a sharp breath, " Shit." He set his drink down. Quickly cleaning his mess, he decided to start on his list of chores. Working his way up, he managed to get them done in roughly thirty minutes. Though it was a two story home, the house was still rather small. There were only two bedrooms, one bathroom, and downstairs was only the living room and kitchen. Setting the broom aside, he stomped upstairs to his bedroom for a quick nap before his father came home.

" CHAAAAAAARLES!"

He shot up. The booming sound of his father's voice shook the house. He literally jumped out of bed and scrambled his way downstairs to meet the towering form of Rudolph Lee Ray. He trembled at the sight of his father's irritated expression.

" Y-yes sir?"

" Stand up straight!" Charles immediately followed orders. With his hands behind his back, he straightened his posture. Rudolph squinted his eyes in a glare before gesturing to the coat rack. " Why is this here?" he asked. His thick Austrian accent added weight to each word. Charles looked to where his father was gesturing.

His backpack.

He forgot it at the front door. His lip quivered as he tried to voice words. " I-I'm sorry, sir. I set it down before doing the chores. I forgot to bring it with me upstairs when I was done..."

Rudolph stared at Charles. Charles stared back. Those ice blue eyes, identical to Charles's very own, sent chills down the young boy's spine. As if his father felt his discomfort, he grimaced. He bent down to pick up Charles's backpack. He chucked it to the boy. Being slightly underweight and small for a child his age, the bag forced him to fall back just a little. Rudolph went to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He narrowed his eyes at Charles while taking a long swig.

" Don't do that shit again." he said. There was a small threat in the tone his father decided to use. Charles knew this. He nodded, going up the stairs. He wasn't in trouble. Good. As he made his way up the steps, he could feel his father glaring a hole in the back of his head. Why was he staring at him? He was taken from his thoughts by him falling backwards.

His father was pulling him back.

The boy would've fallen on his behind if Rudolph didn't have such a vice grip on the back of his collar.

He forcibly turned his son around and kept him in his grip.

" Charles?" his eyes hardened as did his grip, " Where is your tie?"

He looked at his father confused. " W-wha-"

" WHERE THE FUCK IS YOUR TIE?!" he bellowed.

He flinched at his father's booming voice. Trembling, he looked down at his shirt, and noticed the tie he normally wore with his school attire was gone. " I-I-"

" You lost it. You fucking lost it! How the hell do you lose a tie when it's supposed to be around your fucking neck?!"

" Dad, it's not my fault! I got in a fight with Leonard today! He must've yanked it off!" Charles shouted back with pleading eyes.

He was silent for a moment, finally noticing the bruises adorning his son's face. "...You didn't lose, did you?!"

Charles stared at his father in silence before his eyes fell to the floor. His reaction said it all. Rudolph shook his head. " Unbelievable." His voice was dripping in disappointment, " Fucking GREAT! You're a fucking embarrassment!"

Charles kept his eyes trained to the floor, the frown on his face deepened.

" I did not come to America with nothing but the clothes on my back to end up with a little shit like you. Can't keep your own in a fight then lose the one tie you got! Money doesn't grow on trees, Charles. I don't have the money to keep buying shit for your ungrateful ass..."

Charles, fist clenched and at his sides, looked to the side before looking up at his father who was still ranting. Everyday was like this. There was always something he did, no matter how small, that made him a disgrace to their family name. He would be lying if he said it didn't hurt, if he didn't in some way want his father's approval. Just a little. But there was a part of him, every time something like this happened, that would slowly unhinge. His blood would boil. His temper would slowly begin to show.

Breathe Charles...BREATHE!

He took a deep breath through his nose. He was beginning to lose control of himself. And at this point, whatever he does in the next few moments will be completely out of his control.

" We don't have the money?" he said under his breath. Rudolph stopped ranting. He turned to Charles, eyebrows slightly raised at his son's small outburst." We don't have money for ANYTHING because you'd rather spend it on smokes and booze. Don't put that on me! If anything, it's your fault!" Charles finished, shouting the last sentence. For some reason, that little rant of his left him breathless. He shifted his gaze back to his feet as he caught his breath, waiting for his father's response.

Should he look up? Should he?

...

THWAP!

"Aaah!"

