I plugged my earphone in and blasted electronic music on full volume as I made my way through the corridor and towards my classroom the next day. I was half afraid my bloodshot and swollen eyes would give away too much and glued them to the floor. I was aware of several gazes trained on me, jeering and sneering in my direction.

I picked up my pace, resisting the urge to break into a run as I finally reached the classroom. I felt extremely vulnerable, feeling all eyes on me as I bowed my head and quickly made my way to the very back of the first class, biology. I rested my forehead against the desk, shutting my eyes and letting the music drown out as much of the world outside as it could. My heart raced with nervousness, afraid that someone would approach me. However, I was lucky when our teacher arrived and started talking about Mendelian Inheritance. I struggled to maintain focus, extremely aware of people staring at me even as I did so.

I escaped the classroom the moment the hour was over and quickly called Cam, knowing I couldn't be alone that day. He picked up on the first ring and thankfully, met me in front of the biology lab along with Ray. Both of their faces were pale with what I assumed was worry.

"Hey," Cam shook his head. "So..."

"Let's just...I don't want to talk about it," I answered. They nodded and I was thankful that they weren't pushing it. While I was talking to them, I heard someone whisper something unintelligible from behind me. Even without listening, I knew it was about me. My stomach twisted in anxiety. How long would this go on? 

I turned around as Cam balled his fists, glaring at the curly-haired junior who deflated a little under his stare and walked away.

I went through the entire day trying hard to hold my own. If things were so bad for me, I could only imagine how much worse they were for Wilder. I saw him walking along the corridor once between the classes, alone. His face remained impassive, his eyes haunted and hollow. Like somewhere, the light behind them had gone out. I felt like a dagger was stuck down my windpipe.

He looked like he hadn't slept for days. Despite what had happened in the locker room that day, my heart still ached for him. Hot magma pooled my insides when I remembered the incidence with cruel clarity. How had this happened? How had I found myself in this massive scandal and even dragged Wilder with me into the messy quagmire?

By the end of the day, some of the sneerings had subsided. Maybe people were getting bored. At least, I hoped they were. I was exhausted of ignoring everyone anyway. Our last class was English and my heart raced in trepidation. It was time to hand in the assignment that had kept me awake the entire night.

And worse, Wilder would be there. Under usual circumstances, I would be delighted at a chance to see him during school hours, something I rarely did. This time, however, I was terrified of the pain I knew I would feel on seeing him in anguish. 

English was the common subject across all the streams, which meant that the majority of the students, including Wilder, took it. I entered the classroom, my heart in my throat and sat at the left most corner of the room with Cam and Ray. I looked around, spotting Wilder on the opposite corner, his face resting on the desk. Thankfully, apart from a few stares and whispers in his direction, no one seemed to be saying anything.

I gazed at him silently, looking at the sun rays reflecting off the back of his head in shimmering sparkles. What went on his head? What went on in his heart? Did he honestly not care? Everything that he had said that day, the way he pushed me away, the way he broke my heart. Was he remorseless? Or just scared?

But I still cared for him too much. I didn't know how to stop. I didn't think I could. I wanted to be there for him, but he wouldn't let me. It was a punishment to see him in pain and being unable to do anything about it. A sentence for my unsaid crimes. If it was a sin to love him, then seeing him broken was my penance. 

My throat felt tight as Ms Roberts finally walked into the classroom and began. Brad went first, or more like didn't at all. To my surprise he looked forlorn, his eyes way too dark and morose. I silently wondered whether he had any reason to look so sad. Then soon after it was Camden. He had chosen 'Believer' by Imagine Dragons and created a short story around a boxer and how he had fought back against all odds. It was a nice little story, even though half of the literary devices that he cited were wrong.

Each time that the roll numbers got closer and closer to mine, thirteen, my heart rose higher and higher through my throat. I found the air suddenly suffocating. This assignment meant more to me than to anyone else in the room. It was me baring my poems to the world for the first time. I was going to go stand in front of the classroom and strip myself to stand naked. Vulnerable. Open to spears of judgement piercing my skin and shredding my body.

Soon my name was called and I instinctively glanced at Wilder. I watched, stunned as his eyes swivelled towards me for just a second. Almost unmistakable agony passed behind his chasm-like eyes, but my heart was too shattered to hope again.

"Nicola James Evans," Miss Roberts nodded at me, her expression stern like always. I wondered silently if she knew about the scandal. I had enough experience to know that teachers had more information about their students than we realised. The thought encased my heart in an icy cage.

Twenty pairs of eyes were fixed on me as I walked up to the front of the classroom. I fished out the crumpled sheet of paper where I had haphazardly marked the literary devices used. The entire poem was a metaphor, but I hoped I wouldn't have to explain that. It was a story of me falling in love with someone was perhaps always much too out of my league.

I could hear the blood pounding ferociously in my head. A silence fell in the classroom. I had been a good public speaker, even though I had been introverted for the entirety of my lifetime. It hadn't been difficult for me to speak in front of people. Perhaps because nothing I had ever spoken in an extempore had been so raw. It had been fiction for me, but the poem I held in my hand, was my reality.

"Um...it's n-not a s-song or poem," I addressed Miss Roberts. She gazed at me, her eyes squinted as she studied me curiously. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back on the table. "I...I mean it is a poem. I wrote it. If that is okay?"

