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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1. 'I'm psychologically mute.'

   Nerves rake through my body, making me tremble slightly. The skin on the palm of my hands are slightly moist, so I quickly wipe my hands on my jeans. Luckily, they're black, but the rips don't really help to dry my hands. Seriously, I'm sweating from nerves? Wonderful. That's going to look gross to everyone. 

   I step through a door, almost tripping on the threshold, but I manage to get inside the building without dying. The ceilings are quite low, maybe seven, or eight feet high, and the floor is dark green, rubbery tiles, almost black. Each wall is painted white, some of it chipping off, but some areas are covered with bright paper, used for displays. 

   Step by step, I walk down the corridor, peering into a few classrooms. They're decently sized, and it appears as though I'm in the humanities block. The displays show works of maps, some historical posters, and something to do with bullying. Bullying. Even the word is enough to make me cringe, so I take a side step away from the damn posters. 

   As far as I can see, the school's pretty empty, other than a few care takers. Some lockers line the walls, but they're really small; they were big enough to fit something A4. My last school had full length lockers, more space for my colleagues to attach offensive drawings to. Every week, my parents had to pay to get my locker repainted, as the school didn't appreciate the words 'emo fag' staying there. Yeah, neither did I.

   I find a white door, with a stereotypical stick figure of a woman on it, so I go inside. Five stalls line one side, and three sinks line the other side. Wrinkling my nose in disgust, I go straight over to the sinks, ignoring how unkempt the toilets are. Around the sinks, girls had left tissues, soap from the dispenser, and who knows what else. 

   Sighing, I try my best to ignore how gross it is, and take a wary glance in the mirror. Despite my make-up efforts, dark circles surround my eyes, and my dark red lips remain cracked with lack of moisture. I don't need to wear coloured lip gloss or anything, because I'm blessed with rich, crimson lips, and I often get asked what products I use. Anyway, it'd be difficult to apply anything, with snake bites underlining my lower lip. Two silver studs sit there, which I've had for a few months now.

   Also, I have a septum piercing, which is silver. It's quite thin, so you can only see it face to face, unlike some people who have massive ones, viewable from a mile away. Honestly, I only got the piercing, because my nose is slightly crooked, so it takes away the noticeable side to it, having a ring to draw people's attention instead. Smart, right?

   A thick lining of eye liner underlines my eyes, along with the top lid. My eyes are a solid chocolate colour, mixed in with a rich caramel, making them appear a golden colour. In brighter light, they seem bronze, in darker times, they look more brown. It depends, really, but either way, I'd rather have blue eyes. 

   Grabbing my brush from my bag, I sort out my fringe, hoping it looks okay to other people. I have the typical scene hair, with a full side fringe, and layered sides, reaching my waist. On the side where my fringe starts, I have it shaved, because I think it looks cool. Some people like it, some don't. I don't really care, to be honest. Also, I dye it black, but not jet black, more of a soft raven colour, so that it shines purple in bright light. 

   Sighing, I put the brush back in my bag, which is bright red, my favourite colour. It has a band logo on the side, one of my favourite bands. It's just a shoulder bag, reaching my hip, maybe just below it. I used to have the blue version, but someone laughed, insulted the band, stole it, and threw it over the bridge leading into our school. At least this school didn't have a bridge, right?

   Frowning at my reflection, I decide to look away, studying the off-white tiles surrounding it. Many insults are written on the tiles, in black marker. Clearly the girls in this school are no different than my last. Just underneath the mirror I was looking in, it says 'Axel Lester is a fag! xox', and underneath that, someone else has written 'He's an emo-' okay, I'm going to stop there. At least this guy won't be able to read this, unless for some reason he came into the girls toilets. 

   Frustration joins my nerves, making me think 'is my name going to join his?'. I honestly hope not, for once in my life, I just want to fit in. I want a friend, someone I can talk to. In my last school, I literally had no friends, and the only person I could talk to, was the school councillor. Here, I want a fresh start, be able to meet some new people, and just start over.

   Back in the corridor, I follow my proximity sense, to try and find the main office. Leaving humanities behind me, I find science, English, and PE. That reminds me, I could have PE, but not have brought my PE uniform! That's going to be embarrassing, if it happens. This school is a bit weird, all years have uniform, except for sixth form, but we're all expected to have a PE kit. 

   For my first day, I've gone for the subtle choice of black, ripped jeans, a plain white tank top, and a black leather jacket. On my feet, I chose a pair of baseball boots, also black. Hopefully it doesn't look too gothic or anything, but I think it's pretty good for a first day. By the end of the year, I'll probably show up in my pyjamas. 

   I'm joining in the second term, in November, just after Halloween. I missed the first term, trying to find a new school to join, because over the summer, we moved from the North of England to the South. I have a Northern accent, so anyone would be able to tell I'm not from around here. That's also quite embarrassing.

   Wandering through PE, I find some more science classes, then maths. Above maths, languages is there, and in two outside blocks, is music and art. This school has everything! Entering another corridor, I walk past a few catering classes, product design, and textiles. At the end of this corridor, it's blocked off, so I walk back, still searching for the main office. 

   Sucking my pride up, I decide to just ask one of the care takers walking around, but they all seem to disappear when I need them. Great. A little bit of panic starts to settle in, making me want to cry. I cry easily, okay?! Internally, I groan, and just stand in the middle of the maths corridor, facing the art block. 

   A tap on my shoulder makes me yelp, jumping slightly, before spinning on my heel to see what that was. The boy who had tapped my shoulder had taken a few steps back, surprised by my reaction, as much as I was. I press a hand over my heart, coming down from the initial shock, and apologise to him.

   "I'm s-sorry, I-I didn't realise you-ou were there," I stutter, mentally face planting.

