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Far From Beautiful
A/N I know I have a million things to update, but I'm at a friend's house and... yeah. Forgive me? Oh, and it's completely un-beta'd, I haven't even read through it myself, so expect mistakes!
And yes, this is a one-shot.
It is strange to me, to have fallen for someone so dissimilar to myself. I have always been a beautiful boy; I have always been the 'perfect' one. Everyone's eyes are automatically attracted to me when I enter a room, and it has been this way as long as I can remember.
Donnie, however...
Donnie is probably the least likely person to becalled beautiful. I never disliked him, even when my friends would pick on him for some form of entertainment. I simply never liked him, either, because he was always so damn strange that I would rather have walked away than helped him out.
I run my fingers up his torso, his skin purely white against my dark brown hand. We must look so strange together.
I was sixteen when I first started paying any sort of attention towards him. I was never sure why, because he was a freak and I was possibly the most popular person in our Highschool, but Donnie Avis...
The first time that I can remember ever watching him with anything but distaste was during one lunch-time in late summer. I was in almost all of his classes,but I hardly ever noticed this. We were in the lowest classes. I was in these classes for the sheer fact that I have never been very bright,and he struggles in school because of his disabilities.
I always wondered why Donnie Avis did not go to a special school. At least he would fit in there, with people who knew sign language, and he could get the individual attention he needed. Instead he attended a normal Highschool, and I quite often caught sight of him crying in a quiet corner between classes. I saw him, but I never cared. The kid was both mute and deaf; he should have known to go to another school. He should not have been as stupid as to try for a normal life. He is not a normal person.
"Get out of my way," I had muttered as my group passed him, and he had not moved. I looked at him, a glare in my eyes, to find him looking off to one side, towards the girl standing next to him. He had not even noticed me standing there, and that angered me. "You stupid deaf freak, get out of my fucking way."
The words weren't really spoken that harshly, but the way I reached out and pushed his shoulders was violent. He jumped like a burnt cat, and bright blue eyes stared up at me. He seemed rooted to the spot.
"The kid's so stupid," Trent had said from behind me. The rest of my group were silent, looking for my reaction.
"Get. Out. Of. My. Fucking. Way. You. Fucking. Freak."
His eyes were trained on my lips as I spoke, and they narrowed when I was done. He looked up into my eyes, slammed his small fist into his palm, then jutted his thumb over his shoulder. At the time I hadn't a clue what this meant, but I got the point by the look in his eyes at the time.
"Anyone understand sign language?" I asked, not taking my eyes away from him. The girl that had been by his side, Maria, had offered her services. She had been his friend; probably his only friend.
Donnie's hands started moving again, small and pale, and Maria watched while translating out loud.
"He says that he has a special sign just for you, Richard," she told me, sounding a little wary. She had probably known what would come next.
Donnie Avis, whom I had always assumed was shy, turned out to be rather brave. Maybe he didn't have friends simply because he did not want friends.
He flipped me the bird.
Needless to say, I slammed my fist into the boy's face before he had even dropped his arm back to his side.
To my friends, the situation may not have seemed too unusual. I hit Donnie Avis, a boy that nobody really cared about, and everyone went on with their day. The only difference would have been that Donnie had a darkened cheekbone, which really didn't matter at all because it was not degrading his looks. He was already far from beautiful.
However, to me, Richard Evans, that little run-in with Donnie changed my entire perspective on life.
After that, I started noticing Donnie everywhere. Just a flash of blue that was his eyes, or a brush against my arm as he passed that left my skin feeling as if it were burning under my clothes for the rest of the day, or a few glances stolen during class. I began to notice everything about him; his scars were silver against his throat, his face, his back and arms. They should have been red, I thought, but they wound around his body like thick lines of shining smoke.
He was not beautiful. No matter how hard I tried, how long I stared at him, he never seemed beautiful to me. He was scarred, and tiny, his skin stretched across his ribs, hollows between them dangerously deep. There were dark impressions under those bright blue eyes, and his hair seemed as if it hadn't seen a comb in years. He was a mess.
Yet somehow, a few months after the incident in which I hit him, I found myself kissing Donnie Avis in the rain.
I still do not know what had come over me. We were out on the school field after a football match. I had ran down from the crowd to talk to the cheerleaders, and next to Maria Adams, Donnie stood. The rain was pouring down, and I could hardly strike up a conversation with anyone because of it. I was jealous as I watched Maria and Donnie converse via sign. I never found out why Maria knew sign; she would never talk to me, even though all of the other cheerleaders were permanantlyall over me. I didn't like any of them in a more than friendly fashion, but it was good for my image to stay with them. Dating them was also brownie points for Richard, but whenever I had dated a girl, we split up within a few days, when she would insist that I was more of a friend than a boyfriend.
After a while of watching Maria and Donnie converse, I had made myself known. I had not spoken directly to Donnie, because I knew that he could not answer me. Instead I had turned to Maria, pushed my fist onto my palm, then jutted my thumb over my right shoulder.
"What does that mean?" I asked, and she looked surprised. Once she realised that I wasn't signing this at her, and rather using at as an example in my question, her face settled back into a neutral expression.
"It means 'fuck off'," she replied, looking from me to Donnie. "Why?"
"No reason," I answered, turning around to leave. The rain was making me cold, and I had decided that there was no point in carrying on the conversation. I could not speak directly to Donnie, anyway.
