Monday Musings: Sparks
Trigger Warning: this flash fiction contains descriptions of domestic violence and abuse. Please seek help if you are safe and able to do so.
- National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233
- The Hotline
- NCADV
Sparks
I can still taste how the blood filled my mouth that night and the sting he left across my forehead. It was a dull but slowly pounding pain beneath my skin. My eyes filled with tears for the millionth time that night, but I would not let them fall. I deserved it, didn’t I?
******
He was the kind of guy every girl wanted. He had a kind smile, pretty eyes, and could play the guitar. It made the girls swoon, some obviously and some secretly, like myself. I wasn’t in love, but he was a dream that I knew I’d never have. I was okay with that.
I was the quiet one. The first year of high school, I didn’t have many friends, but I slowly accumulated more as time went on. I dated a little, but never got in too deep. There were no sparks, no heart pounding moments, just me and the other person.
But then again, I close myself off. Always have. I lose myself in my art. That is my hideaway, my safe haven. And that was exactly what I was doing when he and I made first contact.
I was sitting in study hall. After having already done all of my homework and having nothing to study for, I took out my drawing pad and began to sketch. It was relaxing and so my element. I was enjoying myself. I laid my drawing on the table to take a look at it and then…
A note fell in front of me, right in the middle of my drawing. I picked it up and unfolded it curiously, not even bothering to look around at who might have tossed it on my table. I was positive it was from one of my friends. Only it wasn’t from anyone I expected:
You’re an amazing artist. – His Name
My heart stopped. This was my dream guy, leaving me a note. What did I do to catch his attention? Is this a prank? No, he’s much too nice for that. Right? I’ll just push it under my drawing….
My hands shook slightly as I moved to slip it under my drawing when someone poked me in the back. Hard.
“Owie!” I rubbed the spot on my back, half glancing behind me when I heard someone whisper.
“Hey,” the voice whispered, “Aren’t you going to write back?”
It was him. Since when did he have study hall this period? My face heated up in embarrassment. I quickly scrawled a quick note back:
Thanks. – My Name
I tossed it backwards, not looking to see if he caught it. A few moments later it landed back in front of me.
I know your name, silly.
Butterflies. He knows my name. I smiled and put my pencil to the note to respond again when the chair in front of me squeaked. I looked up, and there he was with his cute half smile and big, pretty eyes.
“Can I see?” He reached for my drawing.
I nodded, my heart in my throat. I pushed it over to him so he could see. His hand touched mine, and there it was. Sparks. I looked up at him, and he was staring right back at me as if he had felt it too. His mouth hung open a little, and he looked into my eyes like he was searching my soul. It felt like an eternity, but it was only for a moment.
I blushed and looked away. I thought I was going to pass out from how dizzy he was making me. He cleared his throat and took my pencil. I watched his hand as he drew a few strokes onto the drawing. I couldn’t look him in the face so I watched him draw. What else could I do? I felt like I was seeing a side of him no one else would see. Like it was a secret to be shared between the two of us.
He pushed my drawing back towards me. On my picture of a woman with only one wing drawn in, he had drawn in the other wing. Mine was bat-like and grotesque. His wing was feathered and beautiful, curving up against her to protect her. He set my pencil down after scrawling something on the side of our short note.
“Keep positive things in your life; not everything is dark and gloomy.”
Then he got up and left, his hands in his pockets and looking straight ahead. I watched him go then looked back down. My heart skipped. I stared at his carefully drawn wing and couldn’t help but smile. I gathered my things for the next class and grabbed our note. He had written out his phone number on the side. I blushed and stuffed it in my pocket.
I wish I could go back to that moment and tell myself to run.