She smiled slightly and nodded. Even though she was strict, she believed that our imagination could only be let free in the English class. With my penchant for creative writing, I was pretty sure she had a soft corner for me. I wouldn't have dared to go so off-topic in any other class.

I took in a deep breath, feeling my heart beating painfully. Was I ready to bare myself in such a way? Maybe I would never be. 

I fixed my gaze on Wilder and found him gazing back. His alluring eyes were still dark, making me yearn to reach into the unfathomable depths. It was my story. It was our story.

I gathered every ounce of courage in my heart. I let myself feel the long-vanished scars. I let myself remember the jeers. I let myself drown in the anguish and get strangled by the darkness. I took in a shuddering breath, letting my words be my air. And then I began.

"Um...my poem is called Th-The Bird that Forgot to Fly."

 There were murmurs and exchanged glances. I fixed my eyes on the sheet of paper, my chest tight. I couldn't get myself to look into the crowd. This was too personal, and I wasn't that brave yet. With each word, the air around me solidified and cocooned me in a suffocating warmth.

"He was born under the twinkling stars as their silver rays kissed the lands on a mystical night.
He opened his wings and spread them far, promising to flutter, fly and search for his own light.

He could see the eagles soaring so far above, he could barely fathom them in his sight.
He gazed at his ordinary plumage, the way his feathers were simplistically spun,
he knew to them, he couldn't be compared that night,
But bravely looked farther than them at the stars,
and promised one day he would be one.

The next morning he found himself soaring,
he laughed and dawdled, the world was his to conquer.
He could see infinite expanse, the emerald grass,
he was unbothered by the lurking, obscure, fiendish monster.

He flew unfettered, joyously chirping.
Unbeknownst to him, the demons were spawning.
Suddenly, they flew into him and he was splintering.
Falling. Crashing. Breaking. Ending.

He lay on the ground, his feathers covered in a bloody sheen,
he gazed at his heart that bled relentlessly,
he watched in anguish as the scarlet adorned the green.
He cried and begged and pleaded shamelessly.

His agony yearned to pull him apart,
pick the pieces like the cruel empress she was.
She crushed and ripped and struck his heart,
then discarded it in an infinite chasm with a careless toss.

His tears had dried, he felt numb,
when through his vision he saw the ray of light.
A sweet symphony, a heavenly hum,
it was just another bird, but he was a godly sight.

Beautiful plumage, eyes mysteriously brown.
The little bird's broken heart fluttered,
it suddenly hurt less he smiled a little, abandoning his frown.
He was unused to the strange bird's kindness.

They soared again together in the sky happy, unbound, timelessly
the little bird could see beauty again,
they were flying high, laughing and playing together,
guilelessly.

Suddenly the little bird saw an omnibus of colours,
a flock of birds flying towards them.
All of them beautiful, bright and lively like joyous flowers,
they were just like the stranger bird who had cured him.

He watched in despair as the alluring flock,
swept away the kind stranger.
In a bid of desperation,
he flew to him and handed him the pieces of his heart,
he could sense their friendship was in danger.
He told the stranger how deeply he had felt for him, right from the start.
The strange bird refused to look as the colourful monsters laughed cruelly,
in a desperate bid to rid of him, he dealt to him a blow, fatally.

The little bird flailed and screamed trying to reach for a hand but he found none,
he watched his heart shatter beneath him on the ground.

His lungs refused to breathe,
his heart no longer was alive to beat,
he lay on the grass broken in pieces scattered like a million shards of glass.
His mind was pushed into a dark abyss, his feeble heart now a bloody, mangled mass.

Agony and anguish were his solitary truth,
he gazed up weakly at the azure sky.
Wishing he could again learn to fly,
but he knew he wouldn't ever dare to stretch again so high.

His fading vision saw the colourful plumage belonging to the most beautiful bird out of them all, flying far above him, so out of reach,
before he staggered, cried and was too exhausted to breathe."

I ended in almost a whisper, my throat closed up. I suddenly felt like I was drowning under a massive wave of water. I couldn't look at anyone. I kept staring at the floor, aware of the deathly silence and solid air around me. My heart seemed to have stopped beating. It was still, like the world around me suddenly was. 

"Um...I marked the devices," I said in a shaky voice, breaking the deafening din of silence. I stretched an arm out in a bid to hand Miss Roberts the pathetically crumpled sheet of paper without looking at her. She didn't take it however and finally, I managed to gaze up at her.

She was smiling, her eyes glistening slightly as she took the paper and placed it on the desk. "That was wonderful, Nicola. Thank you for sharing that beautiful piece with us."

A lump rose up my throat and I was suddenly ashamed of the prickling hot tears behind my eyeballs. I nodded silently and with my gaze still fixed on the floor, made my way back to my seat. I rested my head against the desk as the silence continued for a while before Miss Roberts cleared her throat, addressing the class in a voice suddenly thick with emotions. It was strange to hear her that way.

Each cell of my body wanted me to look at Wilder but I didn't have the courage. Would he know? Would he realize how much he meant to me? Would he realize why I loved him? Would he realize I had been bleeding and was till today?

I was terrified of finding out.

Hi everyone...so yeah...that was the poem I wrote and I am kind of insecure about it :D As you can probably tell, I am not very versed with the punctuation marks and how all of it works. So...yes I hope to improve on that and hope the poem didn't make you cringe too hard. Thanks for reading!