The moment he looked up, his father's fist had slammed into the side of his mouth. The only eye contact he had was with the hard wooden floor, now stained red with the blood leaking from his busted lip.

" Get up."

Don't get up, Charles.

" Get up."

Don't Get UP.

He managed to get his trembling body off the ground. It was a struggle. His face throbbed. The pain was excruciating. Charles guessed he was being too slow. Rudolph lost his patience and grabbed the boy by his hair. He didn't cry out like before, he just clenched his seething jaw. Grabbing his chin, Charles was forced to face his father who was well over 6'. Being a measly 4' 6", his neck began to tense up from being forced in an uncomfortable position.

Rudolph smirked, his eyes filled with rage.

"..Du kleiner Scheißer."( ...You little shit. ) The smirk disappeared, but the rage remained. " Was gibt dir das Recht, so mit mir zu sprechen?" ( What gives you the right to speak to me that way?)

Charles almost clawed at his father's hands. His neck felt like a spreading wildfire. His voice as he plead was hoarse from the straining.

" Papa, es brennt. " ( Dad, it burns.) He managed to choke out, " Es tut mir Leid. Es tut mir Leid! Ich werde nicht wieder so mit dir sprechen! Bitte lass mich gehen!" ( I'm sorry. I'm sorry! I won't speak to you that way again! Please let me go!) He panted.

His father pushed him away, finally freeing the child from his hold. Charles gripped the stair railing, keeping himself upright. He coughed. Gulping down the last bit of his beer, Rudolph pointed one last threatening finger at his son. " Remember, I brought you into this world," his face was calm, "I could take you right the fuck out..."

" Now, get out of my sight."

" I hate you! I HATE YOU!"

Charles's room was filled with the sound of his angered breathing, the violent thumps of his fists smashing into his pillow, and the long string of curses that followed each hit.

" Fucking piece of shit! I hope you burn!" he gritted his teeth. His fingers, driven into the pillow's sides, hurt from being held together for so long. He eventually let go. The cloth of the pillow case was wrinkled and deformed from the attack. He stared down at the innocent thing. It was always the receiver of Charles's aggression. His own personal punching bag. He somewhat felt bad for the thing. It had to put up with the anger issues he developed over the years. It was the only way to get his anger out. It was the only thing that helped him relax when drawing or music wouldn't. Sometimes he would pretend the pillow was his father, Leonard, or anyone else that he generally hated with a passion.

He laid down, resting his head on the poor pillow. Sometimes, he wondered what life would be like if all of the people that brought him pain were to suddenly drop dead. Would he feel liberated? Or would he just feel more alone than he already did?

He re-positioned himself so he could stare at the ceiling.

He didn't know.

After a long silence, he decided to get up to check on his wounds. Everything stopped hurting after a while. The right side of his face was pretty much numb at this point. The swelling had gone down, but the bruising had spread and now covered the entirety of his right jawline and a bit of his cheek.

"...great."

Maybe a little drawing would make him feel better. He grabbed his backpack and pulled out his notebook. He never had an actual sketchbook. He usually resorted to using his school notebook. In the mix of math problems, there was always a little crude sketch of something he saw throughout his day or something he imagined in his mind.

As he flipped through the pages trying to find a clean surface to scribble on, he'd make little glances at stuff he already drew. There was the large oak tree that stood outside his window, there was his teacher Miss Donna, a dead squirrel he saw in the middle of the road that one time.

He let out a small chuckle. Sometimes he couldn't help himself. He continued flipping through the mixture of school work and sketches until one of them stopped him in his tracks. His eyes slightly widened in shock at what he saw. This one was from today. It was a small drawing in the margin of the page. It was a girl. The slanted eyes, heart shape face, and the tiny dot resting above her upper lip made her easy to recognize.

It was Tiffany.

He rested his face in his hands. "...goddamnit."

He was thinking about her again. STOP THINKING ABOUT HER! He did the right thing telling her to get lost. She knew too much as it was. If anything, she shouldn't be trusted. What was so great about him anyway? He had nothing for her to gain. He was the scary loner kid who sat by himself and had no friends. He had nothing to offer.

But...

.

.

.

Maybe...

Maybe she saw something he didn't.

The one person who actually wanted to get to know him, who seemed to genuinely feel some form of care for him, he ignored and pushed her away.

