Blood Moon
Page 13
into a nearby bin
and dry my eyes,
preparing my lie
to explain why I’m wet and shivering.
VIRAL
“I think I’m coming
down with something,”
I tell Dad
as soon as I get in the car.
“My throat is sore.”
“Oh, you poor thing,”
he says, feeling my forehead.
“Sorry I’m a bit late.
I tried to call.
Why didn’t you wait inside?”
“Battery,” I mutter.
“Didn’t want you
to have to get out
and find me.”
Dad turns the heaters on,
making the car
claustrophobically warm,
but at least he doesn’t
ask me questions,
especially about handing in
my application.
Mum frowns
as I enter the hall
with Dad’s arm around me.
“What happened?
Are you OK?”
“No.” I sniff, wiggling my feet
out of my wet shoes.
“I don’t feel well.”
“It was my fault,” says Dad.
“I was late.”
Mum reaches out to feel
my forehead too.
I don’t know
what they glean
from doing this,
but it is quite comforting.
“You do feel warm.
Let’s get you into bed.”
I let her lead me
upstairs and tuck me in.
She brings me hot soup
and I eat it,
feeling like a fake,
but
I am ill.
I’ve gone viral.
Shame has entered my bloodstream.
It’s passed from digital me
into reality, infecting
and poisoning
living me.
DMs
I don’t reply but the girls still
message me directly
saying they’re here for me.
But it’s not just them
DMing me.
On almost
all my socials
complete strangers
are messaging me.
Bethany
Hey, gorgeous. We were
all just talking about you,
and wanted to say we’re
thinking about you.
None of us agree
with what’s happening.
you ugly filthy ho
you need to be stopped
Marie
Hey you. Thinking of you.
Hope you’re OK?
you slag bet you
were gagging for it
Leylah
We’re all going out tonight.
Wanna come? Might make
you feel better to get all
dressed up?
shiiiiit yo a hott piece o ass
They’re going out?
With who?
With Harriet?
Do they really believe
that she didn’t make the meme?
Who is she saying
it was?
I feel a bit fake,
but I copy and paste
exactly the same message
to all of them.
Me
Thanks, girls.
I’m actually a bit ill,
so staying home.
Have fun tonight. X
Leylah
We’ll miss your pretty face, Frankie.
fml you’re disgusting
Marie
Look after yourself.
Love you. X
you whore
Bethany
Just so you know,
Harriet’s not coming.
She’s not talking
to any of us
any more.
bitch be diiiiiirty…
Maybe Harriet’s
actually feeling guilty?
I still can’t believe
she, of all people,
would do this to me.
And STILL,
even though
she must know
what’s happening now,
she’s not talking to me.
Her silence says,
“You’re nothing to me.”
SUNDAY
HARRIET
I wake up late,
and lie in bed
listening to Mum and Dad
unpack the dishwasher
in the kitchen,
singing along to a song
on the radio
like they haven’t a care
in the world.
I wonder what the girls
did last night.
I wonder what Harriet did.
Who is she even hanging out with?
Maybe she’s still grounded.
I check my phone
to see if there’s anything
from the girls,
or Benjamin even,
but there’s nothing
except the usual abuse.
I read it.
I’m crushed by it.
And I can’t stop looking at it.
The thing that I don’t get
is Harriet.
I trace my fingers across
the pattern of stars
on the case of my phone
and think about her being
angry enough with me
to actually
make
and post
that meme.
I thought I knew her.
I thought I understood her.
I know she can be mean,
but this mean?
I can’t believe it.
And
I can’t believe
how much it
hurts.
BEANS ON TOAST
No one’s written
in the group for days,
but I can see Harriet’s online,
and I’ve got nothing left
to lose, so I write:
Me
Hey girls,
how was last night?
Leylah
Ah, it was so fun!
Hope you’re managing to
ignore all the twats online?
They’re just joking.
if my girl askd me to do
what you’re into
I’d dump her skank ass
Bethany
We met some boys last night
from St Matthew’s High
and they were all saying
they knew about you
and thought it was horrible too.
Their school did an assembly
on online bullying, apparently.
Ignore the haters.
They can’t harm you.
@mazzymaz @gizmojim We found you @PhysicsFrankie HA. Tried to defend yourself. Pathetic bitch.
Marie
Yeah. It’s so horrible.
We’re all hoping it
blows over soon.
she can suck me off
Then on the screen it says,
Harriet has left the group.
Those tiny words
are cold water
engulfing my body.
My heart is sinking.
She can’t say sorry.
Bethany
OMG. She can’t leave!
I’d love to do this to her
Leylah
She says she didn’t
post the meme.
Maybe we should listen
to her?
that just made me cum
Bethany
If she didn’t do it
why did she just leave
our group?
Me
Maybe she’s not
talking to me.
>
Bethany
Don’t worry. She’s not
talking to anybody.
Leylah
I just think we should
listen to her if she says
it wasn’t her.
Bethany
Erm… It was posted
ON HER PAGE???
Quite hard to see how
it could have not been her.
She’s always been kinda mean.
I don’t believe her.
Marie
I feel bad to say it,
but I don’t either.
That thing she said
about my period
was super shit of her.
She’s out of control.
Bethany
Exactly. And that
pic she took of Frankie
in the shower.
She definitely made the meme.
It stinks of her.
She just doesn’t know
how to say sorry.
what a randy bicth
Marie
How are you, Frankie?
