Listening is noting what, when and how something is being said. Listening is distinguishing what is not being said from what is silence. Listening is not acting like you're in a hurry, even if you are. Listening is eye contact, a hand placed gently upon an arm. Sometimes, listening is taking careful notes in the person's own words. Listening involves suspension of judgment. It is neither analyzing nor racking your brain for labels, diagnoses, or remedies before the person is done relating her symptoms. Listening, like labor assisting, creates a safe space where whatever needs to happen or be said can come. — Allison Para Bastien

The images of that year, that time, haunt me. Her voice is always in my mind, in the very back, trying to get me to confess. She knows that I know. I know that I know. In extension, he knows that I know. I know because she told me.

Because people have always trusted me. They do, even now.

People confined me. Their deepest, darkest secrets - they tell them all to me. Secrets they will not dare to utter to a friend, a brother, or their own mother. Secrets they will only whisper to me; things that only open ears and blind eyes will understand. Because that is what I am now, and what I am I became because I did not stop when I had the chance.

Through the long years, I have become The Listener.

Sounds omnious, but the truth is I just listen to others. I listen to their thoughts, hopes, maybe even stories every now and then. However, mostly I just hear their secrets: the bad things that they are ashamed of doing.

Things like not knowing who the father of their son is, even though they told their boyfriend that it was his.

Things like the secret life they have at home. The secret that involves an abusive father and drunken mother. This life never makes it to the public eye. The life at school is a happy one.

Things like the murder that they have committed in self-defense.

All these things you would be ashamed of, right. I know the people who live these lives. I know others, as well. They are all sad. High school is often a time of confusion, but to be so confused is a very upsetting thing.

"Hilary?" Ray reaches to nudge me, but stops just before he makes contact. He pulls away. "Are you listening?"

"Of course," I answer in my soft quiet voice. It used to be louder, but I just cannot seem to bring it back to that volume. Listening involves more than just hearing what it said. It is observing the way it has been said, the shape of the mouth that it comes from, the tone of the words. It is in the eyes as well as the invisible sounds that make up the language. My father used to tell me that listening was not always understanding the words, but to the body as well.

"But you understand, right?" He continues, now sure of my undivided attention, "Mariah and I are great; she's great. But Selma, she's great, too."

"Mariah and Selma are close friends, and you are Mariah's boyfriend," These are the facts. "It is understandable that you have developed feelings for both. You spend a lot of time with Mariah and Selma's usually there. So, yes, I understand."

'It would be wrong for you to lead Mariah on like this,' is what I want to tell him, but I do not. Do not insult or anger the talker; the results are deadly. I do not deal well with anger or tears.

"So, do you think that they will understand?"

I sigh. "Understanding and accepting are two very different things, Ray. Do you think Mariah will understand or accept?"

He nods and walks away, his mouth set in a firm line. He was hoping that I would have the answer for him. I do not have answers. Not anymore. I do not come up with solutions, as they are often disastrous. Besides, high school is a time to try a figure out your own problems. At least, that is what I tell myself.

As I walk to my next class, I notice the school's "bad boys" having a smoke out by the old tree. They are always out there, so I do not know why everyone points as they pass.

In truth, I envy them. It seems they have a natural force field that keeps others away. It is so tempting to just walk over and sit with them. They would not like it, but they would not say anything. They are respectful like that.

Nevertheless, I will not. Because, just like me, they just want to be away from the school and the people in it. And I respect that.

My thoughts are still occupied by the boys that are the closest things I have to peers as I enter my math class. They are just so thought provoking.

First, it is Spencer. I was, and still am to an extent, afraid of him. He is tall and quiet, but very cocky. From what I gather off the gossip that I cannot help but listen to, he is a smart student but is flunking out because of lack of homework.

Next is Bryan. He still scares me half to death, which is more than I can say for the rest of the student body. He talks more than Spencer, but he is not exactly the chattiest of the group. He is an average student, and is trying hard to keep it that way. Only I would know that he actually puts forth an effort, though.

