Jules was always told that her attention was never where it was supposed to be.
When she was to be focusing on a test, her eyes were on the clock, counting down the minutes until class would be over and she could leave. When she was being lectured, she was focusing on the reasons why she got in trouble and how she could critique them to where next time, she would not be caught. When it was winter, she thought of summer. When she was away, she thought of home.
So now, on the ground, beaten and being held up by a string, she thought of the pale boy.
Chaos surrounded her. Screams, desperate to reach her ears though they all sounded under water. She heard the voices, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't hear the words. Maybe it was the fall, or the shock, or the overwhelming grief she felt, but the world was a daze and all she could see or think or know was the pale boy only a couple feet away.
He was sprinting, his once ice blonde hair dyed black with ashes. His skin was bruised, scraped, cut, torn. She could only imagine what she looked like.
The voices still fought their way to her, touching her earlobes and falling to the ground in defeat. Jules stared at the boy, whose eyes flooded.
Her lungs could only breathe in the familiar scent of him, her eyes could only see his attempt of a smile, her body could only feel his touch, and her mind could only think of him when she was supposed to be thinking of the war around her.
Why could she never focus on what she needed to?
She wasn't too sure if she would ever find out.
Jules' vision blackened when a voice was finally able to be understood.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
And somehow that whisper was louder than the screams.