three

There were footsteps following me as I walked out of the library. I was afraid to turn around, so I picked up my pace. Before I could turn the corner and head home, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Frightened, I let out a scream and dropped my books. He covered my mouth with his hand—the bandaged one. I stared at it with fear in my eyes.

"It's you, isn't it?" he asked in a quiet voice. He removed his hand from my mouth and stared at me. "In the classroom yesterday, it was you, wasn't it?" I didn't answer him—I was afraid he'd lash out at me again. I was still scared from what had happened and I couldn't get the image of him out of my head.

He let go of me and took a step back. "It was you," he said with so much certainty. A sigh escaped through his lips and he ran a hand through his hair. "Look. Whatever you saw yesterday, just—pretend it never happened. You never saw me in there, okay?" He gave me a small smile and nodded before turning around and walking away.

"How am I supposed to do that?" I asked, loud enough for him to hear me. He stopped walking and hesitated to turn around, but he did.

"What?"

"How can you forget about something so easily as if nothing had happened?" My eyes trailed down to his hand, "You act as if nothing had happened at all and smile as if nothing were wrong. Then you tell me to keep quiet as if you hadn't yelled at me—how am I supposed to act as if I saw nothing?"

He was staring at me with the same look from the library. It made it hard for me to believe that someone like him could smile so beautifully. "You just do," he said. "That's what pretending is all about—you fake everything. God knows I've been doing it all this time." With that, he turned around and walked away.

I wish that was the last time I saw him.