But for some reason, Donnie followed me.
I did not notice this until I was around back, concealed from sight. He was waving his arms slightly, trying to attract my attention. At that moment it hit me for the first time how hard it must be to be mute and deaf, butI brushed it off because honestly, I just didn't care.
"What do you want?" I asked, scowling at him. The last thing I needed was to be branded as someone found in Donnie Avis' presence repeatedly.
He began to sign at me again, but I just shook my head.
"I can't understand you, dumbass." He frowned at this, but gave up trying to sign to me. I found myself wondering if there was any paper around for him to write on, but soon brushed off the idea again when I remembered that this was Donnie Avis, and I didn't care about him.
I turned to leave again, before his thin fingers closed around my wrist.
Surprised, I looked down, seeing my dark brown skin contrasting against his. It is always so strange to see our skin together, as he is very white and I am very black.
"What do you want?" I asked again, finding the question silly as I knew he could not answer. He moved until his face was close to me, and then moved his lips to form the words 'I'm. Sorry.', no sound escaping him.
He was not beautiful. Far from it. His hair was pasted down to the sides of his face, matted there as if with glue, and everything about him seemed so tiny and weak.
Oftenafterwards, I would wonder what it was that possessed me to kiss him.
After a short hesitation, his hands braced against my chest to push my away, he gave in. His mouth was hot, so different to the cold rain beating down upon us, and I could feel his fingers curling against my chest. He was no longer trying to push me away, instead his hands pushed up my chest to my shoulders. It was almost as if he was inviting me in, stroking his tongue over mine in a slightly awkward manner.
His body was shivering against mine, and I found my arms wrapping around him, trying to shield him from the cold rain. Protecting him. It was possibly one of the strangest moments of my life, his lips pressed against mine, his form tiny in comparison with my slightly muscled body, pale and weak and eager.
After what seemed like forever, but what in reality could have been no longer than a few minutes, I pulled back from his lips, resting my forehead against his. Our bodies stayed close, and our breath mingled in the cold air around us.
When I opened my eyes, and found myself looking into his, I finally freaked out.
I pulled away from him violently, pushing him away from me. He landed on the floor, looking shocked and slightly bemused.
I don't think that I have ever ran as fast.
The next time I saw him was just over a week after the game. He was crying, leaning against a row of lockers, hands hiding his face.
I had heard the news earlier that day.
Maria Adams had died the day before. Run down by a car.
I didn't remember until I saw him, shaking, back pressed against a row of dark green lockers, that they had been close friends.
I am not one for sympathy; I never have been, and I doubt I ever will be. The only time that I come close to sympathy is when I think that faking it will benefit me in some shape or form. Yet, even though I knew that I could gain nothing by it, I found myself hugging Donnie Avis. That's right, I, Richard Evans, hugged Donnie Avis of my own free will. I couldn't just brush this off, either; at least with the kiss I could just shrug and think 'well, I was horny'. There is no excuse for hugging him, in school, in front of everyone.
My friends had been following me, and when I glanced up from were I had my face pressed into Donnie's hair, they all looked confused. I raised my eyebrows, questioning their doubt towards my actions, and a slow murmur started.
People were talking about us. I couldn't deny it.
Donnie never seemed to stop crying. His face was pressed into my shoulder, tears dampening my shirt, hands clutching my sides and keeping me close. I didn't even try to pretend that there was an explanation for it, instead I pulled him as close as I could, whispering meaningless words to him.
I would have done anything to calm him down. I even took him out of school, away from accusing and confused eyes, back to my house.
That night changed both of our lives.
When I woke up the next morning, his body close to mine, bare beneath the sheets, I did not even consider freaking out again. There was no point. I was already too absorbed in him; I had been ever since that first kiss, and I knew that I would be forever. God must have really had it in for me, being both black and having a relationship of sorts with another guy, but I have found that I can direct that not-caring attitude to anyone who makes a comment. And of course, people have made comments. People have even gone a step further with me. Unfortunately for them, they seem to have forgotten that I can handle myself.
I brush some of Donnie's hair back from his face, and sigh.
Donnie is so very far from beautiful. Everything about him is imperfect; flawed, somehow. So why did I fall for him? There are a thousand people that I could have fallen for, but it just had to be a boy. A mute, deaf boy. I can't even speak sign, which means that our communicating is left to facial expressions, lip-reading, and the force behind our kisses. He is scarred, everywhere, and so very thin that he looks as if he is fading away.
I push my lips to his temple, and watch as his eyes flutter open. They meet with mine, and a small smile graces his lips.
The day after I took Donnie's virginity, school had been terrifying. Everyone had stared, and pointed, and my friends hadn't even attempted to talk to me. Donnie had sensed my discomfort with the situation, and his fingers folded around mine.
It was that moment that I decided that no matter how not-beautiful Donnie is, that makes no difference to the fact that I am in love with him.
I, shallow Richard Evans, am in love with the most flawed creature I have ever met.
Donnie lifts his head slightly to push his lips against mine. It's not the most perfect kiss, as neither of us can stop smiling, but then again, we're not the most perfect couple.
And sometimes, just sometimes, I'm glad that he is so un-beautiful. At least this way, I am no longer described as 'perfect'. I hate that description, and I will gladly have Donnie be my imperfection.