He set down his notebook, and went back to staring at his ceiling.

...Maybe he should do something about it.

His eyes fluttered closed.

" Yeah...maybe I should."

...

It was quiet in Miss Donna's fourth grade class. They were working on a timed math worksheet. Three digit multiplication. It was no problem for Charles. Things like this came pretty easy to him. He finished his worksheet in five minutes. Tiffany, from what he could see, was struggling a little. Obviously not being able to do it in her head, she resorted to counting on her fingers and doing scratch work in the margin of the page. Charles looked over to Miss Donna. She was busy reading a book. " Catcher in the Rye" it said. Then he looked to Tiffany. When he walked into class, she was already seated in the desk next to his. She didn't try to talk to him. She didn't even look at him. Her hair was like a long dark brown veil, hiding her face from everyone.

" Times almost up, kids. Finish whatever problem you're working on. I'm coming to pick up the worksheets." Miss Donna announced, setting the book down on her desk. Tiffany's fingers tensed up around the pencil. She wasn't finished. Charles took a peak at her worksheet. She had a good seven problems left to do. Maybe he could help. Miss Donna always picked up papers one row at a time. Starting with the row right by her desk which was all the way on the other side of the room, away from Charles. There's around thirty kids in the class so it gives him enough time to do what he planned to do.

He took a deep breath before whispering to her, " Hey."

She hesitated before slowly turning her head in his direction. Just enough for him to see her profile. She looked confused. She probably was asking herself why was he talking to her? Yesterday he said he didn't want anything to do with her. Her look of confusion went into that of shock when she saw Charles discreetly slide his worksheet over to her.

She looked at Charles, now fully facing him. He gave her curt nod. Her eyes shifted from him to the paper then back to him before hesitantly copying each answer. Fortunately for them, she finished in the nick of time. She whispered a quick, " thanks ".

Instead of saying 'you're welcome', he leaned in and whispered, " Meet me at the old jungle gym at recess."

Eyebrows raised, she stared at him for a few moments before giving a quiet "okay".

A few moments after that, it was silent between them again. Miss Donna began teaching the last subject before lunch.

Tiffany went back to staring down at her notebook with her hair hiding her face.

No one really went over to the old jungle gym anymore. The gym had been standing there since the school opened in the 20s. The once vibrant red paint dulled to a dirty brown, almost matching with the rust patches. The metal pipes creaked and clanged as Charles climbed his way to the top. He never played on it. He just liked to climbed to the top sometimes to relax. To get away from everything. To collect his thoughts.

Hearing two quick clangs, Charles looked down to see Tiffany at the bottom of the jungle gym, tapping on of the pipes to get his attention. Judging by her hesitance, he could tell she didn't want to climb up. He didn't blame her. The wobbliness of the bars always made him skeptical of its sturdiness whenever he climbed up.

" It's okay, I'm coming down."

He climbed down the jungle gym with ease.

Once reaching the ground, he turned to Tiffany and grabbed her hand, pulling her inside. He stopped in the center of the mound and sat down on one the bars. Tiffany sat on the one across from him.

They were quiet for a while. Tiffany couldn't keep eye contact with him. Her eyes were trained on her twiddling thumbs. Charles let out a sigh, fidgeting with the cuff of his sleeve.

" You're probably wondering why I had you come here after what happened yesterday..." She looked up. Her jaw clenched. " You probably think I'm a real asshole doin' this confusing shit, but I couldn't stop thinking about what happened. I couldn't stop feeling bad. I had to talk to you. I had to do something."

Her jaw trembled as a tear dripped from her eye. " I...I just." She wiped it way with the back of her hand."...I just wanted to be your friend."

" I know..." he let out a long breath. " If it wasn't obvious already, I'm not used to this." he motioned to Tiffany and himself. " No one ever really wants to get to know me. I'm just Creepy Charlie Ray to them. The kid born to a plumber and the town whore. The kid no one likes."

"..." At this point, Tiffany's eyes had softened. "...I like you."

He let out a small chuckle in disbelief, "...why? Why me of all people? You could make friends with anyone here, but you picked me."

