Red Leaves Falling

Chapter Two

I stared at the cereal placed in front of me blankly. I kept my head down, feeling the looks mom and dad were giving me. Jacob was the only one who remained nonchalant and completely unaware of the ice and tension between us.

Mom cleared her throat, suddenly and reached over to pour a glass of water for me. Dad was tapping his foot impatiently on the ground, staring at me with pure irritation. Breakfast was always like this these days. Ever since, I'd seen the dead boy.

Mom and dad had booked countless sessions with therapists but I wouldn't utter a word. They had tried for weeks and still hadn't given up the notion. They had managed to convince me to sleep with them at nights, in case I got nightmares and mom was extra careful about everything she did or said around me.

I was frustrated. I wasn't allowed to go to school until I was back to normal. But the truth was that I was completely normal. My life since the start of school had been like this. Except, there was never a heavy weight that made me exhibit my emotions out loud. I had always presented a neater and much better version of myself, despite the despair I felt within.

The boy, August Becker's, image plagued my mind consistently and shattered all plans I had of playing a fake smile on my lips and putting up a pretense. I simply couldn't do it. I was too exhausted and worn out to even lift the corners of my mouth to speak.

But despite everything, I still wanted to be treated like I always was without them being cautious.

I sighed. Pushing the glass of water back, I stood up from the table.

"I'm tired, I'll go get some sleep."I rushed to my room, ignoring dad's angry shouts and slammed the door. Securing the lock, I stood there for a moment, frozen.

I made a place for myself in bed and stared at the plain white ceiling. I didn't want to close my eyes or sleep. Each time, I found myself staring at August Becker, surrounded by blood, calling out to me.

It didn't matter how much I tried to erase that day away from my life, the scene played over and over in my head. It wasn't that I was scared of blood or had never seen a dead person before. The fact that drove me over the edge was the cuts and bruises I vaguely saw on his body. The same ones I had on my own. Marked and remarked over and over again by the same people.

The fact that maybe we were the one and the same made my insides churn.

I couldn't help but envision myself in his place, cloaked in the pain and misery of my own blood, with soulless eyes devoid of any feeling.

I laughed humorlessly, as I thought about it.

My plain life, like a blank canvas, with no colors.

Red would make such a beautiful painting.