I had never considered myself a morning person before I moved to Kings Bridge, I'd always preferred lazy mornings lying in and staying curled up under the covers sipping coffee. Possibly, because I'd usually ended staying up late anyway, either waiting for mom or with Jackson. But on Monday morning I woke up at 6 am before my alarm even had the chance to go off and had no problem rolling straight out of bed ready to start the day. I found myself going straight over to my chest of drawers and pulling out workout shorts and top. It was so automatic I didn't really process it, I just needed to run and it happened without me having to think about it.

I left the dormitories while they were all still in a hushed silence that would be broken soon by the cacophony of morning sounds; alarms going off, showers running, arguments and yells across the corridors. The same empty peacefulness was present outside too, the air was cool with a slight breeze to it and the sun was just starting to appear and bathed the ground in a warm orange that was breathtaking. It touched the tips of the trees around the borders of the grounds dusting them with gold shine.

I was just stretching my legs out when a level voice spoke out into the silence;

"Mind if I join?" He asked politely. I spun around to smile happily at Sawyer,

"I never mind," I told him, "you ready?"

"I was born ready," Sawyer started to jog at a steady pace allowing me to easily fall into step beside him as our arms swung in synchronisation and our legs bounced side by side.

Sawyer didn't feel the need to make much conversation which I appreciated, not only because running and talking was hard but because I was enjoying just looking at the scenery and feeling the breeze on my face and letting my thoughts relax. It was nice to have company though and it forced me to keep up with the pace he set so by the time we reached Kings Bridge again I was covered in a thin sheen of sweat and my legs felt like planks of wood.

"Wow," I wiped a layer of sweat off my forehead, I'm sure with my sweaty flushed face I must have looked disgusting but, honestly, I didn't care.

"Not up for another lap?" Sawyer teased, he'd barely even built up a sweat. I threw him a glare that made him let out a quiet chuckle.

"Absolutely not," I huffed pressing my hands onto my bent knees as I sucked in long breaths trying to get my heart rate down.

"Alright?" Sawyer checked. I nodded and straightened up, pointing my leg out in front of me in a hamstring stretch.

"Think I've got my breath back now," I stretched out the other leg. Sawyer was stretching out as well, he lifted his arms up over his head and I caught a glimpse of his toned stomach. I made myself glance away and hoped the redness on my cheeks could be put down to the run we'd just completed, "I definitely need a shower though."

"Definitely," Sawyer nodded pinching his nose with a playful grin, I elbowed him in the side as headed back towards the dorms. "Be careful you might get sweat on me," Sawyer laughed backing away from me with his hands up.

"Asshole," I reached out and pushed his chest lightly making him chuckle even more. I loved the sound of Sawyers laugh, he was typically the most serious of the Silent Boys but he had an amazing laugh that came straight from his stomach.

"Oi," Sawyer darted away from me, "you're going to ruin my top!"

"Shut up," I stuck my tongue out at him, he beamed back, his skin glowing with an early morning kind of happiness.

***

Mina stormed into art with a face like a thundercloud half ready to let out a down pour of rain and half ready to explode with lightning. I was too afraid to ask what had happened when she began aggressively collecting all the materials she needed and then began snapping paint onto a piece of card as if it was the root of all evil. I almost flinched for the paper as I watched her attack it so viciously with the decrepit school paintbrushes.

"Are you alright?" I asked tentatively when her stabbing of the paintbrush was distracting me too much and I was concerned she was going to rip a hole through her page.

"Not really no," Mina snapped, then her face softened instantly, "I'm sorry, I'm just ..," she threw her hands up unable to find the right word and sent red paint flicking across her paper on which the house she'd been brutalising now had a dotted red line across it. Mina blinked at it disbelievingly for a moment before she fell back into her chair defeated.

"What happened?" I perched on my chair next her trying to make my voice sympathetic.

"It's Connor," Mina huffed, "he's refusing to apologise and he's in the wrong and I can't handle it. I feel like we're going to break up," her voice trembled in the last line and her eyes swarmed with worried tears.

"How is he in the wrong?" I was clearly missing a big part of the story.

"I forgot you weren't there," Mina shook her head looking dazed, "a group of us went around Conor's on Saturday, we would've invited you sorry it's just that ..,"

"Mina," I cut her off quickly, "it's fine."

She smiled back weakly, "well Connor and the other boys had started drinking before we came and by the time we got there he was already pretty drunk and then he just kept going. He was being rude and ignoring me the whole night and then at one point I suggested he should stop and tried to take the can from his hands. He got so mad at me and started yelling in front of everyone. He said some really horrible shit, " Mina inhaled short sharp gasps as she attempted to keep her shaking voice from crying. I let her have a minute to breath before I spoke;

"And he hasn't apologised?"

"He didn't speak to me at all yesterday," Mina shook her head, "and when I saw him this morning he acted like we were fine, like it never even happened. Which I am not okay with, he was an asshole to me and I deserve an apology."

"Absolutely," I nodded furiously, "this doesn't sound like Connor though, he's usually so caring towards you."

"It was all the alcohol," Mina sighed heavily, "he passed out not longer after he yelled at me."

"Maybe the alcohol is the reason why hasn't apologised?" I suggested, my own experiences told me that alcohol could distort your memory, "maybe he doesn't remember?"

"How can he not, he was yelling right in front of everyone calling me horrible things," Mina spat out indignantly.

"Alcohol messes with you," I shook the memories away, "maybe he didn't realise how bad it was."

"I would've thought one of the boys would say something to him," Mina's voice was quiet now as she thought.

"You should speak to him, tell him how you feel. There's no point being angry at him if he doesn't know you are," I suggested reasonably, "it sounds so out of character for him and I guarantee once you explain he'll feel awful."

"He better," Mina hissed stabbing her paintbrush directly down onto her paper with venom. I watched her, trying not to show my bemused expression, in favour of a more empathetic one.

"Talk to him," I encouraged again, "you two care about each other a lot and that's worth something. Don't let miscommunication mess it up."

"Thanks," Mina looked at me her appreciation glowing in her eyes, a small devious smile began to turn up the corners of her lips, "what about you? Is communication working well for you?" A suggestive innuendo was heavy in her voice.

I rolled my eyes, "don't," I instructed waving my paintbrush at her threateningly, "or I'll flick red paint all over you."

"Okay, okay," Mina held her hands up with a laugh. I shook my head as I returned to the building I was painting, a tiny cottage with a thatched roof and ivy trailing up its sides, something straight out of the English countryside in a Dickens novel.

We both let the therapy of art take over us.