• I took to the beach when I heard the news. This was our place. The place of the first kiss. The place of the first make out. The place of the first... well you know. I loved the beach. The warm sand under my feet. The smell of salt water, wafting up my nose and tingling my scenes.

    I knew he would leave. He had been talking about getting out of this place since goodness knows when. I never told him how I felt about it. I guess I just hoped it was all an act.

    He was good at that. Acting I mean. He's been doing it all his life. His father was an alcoholic and his mother had left when he was 12. He had to stay tough. His father wouldn't mess with him if he was tough.

    To everyone who was at school, he was the classic class idiot. Didn't do well in school, always got detentions and was always bad mouthing the teacher. That's how the school viewed him.

    Like I said, he could act.

    In truth, he was brilliant. He was an A student but never let anyone know it and those who did were threatened. He had a deal with the teachers too. He gets an A, he gets a detention. That was how he liked it. I didn't get it.

    What was really funny was how we had met. It was youth group, of all places. My youth leader had saw him on the streets. He was about to tear this poor kid to pieces when my youth leader stepped in. No blood was shed and it ended in him coming to church.

    The strange thing was that he kept coming. Week after week he showed up with even more questions than the week before. I started to watch him closely. It was like he was a completely different person. He was still the same at school but yet he was different.

    One time he actually cornered me and asked why I was staring at him. My hands started to get sweaty and my heart raced faster then I had thought was possible. I couldn't talk.

    “Aren't you always talking and giving answers at youth group? Now you can't talk?” He had asked. He coked a smile, which I had never seen before, then walked away.

    During the following classes through the next month, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching me.

    Then one day on the way home I heard my name. I turned around and saw him jogging up to me.

    “Hey yea, where are you going?”

    “To the moon,” I had flipped.

    “Oh can I come?” He hadn't even batted an eye. His unusual grin was there.

    After that, we hung out even more. I got to see the really sweet side of him. I got to find out all sorts of little things about him. His hobbies and such.

    He loves to sing.

    On a particularly wintry day I ended up staying the night at his place. We knew that school would be canceled the next day because the snow storm was supposed to keep going for the rest of the week.

    I met his dad that night.

    He and I were watching a movie in his room when we heard the crash of shattering glass. I could feel him tense. I looked up and I watched as his caring eyes turned to hateful eyes.

    I saw my first fist fight that night.

    As the months became warmer, he took me to his favorite get-away spot. The beach. When I asked him why he had just said, “My mom and I used to come here a lot.”

    It was on these trips that he told me about leaving this place and making a better life for himself. Away from his dad and his mom's dead memories. Every time he brought it up I tensed. He'd go silent then and get lost in the blue depths of the waves.

    I turn and continue to walk down the beach. I look up to see the sea gulls have vanished along with their cries. Just like him.

    He had talked about taking me with him. He had said that he loved me. I want to hate him. Despise him. Spit on him. Forget him.

    I love him.

    I soon stop by our special spot. The dunes rise on two sides and the cliff climbs to dizzying heights behind me. I stand there watching the sun sink behind the watery horizon. Pink, orange, purple, and blue soon fill the cloudy sky.

    I stand there. Tears pushing the dame do it's limit.

    “Hey.”

    I spin around. He's standing there with his hands in his jean pockets. My heart nearly stops. I dare not blink for fear that I'm dreaming. I walk up to him slowly. He watches my every move. Takes in every swing of my hips. Every stride he takes in.

    I know. He told me once.

    When I get up to him I just stare. He waits. I feel his heart beat under my hand when I reach for it. I looked up at his inhuman blue eyes. I squint my eyes at him. My hand comes up to caress his cheek.

    I slap him.

    His head comes back automatically. His eyes flair for a minute, then soften. Tears are streaming down my cheeks. I stand on my tip toes and I kiss the now red spot.

    “I thought you were gone,” I said tearfully.

    “No, Bonita. I would never leave you,” He said calling me beautiful in Portuguese.

    His name for me.

    Tears start to cascade faster down my cheeks. He tries to wipe them away. It is futile.

    When he realizes this, he wraps his arms around me. I rest my head on his heart.

    “Eu poderia nunca deixar minha linha de vida, bonita. I could never leave my life line, bonita.” He whispers comfortingly in my left ear. His breath tickles.

    I felt safe.