Chapter 2

                                    

                                          
(Kizuato's p.o.v.)
                          
I was just leaving school when I heard a sharp, loud scream of pain followed by what seemed to be laughter.
                          
The only reason I was here after hours was to work on a project, and finally the teacher had kicked me out because it was nearing four-thirty and he needed to leave. Since my car was near the back of the lot, I decided that it'd be better to leave out the back doors and walk a little bit around the building rather than go all the way through the institution and have to hike that much farther to get to my car. Though the parking lot did have a really stupid design; I wonder if they'd fix that...
                          
Ahh, shit. I'm rambling again, sorry.
                          
Anyway, the scream. It was the sound of human pain, and the laughter I heard- clearly not good. So I dropped my stuff by my car and ran towards where the sound had come from.
                          
As I neared the source of the noise, I began hearing choked-up sobbing. And when I came around the corner of the building, I saw a group of seven guys laughing and cheering. A tall, blond boy was standing over a short, brown-haired boy who appeared to be the one who was crying. The blond was laughing at the smaller one's pain. The group started walking away, and the small kid muttered something before passing out. 
                          
I knew I'd witnessed some severe bullying, and I was pissed beyond belief.
                          
As soon as the group was far enough away, I rushed over to the boy laying on the ground and knelt down beside his wounded and battered body. He had a thin, curvy frame that could easily be mistaken for a girl's, wavy, chocolatey hair, and a somewhat pale complexion that lent itself to the bruises vividness. I knew him from my art class- he was an extraordinarily talented artist; able to create exquisitely detailed drawings and paintings. I recalled that his name was Jace... Becker? I wasn't quite sure, but I knew that he had grown up in England and moved here the previous November.
                          
He was a quiet person, one who usually kept to himself and stayed towards the back. But he was an incredibly intelligent person, and he had a good bit of sass. Once, when some kid was preaching the bible and criticizing him for being gay (Jace was open about his sexuality) in class, Jace had simply turned and faced the asshole and smirked. He held up his hands, revealing his two middle fingers forming a cross and quoted, "Thou shalt not judge." The guy was taken aback and had no response, and Jace just went back to his painting.
                          
It was one of the few times I actually laughed at something.
                          
I didn't know him well, just that he was quiet and tended to stick to the back of the class (except for the rare times when he used his sass). He didn't really seem like the type to attract bullies- he just didn't talk to people much.
                          
But he obviously had.
                          
He had a split lip, a cut above his eyebrow, and bruises all over. His tears had left trails down his cheeks- he'd been in a lot of pain.
                          
And then I found what had caused him to scream so loud.
                          
His right wrist was swollen and a mixture of purple, black, and green bruises. It was broken, even I could tell. I didn't have clue why they'd hurt him so bad... 
                          
Just that he was hurt.
                          
I pushed my dyed indigo hair out of my eyes, thinking on what I should do. I didn't know whether or not to call an ambulance... my car was right there. 
                          
Ah, to hell with it. I'll drive him there. 
                          
I could feel him still trembling a bit as I carefully scooped him up. I tried not to hurt his already broken wrist, but he still whimpered slightly when I had to move his arm.