Downright Delinquents discussion

Gabe sat in the corner, his pen flying over the paper, paint sets open all around him as he tried to get the images out of his head. If he got them out he could forget them, lock them away, tear them to shreds, then maybe he would be able to talk about it, then maybe he would be able to say three words to a pretty girl without going psychotic. Papers were spread over the floor all around him, black pain smudged under his eyes from the paint he was using.

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Violet had come in some time later. She had a small sketch pad, a pencil, and a handheld pencil sharpener. She didn't notice Gabe, not much until she actually looked around. She didn't need nor want to bug him. She sat in a corner and started sketching the empty class room without the drawings and the artist that drew them.

Gabe looked up as she walked in. What were the chances that they would end up in the same empty classroom once again. His pencil stopped violently, tearing a streak in the paper as he tore it from his sketchbook, hurriedly capping his paints. He looked over at her, she was much more graceful in the way she drew, not like him, scribbling at his paper like a madman.

Violet looked up at the sound of ripping, seeing him cleaning up. She stopped slowly drawing watching him curiously. Then went back to drawing the classroom. Her pencil carefully shading the shadows. She glanced up, sometimes her eyes looking at Gabe.

Gabe looked over at her, shaking his head, moving over to sit beside her, nothing but a pencil tucked behind his ear to show what he had been using. He sat close beside her, looking at the drawing she was making, she was pretty good, but she needed to darken her lines, add shadow.

Violet gulped and moved slightly away, a little uncomfortable. She still looked up completely the rest of the classroom other than shadow and such. After a few minutes, she blew on the canvas paper which scattered the pencil dust to the floor. Then turned the drawing so it was facing Gabe.

Gabe looked at it, nodding little. "Light, you can't see the light," he murmured, not wanting to be rude, indicating to the sun where it was reaching through the window, casting long shadows of desks across the room. He was looking at his own shadow, tracing it against the wall.

Violet nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly and fixed it. She shaded and made it more obvious that there was light. She once again brushed the pencil dust off and made her tiny signature at the bottom left hand corner. She wrote the date and felt satisfied about it. She smiled and pulled the front cover over her previous drawings. Then let the sketch pad rest on her lap.

Gabe watched her, itching his ear a little. He was nervous, on edge. She was an amazing artist, but being in a room alone with a girl, he should probably say something. "You're...you're pretty good."

She looked at him. "Thank you, again. From what I saw, your artwork and creations are interesting," Violet said quietly. She sighed. "In translation, you're very good too." She looked at him.

"They're horrible, morbid, depressing. They're all I can do anymore because they're all that's in my head. I want to go back to my old work," he told her. He was relaxed against the wall, sighing. "So, you tell me your story, I'll tell you mine."

Violet looked at them, seeing flames. She chewed at her lip, worried about opening up. She tensed up a little and moved away from him again, not by much. She sighed, no courage in her heart. "You tell me your story, I'll tell you mine," she repeated nervously. "You first."

"My family was a disaster area my whole live, my parents got divorced once, than got back together. I had two sisters, one older, one younger. One night I was up late working on homework for school. I went downstairs for a midnight snack. I was sitting on the couch flicking through channels when I started hearing popping, cracking, ran up stairs and found my room and both my sisters rooms in flames, my parents room totally blocked off. I called 911 and ran.

"They blamed me for the fire, called it an arson, said I was the only one who could have possibly set it. Wouldn't believe me when I said I didn't. The social worker took pity on me, so they sent me here," his voice was totally hoarse from just that short dialogue, he looked down at his calloused hands. "Hell, maybe I did set the fire, I don't remember much."

Violet listened intently. Her eyes wide when she heard of fire. "I don't think you set the fire. Your eyes are kind, yet filled with sorrow and pain." She folded her hands and took a deep breath, not exactly wanting to tell her story. "Since I didn't judge you differently with your story, can you not judge me differently with mine?" She asked, wanting to know.

"Since when do I have the right to judge you? I will not judge anyone. Stereo types are bull shit and I tired of them a long time ago," he told her, not really looking at her, looking ahead through the windows.

Violet shrugged. "I don't know..." she mumbled softly. Then took a deep breath. "When I was very young, other kids at school would physically hurt me. Punching, kicking, slapping me throughout the time they could. They finally broke me till I wouldn't eat or drink. My parents tried to comfort me, but I wouldn't let them. After a few years, I was underweight and I would have a panic attack if someone touched me." She stopped to take a shaky breath, it was a very touchy subject. "I was sent to therapists and specialists. They didn't help me and after a few years, my parents neglected me. They gave up..." She covered her face. Her eyes watering, she took another shaky breath.

Gabe looked at the girl, shocked by the urge to reach out and hug her, to hold her, to comfort her, but he wasn't sure how she'd react. So instead he just watch her, his mouth dry, unsure of what he should say, so he went on his first instinct, skimming his hand over hers gently, an apology held on his lips if she reacted badly.

