Red Leaves Falling

Chapter Nine

My fingers trembled as I pulled myself into a sitting position. I wrapped my arms tightly around myself and stared at the woman who stood in front of me.

She looked at me with an expression of sadness.

"How are you feeling, dear?" She asked. Her voice was very sweet and unwavering.

Fine. I wanted to tell her that I felt fine. That everything was okay and that there was nothing wrong. But as I parted my lips to push the words out, my voice cracked. I could barely utter a thing.

The woman immediately poured me a glass of water and held it for me to drink, despite my attempts to drink it myself.

"No, dear," She chided,"You are too injured to be moving like that. Stay still."

The flow of the water down my throat was very soothing. I slid my tongue over my dry lips.

"Mom!" A voice called out and the door of the room slammed open. The eyes of the girl whose locker I had been stuffed into, stared back at me.

"You're awake." She stated. I nodded slightly in response, trying to analyse the scenario. My thoughts were muddled and I had a lot of questions relating to why I was here, at her place.

"Uh, w-w-" My voice cracked and I hung my head in embarrassment.

"I'm Stella and this is my daughter Aline." The woman said. I oscillated my gaze between the pair.

"If you don't mind, may I ask you where you got those bruises?" She said, gently. My eyes widened a fraction. I knew where this conversation was going to go.

I shook my head vigorously and plunged my legs onto the floor and stood up quickly. A throbbing pain went through my body and I flinched.

"It's okay, dear. You can tell us." She said. Aline was staring at me with an unreadable expression. I scanned my eyes across the room and found my bag beside the bed. I hurriedly flung it over my shoulders and turned to face the woman.

"T-t-tha-" I steadied myself and took a deep breath. "Thank you." I said. Then I pushed the door open and made my way past their living room, kitchen and out of the door into the pouring rain.

It rained pretty often these days. The last downpour had been on the day August Becker had died. I smiled to myself at the thought.

Funny world.

That day too I had been stuffed into a locker. Except there was no one to help me out.

Maybe today was my turn. Maybe today was my turn to jump.

My turn to bleed all over that pavement.

My turn to coat his blood.