Chapter 20

"God created one race and that is the human race. Humans are the ones that created racism."

Jane Elliot.

My blood immediately runs cold. An acid-yellow sun dims its intense light and the cobalt-blue sky darkens, instantaneously becoming mundane. Dull.

The hum of vehicles are quiet, yet the crowded, disorganised thoughts and voices inside my head are loud, yelling and screaming, reminding me of the previous conclusion I had made.

Bleach-white clouds attack the sky, allowing the sun to hide behind its immense shape. Birds splutter, their harmonious tunes and melodious chirps, beginning to show constant errors, frequent mistakes of unrelated notes. As the chestnut-brown trees sway with the light breeze, each tree carries a beautiful set of vibrant, green leaves, which tilt at the force of the wind and slightly rustle as the breeze proceed to turn into chaos.

Meanwhile, Wyatt remains in front of me, most likely waiting for an excuse. His hands still cup my face, his emerald-green eyes attentively watching me, attempting to calculate my next move or depict my current mood. Licking his lips and breathing heavily, Wyatt blankly stares at me and I feel the need to turn away from him, avoiding his gaze altogether.

However, the situation is not that simple, for when I do try to put this plan into action, the perfect boy makes sure that I make eye-contact with him, clearly portraying his emotions behind the stoic expression.

Reluctantly, Wyatt releases me but I can tell that the answer he needs is necessary. Again, I come back to my previous conclusion.

"This was a bad idea, Valentina!" I think. "A very bad idea indeed..."

"I know it was you who messaged me on Facebook."

It floats around my mind as the loud thoughts and voices feast of my guilt and fear, tearing me from the inside out. Calming myself down, I prepare for Wyatt's bitter remarks and accusations, disappointments and disgust as he informs me that we can no longer be friends.

"So?" Wyatt asks. "Are you going to tell me why you did it?"

"You have no proof that I did anything," I slowly murmur. "No proof at all."

"You really want to try me?" He chuckles.

Sniggering, I reply with:

"Yes. Yes I really do, Hunter."

Evidently, Wyatt is taken aback the use of his last name. Of course, he quickly recovers, ready to state the evidence he has against me, the grand justification  on why he thinks I was the one who did it.

"When the person who messaged me and I were texting, they mentioned that they heard you weren't good at socialising," Wyatt explains.

"Yeah, and?" I ask, vaguely recalling snippets of the conversation.

"Well sadly, no one (except for me) talks to you. Meaning, that if no one talks to you, no one can make any assumption of whether or not you're good at  socialising. Therefore, the only person who could know that is you."

Staring back at Wyatt, I blink several times before answering:

"You know that this whole town creates rumours about me. Everyone has a preconceived opinion on me, which is not based on reason or experience."

Nodding, Wyatt smirks.

"He's obviously coming up with another piece of 'evidence.' Just deny everything he says!"

"Val," Wyatt begins, "only you would go through all that trouble to see whether I slit my wrists or not," he laughs, keeping his voice down.

Looking down at his wrists, I realise that there is not a single mark on them. Strange.

"If you did slit your wrists, how come there's no marks?"

He shrugs.

"Scars eventually fade," Wyatt retorts. "Also, I haven't done it ever since I met you."

I feel myself blush at his sweet words.

"Ewww," I internally exclaim. "He's trying to trick you!"

"You're a liar!" I accuse.

"So are you," Wyatt says.

"Y-your invasive!" I stutter.

"Says the girl that stalked my Facebook page, just to see whether or not I slit my wrist," he mutters.

"I stalked your Facebook page and messaged you because I care, Wyatt. I care about you," I speak, through gritted teeth.

The world slows down and Wyatt smiles at my confession. Frowning at my stupidity, I watch as the perfect boy snickers at my defeat.

"I knew it," he whispers. "I.Knew.It."