3. Chapter 3

3

Hope

GETTING READY, I HEAD DOWNSTAIRS. Noise drifts out of the kitchen, which only means one thing. Mom is home. She's a nurse and works five days. She has a four-day on-and-off schedule at one hospital, and an eight-hour shift at another which leaves only two days for her to relax and tend to house chores. I try to do most of them so she has time to rest, but the clean freak in her needs to redo everything.

She started working after Dad left. It's a way for her to bury the worry and grief under work. I often find her staring at their wedding picture and her ring. They got married at a courthouse because my mother's parents didn't like my father. They thought he was a loser with no degree as he dropped out of college in his junior year—for reasons I still don't know. However, Mom stuck by his side because she loved him.

She still cares about him, even though he tried to choke her to death, abused her mentally and physically, and hasn't returned to apologize or make up for his act. Maybe it's a good thing that he hasn't come back because she will take him back, especially after the drunk texts she sent me yesterday about missing him.

All I know about love is what I've read in books. What my parents have is a toxic bitter love. No man should ever hurt a woman, say mean things to her, or call her names. That's not what love is.

"You're home."

She turns around and gives me a weak smile. "I have an hour before I leave."

My mother is a brunette with the same shade of hair color as me. She has those rare gray eyes that lock you under their enchanting gaze the moment you look into them. She's tall and has a svelte figure. Her round face has full pink lips and a small nose. She's stunning. No wonder my father fell for her.

Mom hugs me. I hold onto her tightly. With no one in life, she's the only person I've got.

"Seems like you missed me a lot," she teases.

"Yes, I did." Her schedule allows little time for me to see her.

She pulls back. "Quickly eat those pancakes, and make sure you eat both of them. I don't want you to faint in the hallways again."

"That happened once." I take a seat at the island and start eating.

When I was in middle school, I used to skip breakfast because it'd make me nauseous. One time, I skipped both dinner and breakfast. I was fine in the first two classes. My senses were coordinated, and I was paying attention to everything. By the third class, I had a headache, and my vision blurred. Before lunch break, I fainted in the hallway.

When I got home, Mom spent an hour scolding me. That day I swore to never go to school on an empty stomach. Not only to avoid a lecture from her but also because it's embarrassing. Luckily the hallway was empty, and no one witnessed anything, otherwise, I'd become a joke over something normal.

"I won't be home tonight. I have to do this extra shift," she informs me with a grimace.

The money must be running low again which sucks.

So, I say, "You could go to the city. I bet the pay will be more and you won't have to work so hard."

Mom sighs heavily as she cleans up. "The commute alone would cost me half the paycheck. It's two hours away from here."

I gather the courage to bring up the topic for the hundredth time. "I could work at a diner and help you out."

Anger flashes across her face as she fixes me with a stern look. "Absolutely not! Focus on your studies and work hard because you'll be going to med school. You don't need distractions." The finality in her tone is like thorns being pressed against my skin.

Since I was little, she's decided for me that I'd go to Med School because I'm good at science. I admit I enjoy studying those subjects, but becoming a doctor isn't something I want to do for the rest of my life. I'm uncertain about what path I want to embark on, though I'm certain medicine isn't it. I want to do good, but not by becoming a doctor.

No one talks about how hard it is to choose a career path this early in life when you've experienced nothing. It's this one thing you have to do for the rest of your life. So, you don't want to choose something you hate and do it for the rest of your life. What a nightmare that would be.

"I don't think I want to do that." My voice crumbles when she cuts me with her piercing eyes.

"You sound unsure because you don't know. But I know, and I'm telling you. Getting into medicine is the right thing for you. You're brilliant. Why waste your intelligence on doing something mediocre?" She sends a pointed glare at my novel. Her disdain for my hobby often pops up in arguments, but since I keep my grades perfect it leaves little room for her to reprimand me. I do not doubt if I messed up one test she'd put a permanent stop to it.

I can't imagine not reading books. They're like oxygen to me. I won't survive without them.

I wish she understood me.

"You're right." I plaster on a fake smile while my heart sinks.

My feelings are invalid. They don't matter.

"I always am, because I'm your mother."

The school is a twenty-minute walk from my house and no bus goes through my neighborhood. There is a bus stop three blocks away and it crosses the route to school. I take it on days when it's raining or I'm not feeling well. With little money in my pocket, I think twice. I could be saving that to buy a book.

I'm afraid it's too late to realize that I'm addicted to books. Is that considered a certified addiction? I hope not. If so, I don't care. I'm not giving it up.

I better not say it at school or people will think of me as a freak.

The white school building appears, and I hurry toward it.

I'm crossing the parking lot when the loud rumble of the engine fills the air. A black luxurious car pulls up. I can't help but stare at it as the sunlight reflects off of it.

The door opens and Heath steps out. Grabbing his backpack, he slings the strap over his shoulder, locks his car, and strides toward the building, ignoring all the eyes that are locked on him. His black T-shirt hides his lean body that is packed with muscle, paired with black jeans and black and white trainers. It's the same attire from yesterday, but he pulls it off effortlessly. I notice a bruise on his left cheek that needs care.

Heath stops, turns his head, and looks straight at me. His intense gaze disrupts the rhythm of my heart, making it skip a few beats.

My cheeks burn with heat. I quickly avert my gaze to my book—to not look like a creep who was staring at him because he's handsome.

God. Twice now. I need to find other things—guys—to look at. However, I don't think I'll find a guy as impressively good-looking as him.

After a minute, I take a peek and he's nowhere to be found.

