The Girl Within the Wall

The night was like thick ink spilled over the lawn of the ocean villa; the sea breeze, tinged with a salty, moist breath, swept through the treetops. A swarm of drones, bearing flecks of red light, tore across the sky, forming a flowing river of stars. As Leo Shawn knelt on one knee, the crease of his bespoke suit trousers lay impeccably smooth, without a single wrinkle. Scarlet rose petals fell gently from the sky, drifting onto his hair, my skirt's hem, and the exquisitely cut diamond ring, whose brilliance pierced my eyes with painful light. "Wendy, marry me." His voice was low and tender, wrapped in the damp sea breeze, perfectly overlapping with the tone of the boy from seven years ago in that back alley. Friends and family around us raised their champagne glasses, cheering loudly, while flashes of light burst forth in succession; suddenly, I heard a faint buzzing in my left ear, like rusty gears slowly turning, carrying a lingering ache. It was a sound forgotten for seven years, emanating from the back alley of the old southern district, cluttered with discarded cardboard boxes and dilapidated furniture. At fifteen, I crouched in the corner of the wall, my school uniform jacket torn askew, while three thugs, their hair dyed yellow, jabbed my back with wooden sticks, cursing with words too vile to repeat; the sharp pain in my left ear nearly robbed me of hearing, leaving me able only to see their lips moving. The iron barrel at the alley entrance was kicked open with a harsh clang; resolute footsteps approached, and upon glimpsing the newcomer, the thugs muttered curses, abandoned their sticks, and fled without looking back. The youth clad in a white shirt crouched before me, the stray hairs at his brow dampened with sweat, his fingers stained with a red marker pen purchased from the convenience store at the Alley Entrance, inscribing crooked letters upon the dusty back of my hand. "My deaf girl, I will protect you from now on." The handwriting bore the boldness of youth; the ink seeping into my skin like a flame, scorching my hand until it tingled, burning through the shadows of my adolescence. He was Leo Shawn, the transfer student who had just moved into our neighborhood then. Rumored to be wealthy, his sharp gaze like an unsharpened blade, yet on that sweltering afternoon, he gave me the only light within my darkness. I remember he took a bandage from his schoolbag and clumsily pressed it against the bleeding skin behind my ear, his touch as light as if he feared breaking some precious treasure.