Violet felt something on her hand and instantly moved away. "I still have issues today..." she whispered, not exactly knowing if he would hear it or not. She hugged her knees and shuddered. "It's not your fault, it's mine with my insanity." Her eyes met the floor's instead of his.

"What if you worked to be able to let one person touch you, just one, would that help?" he asked her. He didn't even really mean him. He wanted to touch her, but he could stand without it. He really just wanted to help her. Was that so bad? To really want to help someone? "You could move toward getting better, as long as the person you choose isn't one who is going to hurt you."

Violet bit her lip, thinking about it. She took a deep breath. "Maybe, which mostly means yes... I think," she whispered. Her eyes met his and she moved back again, since she thought he was hinting about him. She took another deep breath. "You could try," she said nervously.

"You trust me?" he asked her, not reaching out at all, his hands folded together in his lap. He didn't want to do something wrong, upset her. "It doesn't have to be me, you can pick someone else, I just want to help you. I mean...it's nothing," he gave up a little bit, slouching back against the wall, watching her hands. She had pretty hands, graceful and elegant.

Violet didn't respond at first. "You've actually talked to me and it doesn't seem you judge me differently. And you know something almost none of the teachers and students know about." She looked at him, with kindness. "I guess I do trust you," she whispered, blushing faintly.

Gabe turned so that the toes of his shoes were again the wall and he was facing her. He bit the inside of his cheek, thinking how pretty she looked when she blushed, how her hair flowed like fire around her. He swallowed hard, lifting one hand out to her, reaching gently for her hand, trying to watch her face, to make sure that he wasn't going to upset her, do more damage than what had already happen. "It was wrong of them to give up on you. Everyone needs a chance."

Violet watched his hand, but glanced at him instead. She watched his green eyes and took a deep breath. Her hand slowly raising up and taking his hand gently. She shivered at his hands. Then blushed bright red at his comment. "They gave up because they took many chances. I think they took too many chances and decided to give up," she explained. "But I am tired of people giving up on me. Or running away from me," she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

He gave her hand a slight squeeze, not pulling away. "If they really loved you, it wouldn't matter how many chances they had to give you. They should have accept the fact that you're family and you do not hurt your family, you do not send you family away, and you do not turn your back on your family. My parents had a tough relationship, but they kept coming back because they were family, as much as the fought and scream and swore they would, they never left," he told her, smiling a little. His voice was almost gone, so he kept it down to almost a whisper.

Violet looked at him, confused. "I never heard of a family that didn't turn away... Only on TV where my parents told me that they weren't true..." she said softly. Then squeezed back moments later. "But since they didn't give me another chance, I spent a lot of time outside and practiced my drawing skills. I didn't want to be in the same room as them," she said, most of it casual. The thought of the days spent exploring for a new landscape made her relax more, she became less tense.

"I guess I've always just drawn to express the things I can't put into words. I've always just seen things in my head, beauty or evil, emotions that people said you could only feel, there were no words for it, but I found a way to show it. I could paint it," he said, looking at their interlocked hands.

Violet squeezed his hand and smiled kindly. "Then, your style is similar to Picasso's style. He shows his emotions in his creations. But you show what you feel in your work." She looked over at the pictures of fire and destruction. "Right now you don't have a calm mind do you?"

Gabe shook his head looking down. "I think it's fear. Fear and guilt. I don't understand why I was the only one to get out. The fire...I painted it before. Fire meant love, passion, the way it could flare and fall. Now it means something else. I think I'm personifying death with fire," he looked at her, vulnerability in his eyes. that fire was what haunted his nightmares.

Violet frowned slightly. She felt nothing in her head to comfort him. She gulped. "I think you won't get over your family's death, the fire damaged you and scarred you." Her eyes looked at his. "Possibly, you haven't felt love or passion in a while so you just paint what you see in your head," she inferred. Yet, none of her inferences were probably true, it's just what she thought.

"What is love, what is it really? All it is, is a trick of the mind. To deceive yourself that another's very life should revolve around your own, and yours around theirs. My parents never loved each other. I never even saw them sleep in the same bed," he said quietly, stroking his thumb across her knuckles, not wanting to sit still.

Violet shook her head. She believed in love, because love is affection for something or an extreme liking of something. She loved to draw and she love being in solitude. She loved having time to herself to think and talk. She saw people who held hands together and kissed each other. They seemed to have affection for each other. "Don't you have an affection for anything in your life? For art or music or for a role model you may look up to?" She asked quietly, squeezing his hand. Her knees were up on her chest.

"I don't know. I can barely feel anything since that night. I don't know how I feel about art any more, all the images do is haunt me. I don't know how I feel about people or this place or the fact that I ave no family to go back to, I just don't know," he told her, letting his head hang.

