Page 10 of Boots & Scars

I turned my attention to the frat boy once more. "I was just talking to her," he insisted, his voice taking on a defensive edge.

I looked around for the girl to get her side of the story but found that she had already slipped away amidst the chaos. Her absence left an unsettling silence in her wake — her side of this confrontation now a missing piece in an increasingly complex puzzle.

"Talking? Is that right?" The aggressor took a step forward, his voice thick with disdain. "I didn't realize you spoke with your hands."

"What business of it is yours, you freak?" the frat boy shot back. His eyes darted nervously between the towering figure before him and me, seeking an ally but finding none. "She didn't say no, did she? She liked it."

"Go on, then." The aggressor's gaze fell on me with those piercing dark eyes, like he was peering into my very soul. "Why don't you try to clear up a misunderstanding?"

I opened my mouth, scrambling for words. "Well, I'm sure he didn't mean to… um… what did he do exactly?"

"You mean you don't know?" The aggressor's brow rose in a mix of amusement and scorn. "Maybe, and this is just me, mind your fucking business then."

"I can't just stand by and let you harass a student when you're clearly, you know, not a student," I said. "The power balance isn't exactly fair."

"Is that right?" He leaned in closer. "Tell me, then, sugar, could you stand by and let this jackass paw at some timid girl who can't even open her mouth and say no to stop it?"

"Well, of course not —"

"Then mind your fucking business," he growled.

"I'm just trying to utilize nonviolent conflict resolution —"

"Honey, the world is a violent place," he interrupted. His voice carried the weight of hard-earned wisdom or perhaps resigned cynicism. "Sometimes, it's the only way people listen."

"I don't believe that," I asserted.

"Oh, you don't, do you?" He scoffed lightly. "Let me guess: only child, grew up overprotected, maybe you were told how beautiful the world is, hmm?"

"The worldisbeautiful," I insisted stubbornly.

The aggressor chuckled darkly. "Look at my face, little girl," he said. His scarred visage was suddenly inches from mine. "You think this is beautiful?"

Before I could muster a response to his rhetorical question, my alarm went off.

"Shoot," I whispered under my breath. My final was going to start any second.

"It's not about what's on the outside," I said, meeting his gaze with a resolve that surprised even me. "It's the inside that counts."

The aggressor snorted, a rough sound that spoke of disbelief and maybe a little bit of pity. "You've gotta be shitting me," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

With that final warning hanging in the air, I spun on my heel and raced towards the brick building where my statistics final awaited. My heart hammered against my ribs, adrenaline and anxiety warring within me as I dodged between students and skirted around patches of lawn freshly green from spring's touch, praying I wasn't late and ignoring the way a heavy gaze followed me the entire way.

4

Cooper

The audacity of that girl. She stood out like a swan among ducks, with her blonde hair cascading down like spun gold and those pale green eyes, wide and unblinking, staring up at me. Porcelain skin, so pristine and untouched it looked as though she'd never felt the kiss of the sun. The way she had confronted me about "conflict resolution" was almost comical.

Almost.

I chuckled to myself; the sound echoing off the locker room walls as I grabbed my gear. The little girl had marched up to me with a courage I didn't expect from someone who seemed so sheltered. And yet, there she was, stepping into my world like she owned it.

I shook my head as I walked out into the biting cold that led to Pandora's Box, the campus ice rink that I had known ten years ago. The crunch of snow beneath my boots grounded me in the present moment, away from that bizarre encounter. The rink was where I could forget about scars—both the ones on my face and those less visible.

Pushing through the doors, I was greeted by the familiar chill and the sharp scent of fresh ice. This place always managed to calm the storm inside me. Strapping on my skates, I could feel every worry start to slip away.

The ice beckoned, a sheet of glassy perfection waiting for my blades to carve it up. As I glided onto the rink, power surged through my legs. With each stroke, speed built up, wind whipping past my ears and drowning out any remnants of that earlier frustration.

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