   Gravely, he nods, pressing his lips together in a tight line. It's as if he's used to people not knowing he's there, or something. My heart reaches out to him, feeling pity for him. 

   I start taking in his appearance, just briefly, but he's extremely good looking, so I end up taking my time. His hair is jet black, in the boy-scene style, dip dyed bright red. It looks really cool; I've always wanted to dip dye my hair. The ends are layered, it's quite thick, so he might have teased it a bit, like me, to make it seem less fine.

   Snakebites take over his bottom lip, in two lip rings, instead of studs like me. They're silver, though, and they really suit him, bringing out the baby pink colour of his lips. Also, he has the same septum piercing as me, even the same style, silver ring. Well, he has good taste in piercings, that's for sure.

   His eyelashes are really thick, making me rethink over him having to tease his hair or not. They really bring out his eyes, not that they need to be, they're so bright. They're like crystal, tinted with blue, a black outline separating the silvery colour from the white part of his eye. Electric blue seems to suffice for the colour of them. Anyway, they're intriguing, and I want them.

   Every part of his flesh visible is spotless, not a single blemish, in the ivory colour. There aren't any scars from possible acne outbreaks, it's just smooth, and I have the urge to caress his cheek. A girl can dream...

   He's wearing dark blue skinny jeans, a plain black crew neck shirt, and a dark red zip hoody. we have the same black baseball boots on, too. Overall, he's damn good looking. 

   Dragging my eyes away from his body, which I'm guessing is about six feet high, I meet his eyes. Silence pushes down on us, but I have no idea what to say. All I have to do, is ask him where the main office is, but it seems like somehow that's an awkward question to ask. I have so many issues.

   'Are you okay?' he mimes, for whatever reason he feels like miming.

   "Um, yeah, I mean, no, I mean... I'm looking for the main office?" I mutter, and I manage to make it sound like a question.

   Smiling without his teeth, he gestures for me to follow him, and I obey. Okay, this is a step in the direction of progress. I'm finally getting to main office, where I would get my timetable,and then I'm on my own until the end of the year. No pressure.

   His long strides make it difficult for me to keep up, so I start speed-walking. I'm only five feet, three, almost a foot smaller than him, so it's pretty difficult to match his pace. Luckily, he notices, and shortens his pace to match mine. Thank God, I thought I was going to be out of breath before I even got there. 

   The whole forty seconds there, he doesn't say a word, so I decide not to either. He doesn't seem to find it awkward, so I pretend it's not, too. Usually, people would ask 'where are you from?' 'are you new?' et cetera, but he seems content on not asking. Then again, he doesn't seem like your average person. 

   I explain myself to the lady behind the desk, and she hands over my timetable. Her hair is tied back into a bun, so tight, that is pulls her skin back, too. She seems a bit sour, so I cut the conversation short, and turn around, to walk face first into someone's chest. Rubbing my nose, I look up to see the same guy from before. I didn't know he was right behind me.

   "Sorry..." I mumble, ignoring the throb in my nose.

   Chuckling slightly, he takes the piece of paper from me, scanning it briefly. He grabs his own timetable from his bag, and compares them, pointing out the subjects we have together. In fact, we have every lesson together, except he's not doing a language, he has extra psychology lessons, whereas I have to go through Spanish. It even turns out I've been put in his form.

   "Thank you, for this," I say quietly, a bit nervous.

   He glances down at me, giving me the most beautiful, heart stopping smile, ever. Each and everyone of his teeth are straight, and a nice white. Lucky. I had to go through braces, before I got perfectly straight teeth, whereas it looked as though he's always perfect. 

   Our form room is in English, at the very end of the English corridor. Three people are already in there, one of them being a teacher. He's very tall, and lean, with grey hair, balding at the back, but he seems kind. I hope I'm right. According to my timetable, he's called Mr Larham, and I'm in 6FJL, meaning sixth form Jonathan Larham. 

   Nervously, I walk up to him, "Hi, Sir, I'm new," I quietly tell him.

   "Hello!" he cheerfully greets me, quite loudly, "I'm Mr Larham, and you must be Avery Worthington, right?"

   "Yeah, that's me," I force a  polite smile, feeling the presence of that guy behind me. I need to learn his name.

   "Where are you from? Your accent is most intriguing," Mr Larham muses; typical English teacher.

   "Doncaster," I tell him, marvelling over his posh, deep voice.

   "Wonderful, I have relatives up there!" he beams, and I force out a shaky chuckle, going along with the small talk, "So, I see you've made a new friend. Is it alright for you to show Avery around?" Sir asks the guy. Yep, definitely need to find out his name.

   The guy nods, and we go to sit down, near the back. Inside this classroom, everything is brightly coloured, matching the teacher's personality. Pieces of literature, and famous quotes cover the walls, making everything seem a lot more cheerful. English is one of my favourite subjects, actually. 

   "Um, I didn't catch your name," I casually say, sitting stiffly in my seat, my insecurities eating away at me.

   Silently, he nods, and pulls something out of his bag. It's a small whiteboard, and he has a black marker, too. Quickly, he writes something down, before turning the board in my direction, so I can read whatever it is that he wrote. 'My name is Asleiker Lester, but call me Axel' is written in his French Script font. Axel Lester... That's the name in the girls toilets!

   "I'm Avery, you can call me Ave, or something, I don't mind," I quickly say, before asking something that's been bugging me since I met him, "Do you have a sore throat, or something?"

   Chuckling slightly, he wipes his name from the board, which I think is a very awesome name, and writes something else down. I force myself to sit still, and not peer over his shoulder at what he's writing. I really want to know why he isn't talking to me, before I start to feel offended by it. 

   'I'm psychologically mute.'

   Oh.

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