The few people that were around the streets avoided the small, ragged figure, all in a hurry to go home and find shelter from the rain, sparing barely a thought or a glance at her. The cold drops were biting into her skin, drenching her tattered clothes, as her mind felt trapped, her voice muted, no solution in sight. She had tried to indulge herself here and there, excuses like the drama club of the school, Halloween parties where no one cared, but it wasn't nearly enough. In the end she had been caught at home, called names, roughly handled, injured and kicked out. Now she saw no exit, no light at the end of the tunnel for her, cornered without options but cease to be since no one cared about her.
No. Someone did, someone always did.
Her favorite teacher had always been there, and with that big heart of hers she always tried to be at her best for her students. She wouldn't be her teacher for long, as under that summer storm she realized that what remained of her last high school term were just the formalities. The soaked figure was walking aimlessly, or so she thought, not even avoiding the puddles or caring about the rain that enveloped her. She couldn't really impose her troubles into her teacher, right? She didn't even know her, not really, as she didn't dare to share everything with her. No, she couldn't really depend on her, and yet her footsteps had taken her directly to her door, finding momentary refuge in there. She had never been inside, but it wasn't that far from her home, what was her home before that night, so she had seen her teacher entering the house more than once.
Desperate, she knocked at the door, with no other choices that to seek help from her or just give up. If the teacher opened the door, she would find a truly sorry sight awaiting for her there. Muddled black platform boots covered the end of a couple of thin legs that were clad in torn chess patterned tights. A steel grey ballet skirt wasn't in better shape, but at least still covered more than the minimum needed to keep her decency. A torn Ramones shirt showed her bruised midriff, while a black leather jacket was the only thing covering her that had resisted the manhandling unscathed. Long black hair appeared stuck to her head, drenched by the rain, as runny makeup traced ashy lines along her face, framing her wavering green eyes. The red of blood and lipstick smudged together in a trembling, split lower lip as she hugged herself the cold and fear away to no avail.
She could seem unknown at first sight, but soon the teacher would see what the student didn't want anyone to see and yet where her only hope lied. Under all that rain, shredded clothes, blurred makeup and light injuries was Stephen Bellamy, one of her students.
No. Someone did, someone always did.
Her favorite teacher had always been there, and with that big heart of hers she always tried to be at her best for her students. She wouldn't be her teacher for long, as under that summer storm she realized that what remained of her last high school term were just the formalities. The soaked figure was walking aimlessly, or so she thought, not even avoiding the puddles or caring about the rain that enveloped her. She couldn't really impose her troubles into her teacher, right? She didn't even know her, not really, as she didn't dare to share everything with her. No, she couldn't really depend on her, and yet her footsteps had taken her directly to her door, finding momentary refuge in there. She had never been inside, but it wasn't that far from her home, what was her home before that night, so she had seen her teacher entering the house more than once.
Desperate, she knocked at the door, with no other choices that to seek help from her or just give up. If the teacher opened the door, she would find a truly sorry sight awaiting for her there. Muddled black platform boots covered the end of a couple of thin legs that were clad in torn chess patterned tights. A steel grey ballet skirt wasn't in better shape, but at least still covered more than the minimum needed to keep her decency. A torn Ramones shirt showed her bruised midriff, while a black leather jacket was the only thing covering her that had resisted the manhandling unscathed. Long black hair appeared stuck to her head, drenched by the rain, as runny makeup traced ashy lines along her face, framing her wavering green eyes. The red of blood and lipstick smudged together in a trembling, split lower lip as she hugged herself the cold and fear away to no avail.
She could seem unknown at first sight, but soon the teacher would see what the student didn't want anyone to see and yet where her only hope lied. Under all that rain, shredded clothes, blurred makeup and light injuries was Stephen Bellamy, one of her students.