Page 95 of Freestyle
He grabs the front of my shirt and rips it open, buttons flying everywhere, then cuts the rest off and throws it away. He takes my phone and turns it off.
The only thing covering me is myunderwear.
Alberto is panting heavily as he pulls me into his arms, his knife pressed again to my throat.
He drops the backpack that I hadn’t seen before, and bends me over with him as he rummages through it. He pulls out a rope and begins to tie my hands behind my back.
“What are you doing?Whyare you doing this?” I cry.
“I’m doing this because we’re meant to be together, Rowboat. And soon you’ll wear a mark like your favorite pony, except this will be my stamp on you,” he chuckles darkly into my hair.
I begin to thrash, trying to escape his grasp but the cold metal of the blade cuts into my skin, making me gasp.
He pulls out what looks like a branding iron and pushes my boy shorts up, exposing my thigh.
“This will hurt, but you’re going to hold still or it will only burn worse.”
My body freezes in terror as the cold iron presses into my thigh.
The pain doesn’t come all at once.
It sears in a flash; bright, white, cold, and then spreads, slow and unbearable. My scream catches in my throat as the brand kisses the outside of my thigh.
He leans in too close, whispers something vile I can’t even hear over the roar in my ears.
And then,crack.
Everything shifts.
There’s a blur of sound and movement, gravel scattering, fists slamming, the snap of bone. I don’t know if it’s mine or his.
I’m on the ground, shaking, the world spiraling, then I hear it. A gun shot, and my world tilts on its axis as darkness overwhelms me.
Twenty Four
Alberto
Noonelistens.Notreally. Not when I say things, not when I warn them, but she did. Rowyn. She heard me once. Just once. Third Tuesday in October. She dropped a pencil, and looked me in the eye like I was real. That’s all it takes.
People like her... they’re soft inside. Pretend-tough, but I see through that. I always have. Since sixth grade. Since the dog. Since Mom said I stare too long. Since they told me I shouldn’t feel nothing when it all went quiet. Since she told me to be her friend.
They act like I’mbroken.
I’m not broken. I’mawake.
She looked at the pony like she used to look at me. It makes me feel things. Soft and hard. Thinks rage equals love. Thinks stepping in now makes up forignoring me before.
Too late. Too late. Too late.
The phone texts were art. Smiley face included. :) She didn’t block me, that means something. It means she wants the conversation.
I watch her sit on the fountain like she’s waiting for a date. My heart skips. No, thunders. No, stops.
This is the part where the story gets interesting.
I brought the brand. Cold like freezing rain.
She’ll understand once it’s done, once it’s etched. My name without letters. Just pain.