We missed your face
last night.
download here to cum
on her stupid face
Me
I missed you guys too.
Glad you had fun.
Better go. XX
I can’t talk about this any more.
I click off the chat.
Then, thinking about Harriet,
I open my stargazing app
and see, above me,
on the other side of the ceiling,
the nearly full moon,
which will soon be
a blood moon.
But without Harriet,
I can’t get excited about it.
Even thinking about it
makes me feel shit.
DIGITAL ME
I stay in my room
almost all day.
Mum and Dad
keep popping in
to see if I’m OK
but there’s a universe
between us
and I can’t seem
to reach across
the abyss of this
online mess
to ask them
to help me.
I WANT TO STOP BEING
Night-time comes.
I’ve been in bed
all day.
I feel disgusting
but I can’t stop reading,
scrolling,
checking
for more horrid things
being said about me.
I keep thinking
I should go to sleep
and I’m really about to
when I read something
that makes me fling
my phone
across the room.
It whacks the wall,
and I hear the impact
crack the screen.
I crawl
and pick it up again.
It doesn’t make
any sense.
Why would someone
write these words?
I read it
over and over,
scared,
because I don’t
think they’re joking.
My eyes
flood
until tears spill
onto the cracked
surface of my screen.
Someone needs to rape you
you feminist bitch
I can’t stop shaking.
My insides are shrinking.
I want to stop being.
I stay dead still
hoping
that
Mum
or Dad
will
come
soon
and check on me
because
if they don’t
I’m scared I might
turn into
n o t h i n g . . .
MONDAY
BUNKING OFF
Monday morning
I lie in bed,
flat and grey,
an old jumper
with nothing left
to give.
Dad wants to
call the doctor,
but Mum persuades him
to leave me,
see how I feel
once I’m fully awake.
“Could Harriet
(the treacherous bitch)
pop round after school?”
Dad says.
“Or have you two
still not made up?”
(I don’t know if we ever will.
Nothing to me.
Nothing.
Nothing.)
“I’m fine,” I say,
pulling the duvet
over my head.
“Just let me sleep.”
“We’ll call you later,”
Mum says.
“Or you call us,” Dad adds.
“Or send us a text.
Anything.”
I hear the front door close,
but I stay in bed,
wondering whether Harriet
will ever admit what she did.
And I think about Benjamin.
I wonder what he’s doing.
I look at the photo he sent me,
back when everything
with him was dreamy.
Him in bed,
thinking about me.
I feel so stupid,
believing he liked me.
He hasn’t even messaged me.
At ten o’clock I get up,
unsteady on my feet,
and go to the lounge,
sit down and cradle
my broken phone
to find out
what’s happening
to me now.
I turn on the telly for company
and pull a blanket up for safety,
and I start to read.
I thought it would be
fading by now.
But it’s getting worse
somehow.
I have a DM from
someone I don’t know
called TheDonaldoBro.
I have so many messages
I haven’t even tried
to read them all
but I see the start of this one:
I’m going to find out where you live
so I click
to read the rest
and I’m going to come
and rape you to teach you a lesson,
you filthy little cunt.
(NO TITLE)
my
blood
runs
cold
my hands
are wet
i
cannot
see
my mouth fills
with
spit
my throat is dry
i’m gonna puke
i want to die
i want to
leave the internet
take myself back
but i know it’s too late
for that
KNOCK KNOCK
I stare at my phone.
I’m going to find out where you live
Sick creeps up my throat
but then—
KNOCK KNOCK.
Someone is at our door.
My arms are shaking.
KNOCK KNOCK.
What should I do?
Call the police?
Hide?
Weep?
I sweat
and creep
to the window
and peep.
A man
is standing
in our front garden—
KNOCK KNOCK.
He turns his head
and looks right at me
through the window.
He can see me.
My heart
explodes.
Then he waves
a brown box at me.
Mouths “Delivery.”
I go to the door
and shout,
“Leave it outside!”
“Need a signature, love.”
The man’s voice
is loud.
“Please!” I beg.
I sound pathetic.
“No can do,” he says.
Isn’t this
what someone would say
if they were trying
to trick me to let them inside?
I take a deep breath,
shout, “Go away!”
Then I sit on the floor
under the window
and listen, waiting
to hear him leave.
The letter box clatters,
and his voice comes inside.
“Hello?” he calls.
“You still there?
Are you OK?”
I start to cry.
“GO AWAY!”
I scream.
“LEAVE ME ALONE
OR I’ll CALL THE POLICE!”
I hear the letter box close
and his voice mutter,
“All right, all right.”
Then I hear
him knocking on
Harriet’s door.
I hear Lola answer.
“Sure, I’ll sign for it.”
I hear him say,
“Cheers, gorgeous,”
and the sound of his
footsteps fade up the path.
Just a delivery guy.
I feel ridiculous.
Lola is metres away,
but I’m sitting here,
sobbing and shaking.
I can’t even talk to her,
because this is all
her daughter’s fault
and I’m scared
to go outside.
THE WALKING DEAD
I want my life back.
I want to go outside
and be nobody again:
just a girl, going to school.
Just a girl, doing gym.
Just a girl, walking
with her best friend
to buy croissants
to eat in their tree house
before dawn.
Just a girl,
looking up at the night sky
wondering how we got here
and sighing at
the marvel of life.
I miss my life.