Wretched Trauma

Avery is an eighteen year old outcast, joining sixth form, for her final year of A Levels, before University. Before she started a new school, she was bullied, both verbally and physically. At her new school, she meets a new outcast, Axel; he's mute. No one knows why he's mute, but nobody cares enough to find out. No one, but Avery. She wants to know everything about him; how it's possible for him to lose his voice; how he became an outcast; but most importantly, he wants to know how to say 'I love you' without a voice. Everyone says love is blind, or maybe it's just silent?

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5. 'How was your first day?'

   I'm sat on my head, my knees pulled up to my chest. I don't understand why I told him that I self harm. For whatever reason, I just feel like I can trust him, no matter what. I guess there's not much I can do, I've told him, and we'll leave it at that. Also, I'm not sure what he wants with me. He tried to kiss me, but then afterwards, we just went back to being friends. Men are confusing.

   "Hey," my brother says, leaning in the doorway of my room.

   "Hey," I reply, looking up at him.

   "How was your first day?" Callum asks, stepping into my room.

   I smile slightly, "It was surprisingly good."

   "So I don't have to beat anyone up, for being mean to you?" he jokes, and I laugh quietly. 

   "Nah, not yet," I go back to staring at the wall.

   Callum and I look nothing alike. I have the whole black hair, scene look going on, whereas he looks like a surfer. His dirty blonde hair is swept back, reaching his chin, lined with stubble. As for his eyes, they're a sweet, baby blue colour, sometimes looking a bit green, outlined in thick, blonde eyelashes. He's tall, muscular, and athletic, literally making us complete opposites. The only thing we share, is the shape of our nose, and how it's slightly crooked.

   "So, tell me about your first day. Did you make any friends?" he sits down beside me, quite heavily, making the mattress bounce.

   "My form tutor is nice," I lamely start, "And I've made three friends. Axel, Devon, and Ethan. Axel's mute, but he's copes with it really well. Devon is really hyper, and she definitely has a crush on Ethan, who's pretty cool, too."

   "Avery, that is the most I've ever heard you speak, in years," proudly, he ruffles my hair, so I give him a death glare.

   "Lucky you," I murmur, resting my chin on my knees.

   "Don't get all sarcastic on me," he raises his hands in his defence, "It's just nice to see you happy again."

   I let out a deep breath, silently agreeing with him. It's been a while since I've genuinely smiled, and I have three friends now. Sure, within the next week, they could lose interest in me and move on, but for today, I have some friends. That's a really good feeling, when you've only ever had one friend in your life. Unfortunately, we both suffered from bullying, but he suffered from it more, and ended his life.

   "I'm happy I'm happy," I say, grinning at how stupid that sounds.

   Briefly, he hugs me, before leaving me in silence. Sighing, I put my earphones in, and lie back on my bed, not really feeling up to anything. Instead, I just relax, tapping my thigh to the beat of the song. Maybe I should play guitar for a bit... No, I don't want Ethan to hear me, seeing as he lives next door.

   I think I fell asleep, because I'm scared by a knock on my bedroom door. Pulling my earphones out, I sit up, and tell whoever it is to come in. It's my Dad, smiling softly at me. I smile back, and we go through the same conversation Callum and I did. Callum and my Dad look practically the same, except my Dad is ageing.

   "So are you happy here?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

   "Yeah, I am," I reply, just seeing Axel's smile in the back of my mind.

   "That's great, sweetie," he kisses my forehead, before leaving again.

   Okay, what's with everyone checking my happiness? I'm not saying my parents don't care about me, but they don't usually care about me this much. My brother is always the one I cry to, because I feel guilty crying to my parents. I feel like a whiney child who's just not good enough for friends. Luckily, my brother understands, because he went through a stage where he was quite chubby, and had acne. Most people hit puberty. Yeah, Callum beat puberty to death. 

   He then gained loads of friends, because the good looking ones always get loads of friends. He knew they only became friends with him because of that, but he kept them around, using them as his ego support. Then when he went to college, he got some real friends. Anyone, point is, he's been bullied before, and he knows how it feels to be brought down by someone who doesn't even know you.

   Honestly, I don't really understand bullying. Someone just says something nasty to you, maybe even physically hurts you, and somehow they benefit from it. Seriously, why do people have to do it? I get that it makes them feel better about themselves, but still. It's just immature, and ridiculous, not to mention masochist. 

   Anger starts to build up inside of me, so I grab my guitar as a form of security. Releasing the stress I've managed to build up, I play out a few songs, singing along quietly. I've play relatively easy music, so that I don't get mad at myself again, for messing a chord, or a transition up. Once I've relaxed, I slip into more complex pieces, letting it flow naturally.

   My voice is barely audible, but I sing anyway, to keep myself in time. I guess this a resort, other than hurting myself. Both are just as efficient, but one of them hurts you in the long run, and the other frustrates you. Check mate.

   I first learnt how to play, in my old school. The music teacher was great and everything, however, he encouraged everyone to learn how to play guitar. Yeah, that's great too, but not when everyone starts to 'borrow' your guitar during free periods, or ask you to play for them, so they could 'listen' to you, without commenting. I never got that guitar back, and I was only insulted.

   The guitar phase of my school quickly died, but I continued learning, because I like it. Soon enough, it ended up being one to one tuition, as everyone else left the class. That really benefited me, because instead of waiting for everyone to learn something, Sir only had to teach me, the way that's best for me. He understood what I wanted to do with the talent, and he helped me get there. Unfortunately, he passed away, in a motorbike accident.

   We got another teacher, much older, and he was extremely sour. He treated me like a piece of rubbish, and constantly told me I wasn't good enough for his class. In the end, I gave up playing, but my guitar always sat in the corner of my room. Sometimes, I'd pick it up, wax, or polish it, and put it back down, but I never played it.

   Moving down here seemed to push me to want to start again. During the summer, I've retaught myself how to play, using online tutorials, and my memory. Also, it just seems to work, once you've got the hang of it. My voice has never really been great, but it's good enough, so I work my voice in with the chords, and I'm fine all over again.

   Also, my brother plays bass guitar, so that's quite influential on me. He was in a band back in Doncaster, but he left, when we came down here. Fortunately, he hasn't given up, because if he did, I probably would too. At this point, I really can't afford to lose interest in music again. It's my second escape.

   For the rest of the evening, I researched some songs I want to learn, listening to them thoroughly. I even made a remix, but I deleted it, not liking the thought of someone finding it on my laptop. I don't know why, but I assume they're going to judge me, and think I'm stupid. It happens all the time, I create something - a remix, a drawing, a plot line - and I just get rid of it, in case someone finds out.

   Sighing, I flick my bedroom light off, and climb into bed, letting the sheets hide me from reality. At least no one has offended me here, yet, anyway. And I have three people to look out for me. Right?

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