Wronged

? 6 ?

For a moment, everything in the car goes silent apart from the sky's tears making ticking noises onto the windows and metal body. But then Hayley speaks again, softly and quietly.

"Why do you need to be forced to learn that?" Sympathy has a cobra-like grip around her words. I don't reply and instead clench my jaw tightly.

She doesn't know. She doesn't know about my father still being out there. She's completely been thrown into the shadows and dark by whoever should inform her about my situation.

It dawns on me that if they did tell her my story - if they showed her their version of my story on my file - then she wouldn't of dared to breathe in my direction. I'm sure she knows I went through something, but she most likely even barely understands a general concept of what happened. She would be petrified if she knew the full realty, and would try her best stay away from me.

Maybe I prefer it this way though. It ticks me off that people weren't telling the truth, and even when they were, they were telling their version of it - but at least Hayley isn't bothering me because she feels sorry for me. She's not pitying me. She's just being herself. That's all I've ever wanted, but never had.

Besides, it's not really her place to know anything about me. Neither does anyone else that already knows (even if they really don't know anything about me at all). It's probably better for Hayley to just...not know. She doesn't need to. I can keep it that way.

"I never had an adult to teach me how. And sometimes they put me into houses without someone who has fighting experience. They just want me to be prepared," I lie smoothly.

Hayley releases a breath and and tilts her head back a little, chuckling at herself. "Right. Duh. I thought there was something we needed to be prepared for. Whew."

Well, she's not wrong about being prepared. But she isn't right about what to be prepared for.

It's not something. It's someone.

~

The classes in school didn't go by very quickly. I was bored out of my mind, staring at the lesson plans in front of me in disappointment. Was that seriously all the curriculum offered? I was doing that before second grade.

The other thing that made time slow down was the fact that my shoulder was bothering me. It didn't hurt too bad because of the medicine, but it still was kind of stinging. So that's all I could focus on.

And now I am in the music room during lunch period, grateful to finally have some sort of isolation from everyone. The music teacher isn't currently in the facility, meaning it's left to myself and myself alone.

I stroll around, looking at the vast choice of instruments they have here as a distraction from the tingling on my mark. They've got everything from orchestra flutes to ginormous basses. Adoration fills me from head to toe.

My movements come to a stop when I notice the gorgeously crafted Martin sitting on a stand. It wasn't as pretty as the one I was given, but it's still beautiful nevertheless.

I pick it up and wrap the strap onto myself, being cautious so I don't rub the material on my shoulder blade. Once the instrument is situated, I grab a chair and plop down, picking at the strings. A hollow majestic sound floats from the sound hole and fills the void-of-noise room.

I take a deep breath and begin to play a song written by me a year and four days ago. It brings back some painful memories, but I wanted to just play it once. I haven't sang the lyrics since I wrote it. They were far too personal and frightening to be sang aloud.

Aren't I defiant today.

I keep the steady beat of an intro going, tips of my fingers stroking each string softly.