Just an Ounce

A short experience gives her a bit of hope, helping her to overcome her past and better herself.

“You wanna know why I liked you so much? Why I was so upset when you stopped talking to me, even though we had only been talking for a week? Because I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. At least, not like they did. I knew you wouldn’t use your fists to control me or use your words to break me.”

He stares at me like I should be in a looney bin. His eyebrows furrowed, his arms wrapped around his torso, his head tilt down with his shoulders hunched in, I know then that maybe he’s afraid, too. Of me, of what I know, of how easily it is for me to assess this situation. Intimidation factor, that’s it; “How? How are you so sure that I wouldn’t do that? You barely know me.”

“Eyes don’t lie, my dear. You grabbed my arms that night, and for the first time in my life, I wasn’t afraid of a man touching me. I knew then that you would never hurt me. Your eyes were too gentle. You were angry at me, but your eyes weren’t. The others? Their eyes weren’t nice. They were full of hate and anger. Those are the eyes that you see and you just know that the anger won’t stop in their eyes. Their eyes get so angry and then their hands take control and they just try to force that anger to you.

“When you were a child, did you ever stand hand in hand with your friends or siblings and one person grabs the electric fence? But they don’t feel the pain, do they? It’s the person at the other end. They didn’t do anything but hold someone’s hand. That’s how it feels to love someone that has anger in their eyes. Those are the type of people that hurt you most. But you? You were different. That’s why it’s so hard to forget that smallest amount of time we had together.

“Never in my life had I experienced that. Never in my life had I felt safe with a man like I did with you at that moment. I only knew you for a week and you had already taken one of my firsts. And now I feel even more alone, because I know that it’s possible. I know that eyes without anger exists. I know what it feels like to be touched by a man and not feel fear. And as soon as I experienced it, its stolen from me. And I’m left emptier than before.

“So there it is, Alec. Now you know. I don’t expect you to understand. I just wanted to tell you,” I turn with my back to him, though he can still see it. My shaking shoulders give everything away, and if not that, then maybe it was the quivering of my chin as I tore down the wall around my heart. I take one step forward, away from the person who gave me an ounce of hope. Then two steps, three, four. Soon, I’m nowhere near him. My pace quickens, my feet thud against the ground, and I run. Far, far away.

 

 

My heart rate is picking up, my breath quickening. My body aches and the anxiety that courses through it only makes the pain worse. I steal a quick glance behind me. The gap between us is becoming smaller. I see the desire on his face, the anticipation. I turn back just in time to dodge the pot hole in the middle of my path. I change course, taking a sharp left turn. I can’t let him catch me. I push my sore legs to run faster. My body begs me to stop. I push harder. Another obstacle: a wall. I lengthen my strides, preparing to jump. Then my back knee is bent and then it explodes and I fly into the air. The sole of my front foot grasps the lip of a brick as my fingers touch the top of the wall. Using my leverage on that brick, I push off my front foot and then I’m up, over, flying.

And all at once, I’m falling and, suddenly, I’m on the ground. Sloppy landing; that’s going to cost me. I can’t waste time to look behind me. I scramble to my feet and then I’m running again. Faster, harder. I turn a corner and I finally see it. My heart quickens as my eyes widen. My legs race forward without being told. I’m twenty feet away. I look back; he’s getting closer. Facing forward: ten feet away. I can hear his footsteps echoing close behind. Five feet away, I can feel him nearly in contact with me.

And then its zero feet away as I crash into the red ribbon, pulling it, taking it with me as I collapse onto the ground. I feel the adrenaline in my veins. Everyone crowds around me: my brother, my sister, my mom, my coach, and my team. I see how proud their eyes are. They pull my sweat-drenched body close to theirs. A second later: I’m gasping for air. I need out. I need space. I mumble at them, give a lopsided smile, and jog to the outer edge of the booths. I collapse on a tree stump.

My mind wanders from the race, to the training, back to two years ago: hope. I try not to think of him. He’s not what matters. It’s his eyes that matter. Eyes so unique, I’ve never seen anything quite like them. I dream of more eyes like that. I envision that I meet another pair of gentle eyes, and then I see two, three, and then a whole room, and finally, everywhere I go is filled with nice eyes. Oh, how I wish I could live in a world full of nice eyes. Hope. Just an ounce. But it’s enough to keep me going, keep me fighting. The sides of my lips lift, my eyes crunch, and suddenly, a wonderful sound escapes my chest. I stand, dancing, laughing. Maybe he’s right to have thought that. Maybe I do belong in a looney bin. But that doesn’t upset me. I’m full of hope and nothing can take that from me. Nothing.

Author's Note

Please point out any errors or inconsistencies! Also would love any constructive criticism to help me learn to become a better writer.