She let go of his hand and held his face in her hands, looking straight at him. "You feel numbness inside... maybe guilt if you actually set your home on fire. But to me, you haven't done anything. You've been tried and tried for nothing."

"I didn't set the fire, I don't know how it happened. The only other person in the house that night was our butler, and he should have been gone at that time, no one believes me," he told her, hanging his head, even as he felt her hands on his face. He didn't say it with anger, nor sadness. It was all just words to him. The truth in them was undeniable, but there was no emotion to connect to.

Violet frowned a little. "Then maybe he set the fire and ran away before getting caught. Now please think of something happy, something that was joyful to you, and always is," she whispered. "I always hid away from everyone, and the only thing that made me happy was drawing and daydreams." She left out the part of talking to herself, she didn't think that would be... sane.

"You, you make me happy," he told her softly. He reached up to cover her hands with his own, stroking her with his thumb again, his pointer finger sliding down her wrist a little. He finally looked up at her, his eyes open for once, the sadness and love and everything else he was feeling clearly displayed there. He wished he could lean in and kiss her, but he didn't want to freak her out. He wanted to show her that she could be loved and she deserved as much.

She went a little wide-eyed and blushed deep red. Violet squeezed his hand and looked at him with her eyes a concoction of happiness, shock, relief, and a tiny pinch of love. No one had been kind to her, if there had been... she didn't remember. She moved closer to him and smiled wide, lovingly.

He reached out to apprehensively touch her face, being careful, using just the pads of his fingers. "Can I..." he trailed off, trying to build up the courage to ask her as he shifted so they were face to face, his eyes flicking between her lips and her eyes. "I mean...do you mind if I..." he shook his head again, "Let me kiss you," he begged her, nervous that she would say no.

Violet blinked a few times at the demand. She held his other hand and looked down for a second, pondering the idea. She sighed, hearing completely shock and silence in her head. Her heart quickened as she glanced up at him. Her body moved closer to him, faces inches apart, trusting in him.

He slid his fingers down her cheek, across her jaw, hooking them under her chin to make her look up at him. There was slight desperation in his eyes, his mouth had gone dry. "Please, Violet," he begged, laying his forehead against hers, not sure if her could control himself any longer. If she said no.... it might just break him.

She looked at both of his eyes, her heart trembling... pounding in her chest. She clenched her jaw, she was his happiness... it wouldn't be right to deny him. Violet knew of the sadness he had. The scarring the fire had done. She took a deep breath and put her arms around his neck, hoping he would know her answer. Her eyes had love and kindness inside.

Gabe pressed his lips to hers, gently, praying she wouldn't react badly. He moved in close to her, trying hard not to be to needy, but he had never kissed a girl before, and she felt so right against his lips. He pulled away, his eyes wide, "I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds. Don't hold it against me."

Violet felt their lips touch and shivered, her body flinched and almost moved away. She closed her eyes, feeling warmth and her beating heart flutter and skip a beat. When he pulled away, she let him. Her eyes opened seeing wide eyes. "It's okay... Just don't go too far..." she said quietly. Her cheeks a light pink.

"I won't, I just...I want you...I feel like you..." he groaned. He couldn't put into words what was going through his head, and it was killing him. He wanted to be able to tell her, but he couldn't. Words were inadequate to him at the moment. He shook his head. "Violet, you are the one person who can make me feel something good, who can make me feel like I still even want to be alive."

She watched him stutter and slip on words. "Why don't you paint what you feel?" She suggested softly, remembering how he told her 'paint emotions'. She figured it would work... then he spoke his mind. Violet blushed deeply, her eyes looking down. She smiled a little... feeling calm with touch. "You're the only person who's touched me in a while... and your touch is calming and soft... " she rambled.

"Then I guess I won't stop," he told her, reaching up to stroking her cheek as gently as he could. He didn't want to hurt the girl. Honestly, he wanted her to stop him from hurting himself. To distract him. To give him back the ability to paint the beautiful things again. He wished he had the skill to do justice to the beautiful girl before him, the beauty of her eyes, the slight pout in her bottom lip, each of her slender limbs.

Violet blushed and smiled. She did feel panic somewhere in her mind, but it was numbed out. Her eyes gazed at his. Her blushed faded. She never thought she would be happy with someone. Only the voices in her mind talked to her politely and only a few hours ago had she met Gabriel. She took a deep breath and kissed his cheek softly, knowing he needed it.

"You're beautiful, you know that, more beautiful than anyone I have ever, ever seen before. The only plus to my knew found experience with fire, is that I can make a go at giving justice to your hair. It's amazing, beautiful, just like you," he told her softly, feeling the weight on his shoulders starting to gently lift, for the first time in weeks, he felt able to really breath.