He was sleeping underneath the shade of the cherry blossom tree. Grand and rich with color, its deep pinks and magentas fluttered from slender strokes of ebony branches. It was strategically tucked behind the grand pergola, which was overrun with vibrant vines and fragrant yellow flowers. The picturesque scene was awashed with the mellow light of the sun.
Sitting on a marble bench mere paces away, was a younger Gemma holding her books and observing the boy—more like man, really—with cool interest. His face, handsome but noticeably uneasy in his dream state, is nothing short of captivating. She, however, is not fascinated with his cut-glass cheekbones and wavy tendrils of short, caramel hair. She does not entertain the darker fancies that other girls her age might have.
Gemma is looking at his fingers.
They twitch and twiddle about in some kind of frenzied dance, colliding with each other, breaking apart, and colliding once again. They are long and elegant, moving without the purpose they had been gifted with. In a strange way, it is mesmerizing.
Her moment of observation is abruptly ended when a small, olive-skinned girl walks past the boy, pauses a bit, and crouches down besides him. Her face, pleasant in an open and radiant kind of way, is marked with a soft smile. She drops her satchel and casually lies besides him, giggling a bit when he wakes up with a start. He clambers up to his feet, breathing a little heavily. The girl stands up as well, but not nearly as rushed.
"You—," he splutters, "when did you get here?!"
"I came just now," she replies softly. Her inflection was slightly uneven, suggesting a foreign background of some sort. She's avoiding his eyes, displaying a shyness that contradicted her previously bold behavior.
"Don't...don't do these kind of immature things," he mutters, wiping his face to cover his evident embarrassment. "It's troublesome."
Almost instantly, the little grin on her face is replaced with a genuine look of concern. Her eyes are large and dark when they scan the tall boy's face. He pauses in his face-wiping and stares back at her. After a moment, he clears his throat and busies himself with smoothing out his clothes and hair. The silence rolls out until the girl finally decides to speak.
"Oh, amore mio," she starts tenderly, "did you have another bad dream?"
"It's nothing. It's nothing you should be concerned about." Despite his mild response, that brief flash of melancholy in his weary eyes seems to suggest otherwise.
But the girl acknowledges his boundaries, not wanting to push him any further.
"Okay. You want to go to class now? You missed two already."
"No...no. I'm just going to rest a bit more. I hardly got any sleep last night."
She smiles again, the same gracious smile, and nods. She walks away without another word.
Gemma stands up to leave as well, clutching her sketchbook to her chest. He glances at her, staring at her, but not really seeing her. His eyes are uncertain, glazed over with confusion and pain.
She makes her way to her next class, not wanting to be late. She swears she could feel her lungs tightening, struggling to release the lightest breath.
But she doesn't dare breathe until she leaves his presence.
She sits in her customary seat in the art room, the one in the far left corner. And she waits, watching the clock.
Surely enough, he arrives right before the bell rings, taking the seat right in front of hers. She waits a couple minutes for him to settle in, take out his sketchbook, and lean comfortably on his desk. After a long pause, she summons the courage to lift her hand and gently tap his shoulder.
"Hi," she smiles a bit, trying her best to imitate the girl from before. The smile feels forced and stiff on her face, but the boy seems to receive it quite well. The corner of his mouth rises the slightest bit and, ignoring the Ms. Teia's dirty look, screeches his chair around to face her.
"You're Gemma, right?" His tone is warm and friendly. He was not the same boy from before. That boy, vulnerable and mysterious underneath the vibrant cherry blossom tree, was a solemn shadow of the one that sat in front of her now. His fingers, still long and elegant, rested surely and steadily on the edge of her desk.
"Yes. And you are Anthony?"
"Yup. That's me." His language is informal and his tone is chipper.
The boy from before is dead. He is a fleeting image, a soft smudge on Gemma's conscience.
Despite her slight uneasiness, she continues to smile.
"I was wondering if you could help me with my painting. I need a fresh perspective."
"Yeah, no problem. Sounds cool."
"Cool. Thanks."
There is a bit of an awkward silence, but they both grin and brush it off.
Anthony turns back to his desk, only to screech around five seconds later.
"You, uh, wanna get coffee afterwards?" He looks at her expectantly, flashing his teeth this time.
"Sounds cool."
"Cool."
He turns to the front, oblivious to Gemma's tiny smile.
- troublesometroublesometroublesometroublesometroubl esometroublesometroublesome -
She woke up clammy and white-faced, desperately gasping for air. She lies for a minute, trying to calm her frantic heart and collect her thoughts.
Her lips feel dry, tongue like lead in her mouth. Her head is throbbing considerably.
She needs to stand eventually. There is far too much that has to be done, after all.
The sky is a horrendous shade of orange. She squints against the sun and slowly pulls herself up. There is a crowbar nearby, perhaps a little more than a foot long, that is half-hidden behind the dumpster. With heavy feet, she limps over and picks it up. It is dirty and rusted, darkened with patches of dried blood and other substances. She wipes it off her pants.
She pulls off her black sweatshirt, drapes it around her neck, and pulls up the leg of her worn jeans. Thankfully, it appears as though the bone hasn't gone broken through skin. There is, however, enough swelling to make her wince a bit.
After aligning the crowbar to the side of her leg, she steadies it with one hand and methodically wraps the sweatshirt around. With a pained grunt, she finishes off the makeshift splint with a rather bulky knot.
After examining it for a bit, she tentatively takes a few steps forward. The pain is definitely there, but it's bearable. As long as she doesn't apply too much pressure to the injured leg, she could manage.
She hobbles slowly down the alleyway, heading for home. She would need to tell Gemma and Saoirse immediately. How would she even tell them?
"Right, so Bethany was kidnapped and our supplies were stolen. I broke my leg too,"she practices aloud. Her voice sounds abnormally loud in the narrow alleyway. It cuts cleanly through the miasma of decay and ruin like a knife.
She shakes her head. She would have to try another approach.
"Right, so Be—"
A bloodcurdling growl echoes through the alleyway.
She freezes.
a/n:
HEY. It's been a while.
I've had a ridiculous number of tests (still do), so studying has taken up 95% of my schedule. I'm very sorry for not updating any sooner!
Anyway, right, so Alek is kind of screwed. I love tormenting lovely Alek. :D
She's quiet, so it's great fun to push her over the limit! WOO!
Thank you for reading! Leave me a review? :)
