PLEASE READ A/N-
I've had a few requests to make the chapters shorter so I'm going to do that. Also, because they seem to fit better this time around.
Would you rather I just updated when I had a chapter or on some sort of schedule? Please let me know.
I want to warn people that this story will contain some dark themes, such as domestic abuse so if that is a trigger, you might not want to read. The abuse will be referenced but only heavily featured in a few chapters, I will always warn ahead, and all can be read around.
Human – Christina Perri
4 years later
Ana's POV
Growing up,my parent only put value on three things; none of those were me. My parents valued booze, drugs and money. I was more of an inconvenience that they once hadn't had the heart to get rid of. I'd never asked why they kept me; it wasn't worth knowing. I'd think I just materialised out of thin air one day, like some kind of alien from a far-off planet. But, that would have meant someone once would have actually wanted me. You would think that with parents like mine, they wouldn't have cared if I stayed out all night and didn't come home. But, that would have meant they wouldn't have had anyone to look after them. In reality, that was probably the only reason they chose to keep me, in the first place.
School was my escape growing up. Don't get me wrong, school sucked! As hard as I tried to blend in just enough not to be seen, it never quiet worked. Being at school meant I was safe from the physical torment and pain, but I was still subjected to emotional and verbal abuse. When I was little, the kids would try and be my friend, but I couldn't run with them because I was too tired to play and when I couldn't come to their houses or parties, they just stopped trying. But, the older I got, the worse it became. I always picked things up easily; it's just the way my brain worked. So, the other kids hated the fact that I was smarter than them and picked on me for being a nerd. But that wasn't the real problem; the real problem was that I never gave them rise, I never cried or talked back. I just stood there and let them do whatever they wanted. I learned very early on that it was the only way to survive. Giving no reaction was better for me, than screaming or crying, or God forbid, fighting back; so, I didn't. What they couldn't understand was that nothing they could ever say or do to me would ever come close to my home life; so they didn't matter.
In fact, I didn't ever really say anything at all. I was more or less completely mute unless it was out of sheer necessity. Like asking to go to the toilet or answering "here" for attendance. Or, answer a question directly asked of me. But, other than that, I didn't talk. Talking at home only caused pain, so it wasn't worth it. For the longest time, I think people thought I couldn't speak or didn't understand them. I didn't really start to talk until I was 17. But, from then on, it was only the bare minimum because I didn't, and still don't see the point in talking past what is required. Now, I talk to people and ask about their day, and shit like that; just so that I can maintain the façade of being a functioning, normal human being. I'm not; but no one has ever really gotten close enough to see it. God only knows what they would do if they really saw the realme.
Now, I just do what is required to exist on the outskirts of society; not just because that's the way society has left me, but because that's the way I like it. I've never been the type of person to wear fancy colorful clothes and stand out when I walk into a room. I prefer blending in the background. It's an art form, really. You can't dress too plain or you will stand out; you can't wear anything too fitted or too baggy. You have to put just the right amount of effort into your hair. It has to be neat, but not showy; like a pony tail. Your clothes need to be cheap, but not cheap enough that you border on looking homeless. Trust me, I've been there and that just brings more attention. If you're going to wear make-up, it has to be subtle. None of this bold lip or fake lashes shit; just enough to highlight natural features. Or, in my case, just don't wear any unless it's necessary for work. That's a different story altogether, when I wear make-up, I don't even look like me anymore. But, that's intentional.
When you exist on the outskirts of society, no one notices you and that's the way I like it. You see, I have this thing, now let me explain before you call me crazy. I "people-watch", not in the stalk-you-and-tie-you-up in my basement and kill you, kind of way. I don't own binoculars, nor do I follow a single person or anyone for that matter. I just like to imagine other people's lives as they go by. Like, right now, I'm sat on a bench at a park. I've done this for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I used to sit out on the fire escape and watch the world go by. I loved sitting out there; it was the one place I could get away when my father was in one of his moodsor my mother was entertaining a client. So, I made up stories about the people that walked about below me. It made life easier back then; I could and still can escape. Back then it was reality; now it's the memories that plague my mind.
Sitting on a bench in the park watching the world go by, people don't notice me here looking at them, and questioning their life stories. And because it's New York, they don't have enough time to look at me. I just want a few more minutes of the tranquillity that comes from being in the park, but I know I'll be cutting it close to get Ben if I wait any longer. So, I close my eyes and take a deep breath trying to talk myself into standing up. The streets are never quiet in this town; especially at this time of day. Never the less, I bite the bullet and stand up, when suddenly I'm hit with a force that sends me flying.
Snap!
I wince as my body impacts with the floor, the bones in my wrist crunch. I don't cry out nor scream. I can't; my developed reflexes won't let me. I simply wince and wait until my body stills to assess the damage.
"Fuck, I'm so sorry." A gruff male voice above me states. I look up to see familiar grey eyes above me. When my eyes connect with his, he has the same reaction as most people do. He takes a step back; there is something about the striking color of my eyes that seems to scare most people. The almost crystal-clear blue surrounded by a navy-blue rim of the iris bewilder most people.
