The Hand
1.
His scent was so familiar. It was like when my mom used to wake me up from a nap when I was little. It was pleasant, yet not at all comfortable. A soft and caring hand giving you a firm slap in the face. It made me feel like an animal the way I could tell he was coming before I could see or even hear him. His scent alone was enough to alert me of his presence. As he got closer, I could almost hear the smile in his voice. He was chatting with someone, catching up. When I saw him, the caring hand came back across my face, and once again stung. His eyes met mine for a moment, then flickered around the room, taking in everything quickly. I looked down at my desk, wringing my hands and biting my lip. He found a seat a few over from my row, right in line with my desk. No one sat in the row between us, so as the bell rang, I could see the outline of his sky blue shirt and sandy blonde hair through the corner of my eye. As the teacher called the class to attention, I looked anywhere but into his warm brown eyes.
I didn’t let myself look over, even though I felt a hot stare into my profile. I didn’t want to be let down if it was just the weird gothic boy sitting by the window.
The class crept by, and each time a breeze rolled by through the open window, the soft hand once again jabbed at my face and caused memories to invade my brain. Memories I’d spent all summer forcing away.
Funny how a simple smell can bring everything back.
Finally, the bell rang and the class erupted in noise as the students ran away to the next period, anxious to see what friends they had, what friends they could meet. I just wanted to be alone, and to get it over with. So when he called my name, the hand should have stabbed me with a dagger.
“What do you have next?” he asked, holding his schedule out to me, showing me.
I mumbled incoherently. I didn’t know what to say, my brain couldn’t form words. “I, uh. Um… I have—“
I stopped talking as he reached toward me and took my schedule away from my purple folder. He scanned it silently, then looked at me. His brown eyes burned into me, making my heart jump and my stomach drop. “I guess we have next period together. Wanna walk with me?” he asked, handing me back the paper.
My mouth opened and shut silently, words escaping me. I just nodded and turned toward the door. The warm hand was patting my shoulder, toying with me. It was holding a gun to my face and loading it, but it wasn’t quite ready to fire.
His smile only made the hand load up and cock faster.
I didn’t even know what class I was headed to, so I just followed him blindly, my face stuck in a stunned expression. I couldn’t imagine this happening in real life. It had to be a dream. It was too good to be true; it was too unreal to be reality. He wouldn’t walk me to class after all that happened. He wouldn’t forgive the things that had happened. No amount of time could bring forgiveness.
As if he could read my frantic thoughts, as we reached the Physics classroom, he opened his mouth to speak to me before entering. “I missed you over break,” he said, leaning against the wall and examining my face. I had gotten a haircut, and my tan was slightly darker. “I didn’t think I’d be as excited to see you.”
All I could get out was a simple “huh,” and even that was muffled.
The gun was being fully cocked, and pointed directly at my heart.
“I missed the good morning texts, I missed the random colored pictures. I know it won’t be easy, but I wanna try to work this out.”
The gun was lowered, but the hand was still held in a closed fist.
“I was wrong, and you were wrong. We made mistakes, we messed up. But nothing is completely broken.”
Now, the hand was slowly opening, reaching for my face, not in a swift, violent movement, but a soft, gentle motion.
“Can we try again?” he asked, moving my hair away from my eyes and smiling. His eyes sparkled, and his nose crinkled as he smiled.
The hand caressed my face, a soft and loving touch. It brought my face close to his, my lips close to his. I felt his scent invade my head, his warmth cover my body. The touch was warm. It was caring. It was both pleasant and comforting. It was home.
I didn’t let myself look over, even though I felt a hot stare into my profile. I didn’t want to be let down if it was just the weird gothic boy sitting by the window.
The class crept by, and each time a breeze rolled by through the open window, the soft hand once again jabbed at my face and caused memories to invade my brain. Memories I’d spent all summer forcing away.
Funny how a simple smell can bring everything back.
Finally, the bell rang and the class erupted in noise as the students ran away to the next period, anxious to see what friends they had, what friends they could meet. I just wanted to be alone, and to get it over with. So when he called my name, the hand should have stabbed me with a dagger.
“What do you have next?” he asked, holding his schedule out to me, showing me.
I mumbled incoherently. I didn’t know what to say, my brain couldn’t form words. “I, uh. Um… I have—“
I stopped talking as he reached toward me and took my schedule away from my purple folder. He scanned it silently, then looked at me. His brown eyes burned into me, making my heart jump and my stomach drop. “I guess we have next period together. Wanna walk with me?” he asked, handing me back the paper.
My mouth opened and shut silently, words escaping me. I just nodded and turned toward the door. The warm hand was patting my shoulder, toying with me. It was holding a gun to my face and loading it, but it wasn’t quite ready to fire.
His smile only made the hand load up and cock faster.
I didn’t even know what class I was headed to, so I just followed him blindly, my face stuck in a stunned expression. I couldn’t imagine this happening in real life. It had to be a dream. It was too good to be true; it was too unreal to be reality. He wouldn’t walk me to class after all that happened. He wouldn’t forgive the things that had happened. No amount of time could bring forgiveness.
As if he could read my frantic thoughts, as we reached the Physics classroom, he opened his mouth to speak to me before entering. “I missed you over break,” he said, leaning against the wall and examining my face. I had gotten a haircut, and my tan was slightly darker. “I didn’t think I’d be as excited to see you.”
All I could get out was a simple “huh,” and even that was muffled.
The gun was being fully cocked, and pointed directly at my heart.
“I missed the good morning texts, I missed the random colored pictures. I know it won’t be easy, but I wanna try to work this out.”
The gun was lowered, but the hand was still held in a closed fist.
“I was wrong, and you were wrong. We made mistakes, we messed up. But nothing is completely broken.”
Now, the hand was slowly opening, reaching for my face, not in a swift, violent movement, but a soft, gentle motion.
“Can we try again?” he asked, moving my hair away from my eyes and smiling. His eyes sparkled, and his nose crinkled as he smiled.
The hand caressed my face, a soft and loving touch. It brought my face close to his, my lips close to his. I felt his scent invade my head, his warmth cover my body. The touch was warm. It was caring. It was both pleasant and comforting. It was home.