Ian is probably the only one I would ever have trouble listening to. For some reason, he thinks it is very cool to say 'fuck' in some form or another every fourth word. I know that it is probably one of his ways of disrespecting authority, but still. He is funny, though. Very funny. He almost makes me laugh. I want to laugh

The last one is Tala. He is the scariest of the group. I can never tell what he is thinking or what he wants to say. Everything about him hides his true feelings: his voice, facial expression, and even his body language. His voice is one that sneaks up on you, sending violent shivers up and down your spine. His blue eyes can be so light that they almost seem white or so dark you feel like you could drown in them.

He just scares me. I think that he might know…

'Hilary! Tell someone!'

I swallow the sudden sob that threatens to come up. I cannot start thinking of that right now.

'Please!'

Not RIGHT NOW!

'You're the only one!'

I rub the bumpy scar on my left shoulder unconsciously, my fingers running across the raised ridges. It is barely an inch long, but it feels as though it is a mile.

'Please…'

The voice weakens and then fades, and I find myself back in class. The teacher is oblivious to my detachment. I take up my pencil in hopes that no one notices that I was not taking notes. My heart calms down and I am able to focus more easily on what the teacher is writing on the board.

The day continued at a slow pace and the voice did not come back during school. It came back, however, when I was trying to go to sleep.

'Hilary, please,' she begs.

Even breathing, I remind myself. In, out, in, out.

'You want someone to know. Tell someone.'

Even though the voice sounds like her, I know that it is just me. It is my mind trying to convince me to say the words I have never said. But I think I would, if I could find the right person to tell.

'Who doesn't matter.'

Sleep, I order myself.

'Tell someone!'

Just sleep…

The next day is just the same as before. I wake up alone, my mother already off to work. I go to school alone, because no one wants to be friends with The Listener. I go to class with the other kids, but still alone. I sit at lunch, not alone.

Today is different from yesterday only because the first person to sit down is Tala. He has not said anything but my heart rate has already spiked.

His blue eyes are neutral today, almost gray, and surprisingly that calms me the slightest bit. He smiles - well, smirks, really. His teeth are stainless white.

"Hello, Hilary." Even though he is sitting right in front of me, his voice still sneaks up on me – the feeling of a snake slithering up my spine. I know he saw the shiver rake through my body.

"Tala," I acknowledge, my voice even shakier than before. It has to be clear to even the most feebleminded that this person makes me uncomfortable.

"How are you?"

I look around for an escape. Is he serious? "Fine,"

"Good, good."

I look around again, confused. "Is there something you need?"

"Me? No, not really." He shrugs as if this were a usual occurance, "I just wanted to ask you something."

"What?" I urge him on, eager to make him leave. I cannot handle the sound of my own heart anymore.

His smirk changes from a humorous smirk to a sinister grin. "It wasn't really the gym coach, was it?"

As soon as his question sinks in, I jump from my seat and rush to the bathroom. Standing over the sink, I fight to catch my breath. What was he thinking, saying that out loud? Why did he ask that? What does he know?

How could he possibly know?

After I manage to control my breathing, I splash some water on my face to cool it down. It does nothing, and my face is still a blotchy red mess. There is no hiding that something has disturbed me. I walk out of the bright, disgusting school restroom when I am sure that I can keep what little food I ate this morning down. Tala is no longer sitting at my table, but I can see him from across the room with his friends.

The day continues, as I sit back down. Just as I get comfortable, Julia comes up and takes a seat. Julia is a cool, if not somewhat rude, girl. She always has a comeback on the tip on her tongue, but she is nice enough to those who stay out of her way. I think that she is one of those few that actually deservers to be well liked.

Her brother, Raul, is just as popular. He is kinder, though. Very nice. Once, he actually helped me pick up some books I had dropped. It was a few years ago, but I still remember the smile he gave me when he walked away. Judging by how happy he was to help, and the easy of which he did so, I assumed he didn't know my reputation then. Seeing how he refuses to look in our direction, he knows it now.

"I'm having a problem," Julia says. From the way the words were rushed out, as if she had to physically push them off her tongue, I determine that this a problem she's only recently acknowledged. Her tone is firm and resolved, emotinally detached, telling me that she is ashamed of it.

Really, who is unashamed of their dirty secrets?

"A problem? What kind?"

