Always There

Follow the main characters as they go on their own paths through life while struggling with their own inner battles.
Alisha Reynolds: A spunky keep-to-herself kind of gal. She likes having someone who at least acknowledges her existence. Moonlit walks and dark chocolate are romantic but too much can sufficate her.
Brandon: A proud bi-sexual, he constantly puts up face with the other kids. Meanwhile at home his family is falling apart. Still he attempts to prevail.

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10. Alisha

I was about to leave when the door opened. Even though this was Brandon's house, it didn't seem like they truly ever lived there. The man answering the door didn't look anything like his family.

Crazy black shaggy hair tangled in matted places. Crazed brown eyes stared out in an untamed frenzy. It was quite obvious that this person had been through a lot within the past few days. A traumatic experience.

"Alisha?" The stranger asked.

Taken aback I stumbled backwards. He knew my name! The thing knew my name! It held out a hand and I almost ran. If it wasn't for his scar then I would have turned and screamed.

"Brandon?" My eyes searched within those freaked mochas. Somewhere deep within them I saw a hint of the old fun bi-sexual friend I had hung out with. That scar, I thanked it. Brandon was the only person I knew to have a scar go all the way around his hand. I thanked it for appearing because if I had ran one more time from Brandon, I didn't know what I would do.

"Brandon!" I laughed as I flung myself at him. He caught me with shaky frail arms, and when he stumbled I knew something was wrong. Stepping back, I made a closer assessment.

He was almost a grey color. Pale sickly skin. Unhealthy. It stuck to his bones as if he hadn't been born with any muscle. He looked like he was bordering on anorexia.The skin on his face was taught around his frail frame.It was obvious that he had lost some serious weight. He was a ghastly sight.

"What's wrong?" I asked, helping him stand up.

"I'm fine." He responded stubbornly allowing the help. Even he couldn't ignore his condition.

Together we walked inside. He slowly sinked into the couch and his head fell back.

"Brandon you look ghostly and sick. You obviously need to rest," I over looked him once more, "and eat."

His skin was closely pulled over his cheekbones. The bags underneath those one gorgeous eyes made him seem years older. Something had happened. Something major, and big.

"I said I am fine Alisha. Just let it go." His voice strained. I could tell he had either used it too much or not at all. His condition, both mentally and physically, put me on the verge of screaming in some form of emotion. I couldn't yet decide wether or not it was fury, depression, or fear. Maybe a mix of all three.

I sat up and faced him. It broke my heart to see him wasted. Like he had consumed alcohol with nothing but pills. We both knew he wouldn't do such a thing, but his appearance said otherwise.

"Brandon Ryan Americks! You sit here and you tell me what the hell is going on before I walk out of your life for good!" I yelled at him a tear making it's home into my brand new pair of Old Navy jeans.

My breathing became more labored as time ticked on. Like with each breath a five-pound rock was added to my chest. Just as I thought an answer wouldn't come, he sighed and opened his eyes staring up at the cieling.

"You wouldn't understand."

"I could if you just told me!" I nearly fussed in exasperation. Giving up was a dreadful feeling that I didn't want to face. Not now, nor ever. Not when I came so close to admitting that I liked him. That I wanted to be with him for eternity. He couldn't push me away like this. It just wasn't fair.

"You wouldn't okay?!? I said leave it alone!" His voice pierced my heart and a gasp of utter hurt escaped my lips. His hands flew up in the air as he faced me full on.

Frantic maddened eyes stared through and into me. Crying out for help. Seeking for someone to talk to. His chest heaved up and down. Up and down in an effort to make nutrient-deprived lungs work. Brandon was on the verge on insanity. He looked as though he would tear me apart limb from limb if he could.

I let my eyes drop. Afraid I would turn into him if I met those burning hating beads for a second longer. My breath came in short sobs. I didn't care if he saw me crying. At least I could feel something. All I came here for was a second chance. Somehow, though I didn't know how, I even managed to screw that up.

Wiping my eyes clear of smudged mascara, I admitted defeat. (Something I wasn't going to ever do again). He didn't want me. Led me to think we had a chance. Relationships were built on trust but obviously I wasn't worthy. Of his trust, his friendship, of anything.

Shaking my head I got up and ran, no not ran- sprinted out of his house. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't trust me. I was the one to break his heart. I deserved this. I deserved anything but his affection. So why then, did I expect it?

Was it because I was so wound up in my selfishness that I wanted him to like me? But is it really so selfish to wish to be liked for who I am. Who am I? I stood on the sidewalk outside of his house, gripping my stomache, thinking about that question. Truth was I didn't really know. Hell, if even I don't know then how did I come to think that Brandon would?

I shook my head and the waterslides continued to run. I ran with closed eyes. I didn't want to stop. I was afraid that if i did stop then I wouldn't be able to cope with the pain building inside my chest. A wall of hurt and betrayal. The need for oxygen drove me to continue.

At this pont I was far past my own house. The legs underneath me weren't even mine anymore. They switched so fast it seemed like a blur. I couldn’t stop, even as I wished for some form of control so that I could catch my breath, there came none. They moved as if cheetahs were chasing me. I lost balance and came crashing down. My hands flared out in front of me to try and stop the fall.

