by Gregory Ashe
Chapter 9, Monday 22 August
Lodged somewhere between the mass of red-hot pain that covered my body and the haze that packed my thoughts, I let out a groan. They’d stopped hitting me, and the first edge of shock was starting to blunt. Beyond it lurked that inferno of pain, and it was bleeding through as awareness returned. I gritted my teeth, tried to hold back a noise somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and tasted blood. I should have noticed that before.
“He’s a faggot,” I heard Chad shout. “Look what he did to me.”
“Get out of here, Chad. I saw Principal Bell on his way here.” It was a new voice, one that hovered on the edge of depth. Smooth and even.
“Let’s go, Chad,” someone said. I think it was Jack. Maybe Rob. It was hard to tell; the pain was hitting me bad, and I let out another groan; it was all I could do to keep from sobbing and drooling blood, so I thought a groan was acceptable.
“What did you guys do to him?” That same edge-of-deep voice. “I’m taking him to the hospital.”
“Dude, they’ll know it was us,” said Jack. I’m sure it was him. “You can’t sell us out like that.”
“Get the hell out of here,” the new voice said. “Before Bell gets here.”
“Come on, Chad, just let it go; you beat the shit out of him,” Rob said.
“I’m going to look like shit tomorrow,” Chad said. “I should kill him for doing this to me.”
“Let’s go,” Jack said.
After a moment of silence, I heard footsteps moving away from me. By then, the pain was everywhere. I gritted my teeth, forcing back a third groan. Shallow, rapid breaths that tasted of blood. I needed to move, needed to get out of here. I didn’t want the principal to find me like this; he’d tell my parents, and everything would be worse than before.
Before I could push the pain back, I felt hands on me, turning me onto my back, pulling my arms away from my head.
“I need to see how bad it is,” that smooth voice said, although I could hear the worry in it. It was like a spear driven through my heart.
For a moment, I resisted. “Just go away,” I said, saliva and blood bubbling in the words that were fat against my lips. “Leave me alone.”
“You can talk,” the voice said. “That’s something. Do you have a concussion?”
“How the hell should I know?” I stopped resisting, though, and let him pull my arms away. A low whistle of surprise.
“Well, your nose isn’t broken, by some miracle. But you’re going to have a set of massive bruises. Come on, let’s get you on your feet. I need to take you to the hospital.”
I opened my eyes. At first, I thought I really did have a concussion. There, kneeling next to me, was Christopher.
Blinking, I tried to push myself up, but my whole body throbbed like one solid bruise. It wasn’t Christopher, of course. I knew that. But in that haze of shock and pain, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. It was the boy from the cafeteria. The same sandy-blond hair as Christopher, light blue eyes like snowflakes.
He stood and helped me to my feet, and another groan escaped me. I took a few steps, shaking off his hand. Nothing major seemed damaged, although one knee burned when I moved it, and it was hard to catch my breath. Hard to stand up straight, for that matter.
“I’ll bring my car around,” the boy said.
“What about the principal?”
He shrugged. “Sorry, he’s not coming. I just said that to get Chad to leave. You can talk to him after you’ve seen a doctor.”
“I’m not going to the hospital,” I said. It was painful to look at him; my chest tightened up in a knot, and it had nothing to do with the beating I’d just taken. “Look, thanks, but I’m fine.”
“Like hell,” the boy said. “Walk to the end of the hall without leaning on those lockers.”
I glared at him. “I said leave me alone. What the hell do you care?”
“Do it,” he said in an infuriatingly calm voice. “And I’ll leave you alone.”
Two steps. I made it two freaking steps before I collapsed, the salmon lockers pressed against my cheek. It was worse than embarrassing. I pushed myself to my feet again; I was not going to go to the hospital, and for some reason I couldn’t identify, I was not going to look like a fool in front of this guy.
This time I only made it one step before I felt the cool metal against my cheek.
Then he was there, next to me, one arm, warm against me even through my shirt, wrapped around my waist and holding me up. “God you’re stubborn.”
I glared at him again and pried his hand free.
“Leave me alone.”
“Well, you didn’t really live up to your end of the deal, did you?” He was half-smiling at me, and that only made me angrier. Before I could say anything, he raised his hands and said, “Fine, no hospital, although if you have a concussion, it’s on your head. Literally.”
“Funny.”
“I thought so.”
“Thanks for the help.” The words were easier to say this time.
“You’re welcome. Now, if you won’t let me take you to the hospital, at least let me help you get cleaned up. Then I’ll drive you home. If you don’t want to go to the hospital, I get the feeling you don’t want your parents to know about this.”
“Would anyone?”
“Probably not, but then, most people aren’t as stupid-stubborn as you.”
He met my gaze evenly, light blue eyes transparent. He was taller than I was, muscular and broad-shouldered. Tan.
“Football player.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You’re a football player.”
“Yeah. Mike.” He held out his hand. “And you’re the new kid.”
“Asa,” I said, shaking his hand. I froze when I realized what I had said. “Alex. I go by Alex.” What the hell had prompted me to say Asa?
“Asa,” he said, still shaking my hand, even though I had stopped responding.
“No, I prefer Alex.”
That half-smile again. “I think I’ll call you Asa.”
My shoulders slumped; I hurt bad, and I was tired. His smile vanished, and he put an arm around me, around my shoulders this time, and helped me down the hall. We didn’t talk for a time after that. He made me lean up against the sink while he cleaned my face with a wet paper towel. From the corner of my eye, I could see the water in the basin stained pink. I didn’t have a broken nose, but they’d still managed to mess me up. Puffy, split lips. A pair of long scrapes along one cheek. And the bruises that covered me from neck to ankles.
“Why the hell did you think you could handle three guys on your own?” Mike said when he had finished.
My head still felt cloudy, and I spoke without thinking. “A little while ago, I wouldn’t have had any trouble with them. Guess I forget sometimes. I’m not that person anymore.”
“So who are you?”
I shrugged, heat rushing into my cheeks. I suddenly felt uncomfortable with Mike. The way our words echoed off the tiled walls of the bathroom, bouncing back and forth between us, in time with my heart. “I need to go.” I started toward the door.
“Wait,” Mike said. “I’ll give you a r—” He caught me by the wrist, but he cut off speaking as he felt the scar there.
I froze. All I could feel was the roughness of callused fingers against the skin around the scar, and, on the scar itself, nothing. It was nothing, the lightest brushing of his fingers, and it was so intimate that my face burned like a furnace. I couldn’t breathe; something was caught in my throat, like the wrong half of a wishbone, choking me.
Mike tightened his grip and pulled me back toward him, turning my arm over as he did.
“What’s this?”
The mark of my crimes. Where Christopher’s ground had seared my flesh when I killed him. When I betrayed him. I wet my lips, the saliva stinging in the fresh cuts.
“Who did this to you? Tell me his name.” Mike was angry, I realized.
“It’s n
othing,” I said. “From a camping trip. No one did anything to me. I gotta go.” I staggered out of the room, walking a little better, but not much.
The pain grew, pulsing in time with my heart, along the walk home. By the time I reached the Lion House, I was limping badly, and everything was so blurry I was afraid I really did have a concussion. But no matter how much I hurt, I couldn’t escape the feel of those callused fingertips tracing the scar on my arm, a touch lighter than memory. And it burned worse than anything else that happened to me that day.