Since yesterday, I haven't been able to kick him out of my mind. There's so little known about him around the school. People have all these strange theories about him that sound baffling. Some say he's in a criminal gang, while others think he lives on the streets and steals money. All of it sounds absurd. Seriously, who comes up with this nonsense?

I force myself to not do anything about my curiosity. It'll only get me into trouble. Besides, I have to stay focused and get into med school. If I don't, my mother will rain hell on me.

Pushing the doors, I study the hallway that's buzzing with groups of friends.

I'm reminded once again that I have to go to classes alone. I pace like a ghost in the school. Nobody talks to me unless they need my help—which I don't mind, I rather enjoy helping others—but I do feel used because my help is all they need, not me. It's almost like being a tissue. Used then discarded.

I'm alone but that doesn't mean I like being lonely. Living with my thoughts all the time makes me go crazy, especially when they're dark.

Sometimes I think I have no friends because I'm the problem. It makes me sad. Well, it's not like I haven't tried. In the past, I've talked to my classmates—despite my social anxiety—but they seemed uninterested. I talked about novels, and they thought they were boring. I talked about music, and they commented on my music taste. Everything I like isn't something they like.

I feel out of place here.

Miss Sheila elegantly saunters into the classroom and a hush falls over. She has a skinny figure and always ties her blonde hair in a tight bun, which makes her go hairless from the front of her hairline, but I don't think she cares about it.

Everyone is listening to her, but I'm drawing stick figures in my notebook. I never understand a word she teaches. She makes math complicated.

In the middle of the lecture, Heath comes in. Everyone stares at him, but he appears unbothered.

Miss Sheila glares at him. "So nice of you to join my class. Perhaps next time you can try to arrive ten minutes early."

Instead of answering her, he searches the classroom. When his eyes meet mine, he starts walking in my direction.

Oh my God.

He's coming my way.

Look away.

I sit straight and focus on my doodles, acting nonchalant. Of course, I'm not bothered by him—

The chair next to me screeches against the floor, and he plops down to my left, despite the fact there are many vacant seats.

I'm bothered.

A few heads turn to notice the scene, mostly girls. Under their sharp looks, I want to pull over the cloak of invisibility and sneak out of the classroom into the library. If only the Harry Potter universe was real. I'm pretty sure I'd be a muggle, but that's beside the point. In my head on my eleventh birthday, I get the letter and go to Hogwarts. I became a wizard and have the most amazing friends.

Plucking courage from the depths of me, I sneak a glance at the guy who caused this commotion. He's already watching me, with a pen dancing between his fingers as he plays with it.

‘ I'm not sure if you noticed, but there are plenty of other seats .' If I were brave I'd say those words to him. But I'm not.

The class continues. I try to ignore him, that's easier said than done.

His presence consumes the tiny space between us.

You can't ignore a guy like him. Everything about him demands attention. I'm sure he's used to it. It must be nice to not be invisible like me.

Maybe I do have the cloak of invisibility.

Lunch usually goes by with me reading in the library. Being surrounded by books makes me feel less lonely.

When there's an emptiness inside of you, you try to fill it with other things. If it could be filled by you it wouldn't be there in the first place.

My emptiness is loneliness. I fill it with books. The company of fictional characters, and the bonds that feel real. That explains why I'm always attached to a book. I don't want to be alone or be empty.

I'm walking toward the library when Heath comes around the corner and I bump into him. My hand latches onto his T-shirt to not fall back, but he's quick. Grabbing my arm, he steadies me.

Deja vu hits me.

I curse at myself and immediately let go of him.

"Do you have a habit of bumping into people?" he says in a rough voice that caresses my skin like gravel.

I meet his curious stare. "You came out of nowhere."

From this close, I study his injuries. There's a bruise on his cheek and a minor scratch near his hairline.

"Yes, I appeared out of fucking thin air," he drawls out in a dry tone.

"It looked like it," I say, finding humor in his words.

The intense look on his face doesn't slip away.

Awful joke. Got it.

Lifting his hand, he runs his fingers through his hair. His scraped knuckles catch my attention next. From the looks of it, he didn't apply anything to them which isn't good.

Heath walks past me, and I follow him.

"Wait." I hold my book tightly.

I know he's going to reject my idea.

Why am I even suggesting it?

Because you like to help people.

He tilts his head back with an annoyed expression. "What?"

I point to his knuckles, and he follows my gaze. "I can wrap them up for you to prevent any infection."

"Not fucking needed," he grumbles.

"I just want to help."

He narrows his eyes on me. "I don't need your fucking help." He flexes his knuckles and doesn't even grimace, but I do. I can imagine the burning sensation permeating under his skin.

A hard look contorts his face, and his body stands tall with tension. He resembles a wall that can stand anything you'd throw at it. So, if I argue with him he might not let me do it, but if I soften him a little bit maybe he will.

I smile. "You've saved me twice now and also helped me. I want to return the favor."

Something about him makes me want to help him, even though he won't take it.

Before he can change his mind, I rush out. "Let me help you, and I'll try to not walk into you again."

"I don't think you're capable of it." He gazes at me with his blue eyes. For a second, I get lost in them and miss what he says.

"Of what?" I ask, feeling like an idiot.

Don't look into his eyes.

"Not walking into me."

A smile tugs on my lips. "Both times it was an accident."

An emotion flashes through his eyes.

Looking away from me, he runs a hand through his hair. When he speaks, the muscles in his jaw clench. "Will you stay away from me if I let you help me?"

"If that's what you want," I say in a quiet voice.