A cry escaped my lips as my already sprained wrist snapped into two. The bone penetrated skin and blood poured everywhere. Honestly it was a gruesome sight, but I wasn’t afraid of it nor was I crying because of the pain.

I would take every bone in my body and smash it rather than face the pain inside. Not my wrist- but my heart. It cried when nobody could hear it’s relentless agony, leaving me the only outlet and having to deal with it alone. The pain only faded slightly with my wrist distracting me, but that didn’t ease its worth.

I brought the shattered bone to my chest, cradling it and rocking back and forth. As if drawing a less painful object near my chest would ease the heartache. But it didn’t. I sat there crying. A teenage girl of seventeen who didn’t know where in the world she would go. My sobs slowly died down and I just sat there in my pool of wrist blood.

Looking around I searched for any locations that could tell me how far the hospital was. Nothing. I couldn’t even tell what the street sign read. So I took off my shirt and wrapped my wrist, trying to prevent further blood loss. It was a great deal of pain, sure. But I didn’t care. If Brandon didn’t then why should I. Inhaling to take my mind off of it, I focused on not passing out.

At last a taxi cab pulled up. I didn’t care that I was just in a bra. My shirt was soaked with scarlet liquid and if the driver had any sense he or she wouldn’t care.Tying the now red fabric in a tight not, I reached around in my back pocket to grab my wallet before opening the door.

“Where to mam?” he was dark-skinned (not to be racist or anything, but he was seriously dark) with a sort of stubby afro hair style. I couldn’t see whether he had brown or black eyes seeing as he wasn’t looking at me.

“The hospital.” It was an obvious destination, but somehow I figured he was too politely natured to look at the situation.

“May I ask what happened to that little wrist of yours?” He asked still focused entirely on the road. He drove off leaving behind the mess on the cement. So he had been paying attention, but he was still refusing to look at me.

“Only if I can ask why you aren’t looking at my chest like any other guy would.” I replied.

“Well mam, it’s like my momma always said, ‘if it ain’t for you nor under you ownership don’t bother looking nor touching,’ and you seemed like you been through a lot.” He spoke.

I should have known really. His whole aura screamed southern countryman.

“Well I sprained my wrist while pounding it into…” I paused unsure of whether or not to tell him about the altar incident. Weren’t southern people supposed to be supper religious? What if I offended him?

“Into what mam?”

“An altar. I pounded my fist down on the altar and sprained it.”

He showed no signs of distaste, in fact his whole demeanor didn’t change. He remained calm and neutral.

“So yous been the one that cracked our purty altar wasn’t you?”

I looked up in shock. I hadn’t thought to look back for any damage! Not to mention I didn’t think that anyone still went to that church. It looked so old and worn down! I still remembered the spider webs!

“I- I’m so sorry! I-I-I didn’t r-realize-“

“It’s alright mam. Aside from you, I believe that I’m the only being that still goes in there. May I ask why though?”

“It was my first time praying. I had done an awful thing and didn’t know what to do. It felt like I was just talking to air and I got mad. I didn’t mean to crack it.” My voice faded at the end. I didn’t mean to do a lot of things but the last thing I wanted was to crack any religious feature.

“I was just kiddin’ bought that cracked part. I only noticed cuz there wasn’t no dust on that altar anymore.”

I let out a sigh of relief. At least I hadn’t broken anything religious. Exxcept possibly my chance at a so called heaven.

“You know it can seem like he ain’t paying attention to us. That talking to air only feeling. It just means he be a thinking bought things mam. He’s a listening to you.”

“It doesn’t feel that way.” I replied.

“Sometimes it don’t. But he still is. Allright mam. Here’s your stop. That’ll be five bucks.”

“Five bucks! But it was over 5 miles to here!” I choked out in shock. The energy it took made my head whirl. I looked at my shirt; it was now staining my jeans. Blood loss. I needed to get inside.

“You don’t need to be a fretting bout money. Just go get that hand fixed up. Would you like me to be a waiting for you?” He asked.

“If you don’t mind sir, please? I don’t have a ride home and I can pay you for the wait.” I offered in the best manner I had. After all he had been completely respectful and had not even peaked once.

“It’s not a problem. I don’t got anywheres to be anyways. I’ll be sitting here waitin for you then.”

I paid him in advance and quickly walked into the hospital. Almost nobody (except the normal perverted guys) looked at the girl walking in in just a bra and her jeans and flip flops with a blood stain on the left leg (A.K.A. Me).

As soon as I got to the reception desk however, everything changed.

“Excuse me! Woman what in the world are you doing without a shirt?!?” The nurse shouted in obvious disgust.

I lifted up my hand and suddenly it wasn’t my shirt that caused strong distaste, the nurse obviously was afraid of blood.

"Nurse get this woman to the emergency room!"

Almost immediantely I was whisked away. Away to my doom? One could only hope. Hope. It was a funny thing. A bone sticking out the side of my hand and I hope for my doom. It was almost ironic how I went from thinking of the pain in my heart to this odd almost white object protruding my skin.

I stared off above me as they injected me with some liquid and I dozed off. It was amazing how I went from being fully aware of rejection and depression to just being numb.

Limbo. This is the only word to describe where I was. I wasn't aware, but I wasn't asleep either. I stood in a white field. Eventually the detailed faded into vision and I smiled.

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