I wait for him outside his house. To his parents, I am just another girl, a girl with a stutter. I knock gently at the door, and it swings open, and I see him. I smile brightly because we don't need words. To most, we are that girl with the stutter and that boy who is too shy to speak, but to each other we are the people who laugh and open up. He cleans all the harsh edges of my words. When he's around me he opens up and forget about all the times he's been hurt. *some cursing, and touchy topics*


3. Second

"Hey, Mags," my little sister says as she does the three finger salute from Catching Fire. Ever since that movie came out, she has been doing that. It is possibly the most annoying thing. I am afraid that this will be a trend for the rest of my life,

"How was your day?" My mom asks. It is that kind of thing that every mom says even though you know they don't care,

"Fine," I say. I go up to my room because I don't want to be my dad's target. He doesn't hurt me physically, but he doesn't like Quint. Because of this, he picks on me - tells me to clean up, wear this, wear that, brush your teeth, brush your hair. It is an on going scrutiny. 

Those words don't hurt though, it is after they think I am asleep. This night is no different than any other. I have my wet hair sprawled along my pillow as I stare at the childish stars above me,
"She shouldn't be hanging out with that boy," he says. My room shares a wall with the living room,
"It's just  a faze," persuades my mom,
"She can't be hanging out with that type of boy - from that type of family."
"Maybe she loves him."
"She can't." Why? I want to ask, what is so bad about his family? What is being hidden? What goes on behind that door? I go to sleep with these thoughts clouding my head. 

    My alarm jolts me awake. I know he gets up early, so I hurry around. I slip on some brown leggings, sandals, and t-shirt. Some look for fashion, I look for comfort. I also add a brown purse, so I could put some cereal for later in it. I hit on his door quietly and waited for a little bit,
"Hey," he says tiredly as he opens the door,


"Why are you here so early?"

"I-We need to talk,"

"What happened?" He asks,

"Something with my family," I say looking down,

"Things have been happening with mine too," he says before I can continue,

"You see, they have been talking... About you, Quint, about us, but they can't break us apart. We made a promise: nothing can break us," my eyes sting as I remember their exact words, "They say I can't be with someone like you - from your family, and I don't understand. Please tell me wh-what they are talking about because they say we can't be together. My dad said I can't love you, and I need to know."

"It's not my family," he says,

"Then what is it?" I say looking up at him,

"I don't know. Maybe it is them." Why won't he just tell me, so I can help him. I can feel him shrinking away,

"Just tell me, and I can help."

"But, you can't." Why? burns inside of me. I need to help. I feel like I am falling. Like I am bring pulled down by my chest,

"You can tell me anything. Who am I going to tell anyway?" I hold both of his hands, but he lets go with the right. He pulls up his sweater and scars line his arms. I can tell they are dark and new. I don't know what to say or do, so I just hug him and it feels like we stand on the side of that worn road forever. Why? stills moves around me and prods me more than ever.

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