Julia starts picked at her finger nails, refusing to make eye contact. "A bad one,"

"How bad?"

She finally looks up, her emerald eyes flashing with fear. "Very bad."

What is she worried about, I think to myself as I stay quiet and wait for her. Sometimes I want to rip the secrets out of them, but I know they need time to find the words. It can be frustrating, though. It's obvious I do not judge people based their problems.

"I'm…attracted to…Raul," the last word comes out slowly, as though her lips fought against the sound.

If I were not so practiced, I would have choked. "Interesting," I say instead.

"Interesting? I'm having weird, not to mention perverted, thoughts about my twin brother, and all you can say is 'interesting'?"

"What would you like me to say?" I reply in a calm tone. I do not jumping at her anger, as I would have done before, as I would like to now. "Incest is bad and frowned upon? Please stop your nasty thoughts?"

Julia's shoulders fall, her anger receding. "I don't know how,"

I look away. I just listen to people. I do not help them fix their problems. Especially not ones like this.

"What should I do?"

I shake my head slowly. "I don't know." And I really don't. It is not a solution that I am hiding because of my own fears, but a real answer. How would I know how to fix that problem? I have never been attracted a relative.

Really, I never wanted to know any of this in the first place. It is my dad's fault, though. He always taught me to listen.

Julia leaves the table in defeat. She returns to her brother's side and as he checks to make sure she is okay, I can see the smile that she gives him is hopeful, but tinged with regret.

Later, as I am leaving the school grounds, I am plagued by my encounters of the day. First, Tala. I have a strange feeling that his smirk is going to haunt my nightmares tonight.

Julia's problem starts to dominate my thoughts as I see them leave together. They have always walked close to each other, but I always passed it off as being a twin.

As I watch them walk away from the school, I notice a familiar car parked on the other side of the street. I can see the person inside it as they watch the students leave campus. My breath is instantly caught in my throat as I see a young freshman girl walk over, smiling as she jumps in the car.

I feel like running away.

'No! No! Not again! TELL SOMEONE!'

I can't do it, I scream in my head.

I fall to my knees in the grass as I try to stop the sobs from overcoming my body. My chest feels like it will explode if I hold in anymore.

'Please. Didn't you see her? So innocent!'

No!

"Hilary," I jump, letting a strangled gasp rip through my body as the shivers start up my spine and fly along my limbs.

"Tala!" I have no time for this, can't he see that?

He is not looking at me. He, too, is looking at the car. Heated anger swirls in his eyes instead of the fear that I know is in mine. "You hate the person in that car as much as I do, don't you?" He does not look my way as I pull myself up. His question does not sound much like a question, but I can never be too sure with Tala.

I do not say anything. Intead, I hitch my bag higher and start walking away from him.

He follows me anyway. "For me it's like an icy hate; one that can freeze from the inside, slowly, painfully. Or, that's what I hear."

I can really see that. Tala is an icy kind of person.

"What about you?" He steps in front of me, blocking my path. His eyes are dark. I have the feeling of water rushing over me, blocking out everything but him as I drown. "Is it an icy feeling or a blazing one?"

"Neither," I answer finally, as firmly as I can. "I feel nothing towards him."

"Nothing except fear," he mocks.

"I have to go."

I push pass him and run for my car. It used to belong to my dad, but he's not here anymore.

"You know, it's funny, really," he calls after me. "For someone who listens to everyone else's truth, you seem to run away from it a lot."

I am not running away, I tell myself as I rush upstairs to my room after making it home. I am not moving at all.

I am not moving away from the fact that Ming-Ming is dead and I know why.

I am not moving away from the fact that my dad is dead and my relationship with my mother is nonexistent.

I am not moving away from the fact that every time I thinking about school or the people there I feel sick.

I am not moving away from the fact that I know all of this, and still suffer through it.

I am not running away from the truth, I am just not dealing with it. I am ignoring it. Or, at least trying to.

Thanks to all who review! I haven't posted anything new in a long time, so I'm excited to hear whatever anyone has to say.

And thanks to .zulka, who keeps me motivated and inspired, she's been a big help with this piece.

Disclaimer: I don't own Beyblade or it's characters.

Edited 05/07/2020 - Cleaned up wording.