"It's ok." I say automatically on reflex as I cradle my wrist to my chest. I look it over and there's no bone protruding and it hasn't yet gone blue, which means it's most likely a fracture. I twist my uninjured hand by my side without being overtly obvious, signalling my two 'guard dogs' to stand down, I know they'll come running, otherwise.
"Are you ok?" He asks, with a concerned look on his face.
"That's a stupid question, you know?" Ok, a "yes" would have sufficed!
"I know, but it's what you're suppose to say."
"I know. Yes, I'm ok; it is only a broken wrist."
"Only a broken wrist? If it's broken, wouldn't you be crying or something?" He asks, in an almost accusatory tone.
"I have a high tolerance to pain. It does hurt, but I just don't show it. Also, this isn't my first broken wrist, so I know what it feels like."
"Yeah, I supposed we've all broken a bone or two at some point." Yeah, a bone or two? Try a hundred.
"I'm going to go to the hospital so I can get it checked out."
"I'll come with you." He says firmly, following me as I turn in the direction of the hospital.
"I'm fine by myself."
"Anastasia, come on, it's the least I can do."
"You remember me?" I stammer out; trying, but failing to hide my shock.
"That surprises you?" He says, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You were wasted that night."
"No one could be wasted enough to forget you." I blush looking away from him, unable to maintain eye contact. Why did I like that? "Come on, Mount Sinai's not far."
"Err, sure." I stammer out.
We walk in silence for a while and I can tell it bothers him because he keeps looking at me like he wants to say something. But, then he chickens out at the last second. So, I bite the bullet and ask, not because the silence bothers me, but because I think he needs it.
"So, what were you doing in the park?"
"Running. I really am sorry I ran into you."
"It's ok, but I mean, why that park?"
"Oh, because it's quieter than Central Park and I like running the stairs. What were you doing there?"
"Erm."
"Come on, I promise I won't judge." He says, holding up his pinkie to promise me. Although, how he knows that's why I'm holding back, I don't know.
"People watching."
"Like stalking?" He says, with mock accusation.
"No, I just sit on a bench and watch people go by and, I dunno, listen to their conversations and stuff like that. Urgh, that sounds terrible."
"It doesn't sound bad. You mean, like people do on the train or bus, right?"
"Yeah, exactly. I don't know, it kills time. I don't really go on public transport very much, so I have to find something else to fulfil my future stalker, serial killer tendencies." I say, desperately hoping he understands my joke.
"Yeah, well if you ever need help hiding a body, I know a guy." He says, bumping my shoulder and making us both laugh loudly enough to get a few funny looks from people on the street.
"Thanks, but I think my mob contacts will suffice." I say, only half joking.
"My apologies, wouldn't want to offend the mob by contracting out!" He says, with mock sincerity that highlights the absurdity of the conversation.
"See, you get it. Plus, I kinda like my kneecaps unfractured."
"Don't most people?"
We fall into an easy silence as we come up on Central Park. But, this time he is the one to break the silence.
"Wanna make a bet?"
"Random, but sure, why not."
"If you're wrong and your wrist isn't broken, I get to take you on a date, and if-"
"Wait, hold on a second, are you actually using the fact that you broke my wrist to ask me on a date?" I interrupt.
"Yeah, why not?"
"I bet your Mom would be very proud." I say, rolling my eyes.
"Maybe not, but it's not every day a guy runs into a beautiful girl; so, a guy has got to try and make it up to her somehow." I snort at the use of "beautiful".
"My guess is that most guys would stop at taking her to the hospital and apologise for ruining her plans."
"I'm not most guys, and just what plans am I ruining?"
"None; I'm just saying."
"It's a Friday, are you really telling me a girl who looks like you doesn't have any plans for tonight?"
"Yes."
"Going out with friends?"
"No."
"What do you do for fun?"
"I don't really, I guess work, or I watch tv."
"Work?"
"I'm a croupier, it's fun to watch rich idiots lose money." It's easier to explain that than the real ins and outs of my job.
"Well, boyfriend then?" I scoff in response.
"No. Shouldn't you have asked me that before you asked me out?"
"Probably. Girlfriend?"
"Not a lesbian!" I chuckle.
"Family, then?"
"Don't have any."
"Really? None?" He asks raising an eyebrow, which somehow makes me feel like I'm the one at fault for that.
"None." I spit out maybe too harshly, but it's a touchy subject.
"Ok, back to the bet. If it isn't broken, then I get to take you on a date; and if it is broken, then I'm going to teach you how to have fun." He says, thankfully, picking up on the fact that I don't want to talk about my family, or lack thereof.
"Doesn't that basically get you what you want, either way?"
"Maybe."
"Ok, fine."
"Fine?" He says double checking that I'm serious.
I don't know how to explain it, but he makes me safe in a way I'm not sure I've ever felt before. So I find myself agreeing to his absurd bet despite the fact he's a virtual stranger. What the hell have I got myself into?
He's about to say something else, but he looks up and sees that we are in front of the hospital.
Fuck!
Thanks as always for reading.
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Fearfully Brave.