The Wise Child (BNHA x OC)

13. Regret

(Implied abuse)

I stared at the other five year olds tentatively, watching as they laughed and ran around the playground's harsh metal equipment. I held my mother's hand tightly in my own, terrified to move more than an inch closer to one of them. Something bad would happen, I was sure of it.

Shoto, like myself, stood half hidden behind my mother, though he did better at pretending it wasn't fear but aloofness driving him. I only knew he was afraid because I always knew when Shoto was afraid.

I pulled at my hair, held into two twin braids, so loose I worried that if I moved my head too much they would fall apart. And my mother spent so much time doing them. I stared at my shoes, shiny and black, and large enough that if I ran too much they would fall off.

My mother placed a hand on my shoulder, and another on Shoto's.

"I didn't bring you two here to hide behind me the whole time. You should go and try to make friends." Her voice was soft, but scolding. And there were worry lines edged along her forehead. I wondered why.

Shoto stood firmly planted. I wanted to do the same. Refuse to move until she agreed to let us go home.

But I wasn't sure if I would have an opportunity to see the other children again after today. Even now I could tell my mother only took us because she was certain my father wouldn't find out, gone on a business trip.

So, with shaking legs, and a very forced smile on my face, I walked towards the first boy I saw. He was short and poking at something with a stick, looking at it with wide eyes.

He didn't seem to notice that I approached until I came up behind him peering over his shoulder to see a small green caterpillar on the ground.

What was I meant to say? Hello? No, no, that wasn't right. It was hard to start a conversation with just one word. What did people normally say to each other? I never thought about how I talked before. It just came naturally, but now it wasn't coming naturally.

Maybe I should have asked a question. But what question? Maybe I should share instead. Yes, being open, that sounded perfect. Maybe a fun fact. I read all about animals in my book, and who doesn't like animals?

"Did you know that butterflies drink blood?"

He jumped back and screamed. Flinging his stick at me, on purpose or by accident it was hard to tell.

"Where did you come from!" he shrieked.

I blinked, unsure of how to answer. Slowly I pointed towards my mother, who was now watching with wide eyes and pale lips.

"Why'd ya sneak up on me?!"
"It's 'Why did you'."

"What?"

"'Why'd ya' is improper english. It's supposed to be said as 'why did you.'"

Yes, this was going well. I was sharing more facts, and the words were coming more naturally.

He looked at me with a confusing expression. His face scrunched together into an ugly formation. Maybe he was trying to make a nice face. I should inform him, to help him.

"The face you are making is unpleasant."

He did not heed my advice, if anything only furthering the same look.

"You're such a freak!"

I blinked. Freak. It sounded bad. But if it was bad why was he calling me one? Had I said something wrong? Had one of my braids fallen out? Maybe I had something in my teeth?