Tiffany tucked a lock of hair behind her ear before making direct eye contact. " When I saw you, I felt something draw me to you. Like a , you know, a bond. A connection! It was something I've never really felt before. And what happened yesterday, I realized why. You're like me."

" Like you?" He was confused. What did she mean by like him? He thought they were almost complete opposites. " What do you mean...like you?"

His eyebrows slowly raised as he watched her reach for the lining of her dress and pull; revealing painful welts on her thighs. Obviously from a belt. The slight bruising indicated they were fresh. He couldn't look away. There were moments where he believed what happened to him was for a reason. That the physical and mental beatings were because he deserved it. But Tiffany? What could she have done to deserve this? Who would do something like that to someone like her?

" My sister. " was all she said before covering her legs back up. " But that's not the only thing. Even though you spent most of the times we were together ignoring me, I noticed a lot of things about you. The way you care what people think, but don't at the same time. How you learn things so easily. How you just...go with your gut no matter how terrified you are..."

Charles just looked on in awe. No wonder she was so persistent. Her walking with him, talking to him, wanting to be his friend. It was because she saw herself in him. Nothing like that has ever really happened to him before. He was so used to being the disappointment, the disgrace, the let down. So used to people gaining his trust, taking it, dangling it in his face, then shattering it against the pavement. Now here she was. This girl who actually liked him, who proved to show genuine care for him...

.

.

.

It's honestly hard to believe.

" I mean, when you punched Leonard in his mouth! WOW! I'd kill to be like that-" Noticing Charles's awestruck expression, she stopped herself before she could say anything else. She blushed a deep red as she hid her face with her hair.

" I mean..." she glanced to the side, picking at the rust patch on a nearby pole. " I wish I could be more like that, ya know? Like you. Before I pushed Leonard over, I was really scared to jump in. But I thought to myself ' What would Charles do?' You'd jump in without fear even if there was a possibility of you failing. So I did."

He sat there for a moment. His face glowed its very own shade of red. This was a new thing; having someone think so highly of him. He honestly didn't know how to handle it.

" Well..." he started sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, " What happened with you and Leonard was pretty something." Thinking about it, it really was crazy how she stuck up for him. " No one's ever really done that for me before."

" I'd do it again."

Feeling his chest tighten and his breath hitch, a small smile hesitantly spread across Charles's face. The first real smile in a long time.

" Really?" He asked. It came out like a whisper. His hand gripped the chest of his shirt.

" Yeah." she replied, smiling back at him.

His heart was pounding in his chest, and the smile Tiffany flashed him made it worse.

He wondered what he should do now.

Removing his hand from his shirt, he stuck it out to her. It shook a bit as he said one word.

"...Friends?"

Smile growing, she eagerly gripped his hand in a firm handshake.

" Friends."

DRIIIIIING! DRIIIIIING!

The two kids turned their heads to the sound of the school bell.

Charles grabbed Tiffany's hand to help her exit the jungle gym.

" Guess we gotta go in. Don't wanna be late for class." Charles said, beginning his stride to lead her through the pipes.

" Wait! Wait! Wait!" He felt Tiffany hold him back. " I almost forgot!"

Charles turned to Tiffany, wondering what she had as she quickly pulled something from her dress pocket. It was his tie.

" You left it on the playground yesterday." Taking a step towards him, she wrapped the tie around his neck, tying it perfectly.

" There." She grinned. " Perfect."

He looked down at his tie then to Tiffany. He felt his heart beating again. He bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself from the tears that threatened to flow from his eyes. God, why was he crying? He wiped away the stray tears that managed to come through. Taking her hand again, they left the maze of pipes. They watched the stampede of kids rush through the cafeteria doors as they walked to meet up with them. The two were a few feet away from the crowd when Charles stopped walking. Tiffany looked over her shoulder at him.

" What's wrong?" she asked.

" Nothing I just..." He squeezed her hand. " B-before we go..."

He took a hesitant step forward.

Then another until him and Tiffany were an inch apart.

He took a deep breath and did something he hasn't done in a long time.

.

.

.

He hugged her.

He hugged her tightly.

He didn't care if anyone saw.

" ...thank you."

He buried his face in the crook of her neck. It took Tiffany a few moments to register what was happening. She slowly wrapped her arms around his shoulders, resting her cheek on the side of his head.

" You're welcome."