touch.

III

As I read my notes, I eye his tree. He's not there. My mind is gone thinking about his whereabouts. Sighing, I flip to the next page of my notebook.

Later I see the same guy that hit him last week, smiling, pulling his sleeves to his elbows as he walk behind the building. Daring me you say, I decided to follow him. Apparently they are behind the bushes and trees—Demitri's pants is almost off.

"Wooooo what is this? Hickey? Another hickey? You fuckboy!" Now there's around 5 boys, teasing him and pulling his shirt. "This c**k is so big is it? Big? Come on, Willy is it big? Do you think it's that big?" He says to his friend, laughing annoyingly as he pleasingly grab Demitri's private spot. Then the other guy—Willy—grabs the spot too, rubbing it all they want. He struggles to get out, but the guys are bigger than him.

He does not scream, but he does flinches and groans in agony.

Demitri falls hard on his stomach, blood streaming from his nose and a cut at the edge of his lips. I also had noticed how his cheekbones are slowly becoming blue, probably from the hitting. I say none, but try to pull him out of the situation.

Unlucky me you say, in that moment, Demitri throw a solid hard punch.

On my face.

Damn, this boy actually got fists.

His eyes widen when he realizes he had hit the wrong person. I can actually see mouth gaping in utter shock. The two guys from earlier fight look at me in horror as they pull the other guys with them.

With his lips trembling, he looks down and fixes his pants up in quick motion as he kneel down in front of me—his head is as the same level as my waist. Not long after that he takes off his belt slowly.

I can actually hear my heart beating, as if it was on a speaker, as if I'm sprinting.

Is this the part he's supposed to rape me like what they had said? I wonder to myself, watching him who's struggling to take his belt off on the ground. His eyes streams down silent tears. But we didn't make any physical contact?—at least not a soft passionate, flirty kinda touch, unless he labeled the punch just now as an act of love?

My jaw still aches from the punch, but I stay still, staring down at him.

I decide to stay calm, just trying to figure how close is the well-spread rumor to truth. If he's going to rape me, I could've easily scream, right? I mean it's public, despite the fact it's getting late and nobody's here.

He folds the belt in his palm as he mouths a thousand sorry. Handing it to me, he's now taking his shirt off.

"Demitri," I say, sounding more like a whisper. "Stop,"

He looks up at me, eyes full of sad tears. Slowly, I take the belt from his hand, and he turns to face his back at me.

I gasp, seeing a thousand cuts and scars on his back. Somehow I find the sight fascinating.

I feel like hugging him, but that does not seem like the best thing to do right now.

Now everything makes sense. The scars on his back, the abuse, the belt, the rape rumor—everything.

I slide his belt back into the holes around his waist. When he realize I'm not hitting him, he faces me again slowly.

His belt clicks together again.

"You," He starts, licking his lips. "You're not-" Demitri touches the head of his belt that I had put back on him. He looks up at me with a puzzled look.

"Shh," I tell him, shaking my head slowly. He pulls his shirt back on and run away across the road, disappearing from my sight.

What was that?