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Disappearing from sight, I move toward my personal refuge. A place beyond the trees where parents who spend more timewatchingtheir kids thanarguingabout them don’t allow them to breach.
A place of stillness. A quiet not often gifted to me, found here, in my own personal sanctuary.
Twigs crack under my bare feet as I make my way through the trees. It used to hurt when the crack of a broken stick pierced my skin. Now it just feels like home. Like freedom.
The light from the sun dims into a damp darkness the closer I get to the water. I can hear it from here, flowing calmly, welcoming me.
I found this place six months ago on an afternoon not unlike today. My parents were fighting, arguing over what to buy me for my birthday, about what would impress me more. If only they knew the one thing I wanted in this world was peace, was freedom from them,together.
My fingers brush against the rough bark of the trees as I zig-zag between them, my skin catching on their coarse surface. I breathe in the fresh air; the scent of the dirt and last night's raindrops my favorite perfume. I let my heart beat in rhythm to the birds' song and the river's melody.
Breaking through the trees, I smile for the first time since I was here yesterday. Eyes closed, I tip my head back, inhaling the thick, earthy scent of my secret spot.
Arms stretched out wide, I greet the coolness of the breeze. I let it rush across my skin in an embrace.
Welcome home.
The sharp sound of a throat clearing pulls me from my quiet, startling me enough to make me turn in search of the sound.
He watches me with a tilted head of interest. Curiosity shines from his light-colored eyes. Hair covered by a backward cap, he forces a dark eyebrow to lift slowly.
A glitch in my perfect picture. An error, not able to be erased.
“You’re on my rock,” I announce rudely, staring at the boy—who doesn’t look much older than me—perched upon the wide rock on the bank of the river.
Myrock.
The one place I come to sit andbreatheat.
The boy stands, dusting the back of his jeans as he searches around the large rock, bending his ridiculous height to sweep his eyes over it thoroughly.
“What are you doing?”
Pausing, he stands at full height, well above the normal range of a teenage boy. “Looking for your name.”
I feel my eyebrows pinch together.
“You said it was your rock,” he explains as he steps closer, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants. “I was just looking for proof of property.”
I let my frown grow.
“Of course, I don’townthe rock,” I bite out, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. “But this is my place. I’ve been coming here for months, and I’veneverseen you here before.”
He nods, notquitelooking at me. “I just moved here. Today actually. I was out exploring and found this place.”
He looks pleased to be here. Content to be surrounded by everything and nothing all at once.
“Aren’t you too young to be exploring the woods by yourself?”
“Aren’t you?” he retorts, meeting my eyes.
“I’m fifteen.”
“Me too,” he announces triumphantly, a smirk tipping at the corner of his thick lips.
I blink.
He doesn’t.
