by Vi Lily
There’s an upside to being slightly suicidal when you’re about to be attacked by five girls — they really can’t scare you. You have nothing to lose when you’ve lost everything that mattered.
“Up yours, bee-atches,” I told them when they tried to stop me from leaving the restroom. I slammed my shoulder into Kaila as I passed, making her stumble back into the towel rack.
It shocked them long enough so that I could walk out the door while flipping them off.
I’m not sure what they thought they were going to do to me, but it couldn’t be any worse than what had already been done, through no fault of my own.
While I might not remember that night, the night that my entire world shifted on its axis so that I’m now living in the perpetual darkness of an eclipse, I know without a doubt that it was not my fault.
I did nothing wrong. And screw anyone who thinks otherwise.
Raine and the sluts, the teachers, the school administration, the other students, my family… Ben.
Screw them all.
Chapter 3
T WO WEEKS PASS without much new by way of attacks. There are a few shoves and of course the “slut” comments, but nothing too terrible. I’m starting to relax, which is probably the last thing I need to be doing.
The class field trip is tomorrow. We’re supposed to go somewhere near the Appalachian Trail, where some stream overflows from the early winter runoff, where we’ll be studying the Brook Trout to make recommendations to the State for restoration projects.
Yeah, super exciting.
But, hey, after being stuck in the house with a family that hates me, or in school where they despise me, I’m looking forward to getting the hell outta Dodge.
It’s been really hard seeing Ben every day, especially since he’s in most of my classes. The looks I get from him are the worst — the hatred, the condemnation, the disgust.
Knowing that he thinks the worst of me and won’t even listen to my side… well, he’s no better than Raine and her bitches, in my opinion.
Thankfully, Freshwater Ecology is one of the few classes I don’t share with Ben, so he won’t be going on the field trip, even though his sister is. But she hasn’t even said one word to me since this all started. She’s even given me sympathetic looks whenever she’s seen someone slam into me or call me a name. Unlike her brother, who just ignores me.
I still can’t believe I thought he was my future.
My homelife still isn’t much better than school. I’ve seen my dad maybe three times in the past three weeks and had maybe a dozen words with him. At least he’s not being judgmental and in fact he never even mentioned the video. Maybe it’s because he’s always gone and has no idea what’s going on.
I still have no idea where he goes, what he’s doing, but he’s really distanced himself from all of us.
Even though she’s turned against me, I feel bad for my mom. No one deserves to be treated the way she’s being treated by my dad. As far as I know, she’s been a really good and loyal wife to him for nearly twenty years. Then, we get a ton of money and Dad just abandons her. Abandons us.
That makes my dad a real jerk in my opinion.
I have to admit that there is a petty part of me that thinks the way Dad is treating my mom is karma for the way she’s treating her only daughter, but I try to push those thoughts down. Way down. It won’t do me any good to stoop to that level.
My life sucks, but I’ve been trying to use all the experiences so far for good and have started journaling. I started chronicling my life from a year ago, when my family was just this side of poor, but happy. I’ve filled nearly a whole notebook so far, and I’m up to the part where my entire life spiraled into the hole it’s in now.
I’m having a hard time finishing that page.
One day, I hope to turn my experience into a book. I’ll probably have to label it “fiction” though, because no one would believe that this insanity could really happen in this so-called enlightened day and age.
I can already picture the reviews: “This book was so unrealistic!” “No way could this have happened; it’s a stupid story.” “The author is crazy if she thinks this could happen in the real world.”
Yeppers.
Aleen and I are sitting at a table in the corner of the dining room all by ourselves. It’s been that way ever since the video was released. No one but Aleen will come near me, like I have some disease.
The outright bullying has slowed, thankfully, but the comments haven’t. I’m pretty sure no one even knows my real name any longer — I’m simply known as “skank” or “whore.”
Aleen is studying for a test she has this afternoon, so I pull out my journal. I stare at the words I wrote not so long ago, the description of that night, the night that had started out so great — Ben and I laughing while doing homework, me wanting to spoil the little brother who now hates me with a passion, then feeling like I was being the awesome girlfriend by taking Ben’s phone to him.
That was a piece of memory that came to me recently. Until that point, I’d only remembered finding the phone, but for whatever reason, I suddenly remembered the decision to take it to him. I even remembered freezing my butt off while waiting for the Mercedes to heat up.
Nothing after that, though.
I researched amnesia. Some think that the memories will return, likely over a smell or a taste; others say that if it’s a drug-induced amnesia such as mine has to be, the memories will likely never come back. Both seemed to agree that the memories aren’t gone, though, just locked in the subconscious.
Which might explain why I am constantly waking up in a cold sweat from a nightmare I never can remember.
I put a notebook and pen on my nightstand, just in case I do wake up and remember something, anything. So far, I’ve written only two words: “Fire” and “marshmallows.”
Not sure what the hell those two things have to do with that night. Probably nothing. I was likely having a nightmare about my brief time in the Girl Scouts back in second grade.
I write a few paragraphs about that night, the things I remembered. How I’d been thinking that Ben’s eyes were the exact same color as my new mermaid nail polish; that he was so much fun to be around and I couldn’t believe that he would choose to spend all his free time with me, when he could have his pick of any girl he wanted; that, while I was embarrassed my mom so obviously adored him, it was nice to know that she did, since he was going to be my future husband.
I roll my eyes at the last part, even though my heart clenches painfully. I start to cross it out, but then change my mind. It was exactly what I’d been thinking that night, and as painful as it is to remember, it is the truth. If I’m going to be a good writer — and hopefully a great one some day — I need to embrace the hurts and not just the feel goods.
“So,” Aleen says, breaking into my thoughts, “I’ll drive tomorrow, if you want. My dad just put new snow tires on my Range Rover and I’m feeling pretty confident.”
I snort; neither one of us are confident or competent to drive in the snow. We’re sun girls all the way. But hey, if it keeps me from having to drive, woohoo.
“Sure,” I shrug. “I’ll be at your house by eight.”
“No,” Aleen says quickly, “I’ll just pick you up. It’ll be easier that way.”
Okayyy, whatever. “Sure,” I repeat, then laugh to myself. If I’m going to be a great writer, I might want to start using other words instead of the same ol’ all the time.
Aleen is acting weird, but I don’t think much about it. I’m sure it’s a serious strain to be friends with me, so I’m not going to hold any weirdness against her. I’m just thankful I still have a friend, other than those I left behind in Cali.
I asked her one time why she stuck by me, when everyone else didn’t. She doesn’t even sit with her other friends, those she used to sit with when I started sitting at the jock table all the time and she decided it wasn’t her comfort zone there.
She’d shrugged a
t the question. “I don’t like to see people bullied. I’ve always been the one to root for the underdog.”
At the time I was too grateful to her to think about being the sad fact that I’m now an underdog.
She picks up her lunch trash and takes it to the waste bin. I take that as a signal that we’re done, even though there’re still fifteen minutes left in the lunch period. I start gathering my stuff as Aleen returns to the table.
“Oh, I, um, need to go to the library for a research book,” she mumbles, then grabs her stuff and hurries toward the door. I frown as I watch her; we always stick together during lunch until we go to class.
Again, whatever. Maybe she’s getting tired of being friends with me. I can’t blame her, honestly. I won’t hold it against her, either. But then I think about how she specifically asked me to ride with her tomorrow, so I wonder if that’s just my paranoia creeping in again.
Rather than leave, I go back to my notebook and make some more notes about the things I remembered that night. About my feelings for Ben, mostly. That colors my memories more than anything else. It hurts more than anything else too.
The warning bell sounds before I realize how much time has passed, so I hurry to gather my things. I toss my tablet into my oversized purse, then grab my pen and shove my journal into the bag as I stand. Unfortunately, I didn’t get it all the way in, and it falls to the floor, opening when it hits.
And slides right into Ben Penn’s foot.
He’s holding his tray with his lunch trash, obviously heading toward the waste bin. Instead of just stepping over the journal like I’d expect, he bends to pick it up.
Oh no oh no oh no…
He glances at it, but doesn’t hold it long, thank God. I hope to hell he didn’t read any of it.
“Thanks,” I mumble as I reach out with a shaky hand to take it from him. I still can’t believe that after all this time, being the recipient of his smirks, hateful looks or outright ignoring me, that I still feel drawn to the jerk.
Maybe it’s because he hasn’t actively bullied me. And other than my first day back at school after that night, he hasn’t called me any names. He hasn’t pushed or shoved me. And even though I question his participation in giving out my locker combo, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t him who torched my stuff…
Yeah, my pathetic life has devolved to the point that I’m feeling magnanimous toward someone just because he hasn’t painted hate crap on my locker or poured scalding liquid on me.
I shove the notebook in my purse and turn to leave. I need to get away from Ben, away from the feelings he still manages to bring out in me, even though he turned on me when I really needed him most.
Not any different than everyone else in my life.
“Beth, wait,” Ben says and I stop. I don’t turn around, though. I’m pretty sure he’s just going to throw an insult my way. I square my shoulders and wait.
“I, uh, I…” he doesn’t say anything further after I wait for a few seconds. I don’t bother looking back as I walk out of the door.
Soon I’ll be walking out of here and out of his life forever.
Chapter 4
A LEEN SHOWS up right at eight the next morning. I’m hugging a travel mug of coffee as I freeze my butt off out on my drive. Thankfully, my mom was gone this morning, so I was able to sneak into the kitchen and get a cup, but it’s almost empty since I’ve been sucking it down trying to soothe my slightly sore throat and get warm.
The first official day of spring came a few weeks ago, but someone apparently forgot to tell God, because it’s seriously still cold.
I sure hope it warms up today, because we’re going high up in the mountains where it’s going to be even colder than it is here. Plus, we’ll be next to a river. Even more ways to get cold.
Today is not looking good.
I hop into Aleen’s Range Rover and grimace. I was hoping for a warm car, but no go.
“Sorry it’s not warm,” she says, reading my thoughts. “I didn’t have time to let it warm up. I thought it would be a little warmer outside by now.”
“I know, r-r-right?” I ask, my teeth chattering. We both laugh.
Thankfully, the Rover does warm up by the time we hit the road to Bearing. Our gated community sits atop one of the smaller mountains overlooking the town like a pretentious king staring down at his peasants. We’re not technically even in the town limits, but we’re only a few minutes away.
Aleen needs to stop for gas and I cringe. Hopefully, we can get through the transaction without someone seeing me and telling us to eff off.
“I’ll, um, pump the gas,” I tell her when she says she wants to refill her coffee and buy snacks for us for the day. Thankfully, gas pump card readers don’t care who’s holding the plastic.
Aleen gets out and jogs across the parking lot while I twirl my hair up into a roll and shove it under my beanie. I even pull my hood up to help hide my face and grab my debit card out of my wallet before exiting the car.
It’s ridiculous, the stuff I have to go through now just to buy something. When I went apartment hunting, I stopped at a grocery store in Stevens and stocked up on food, since my mom doesn’t even want to provide food for me any longer and buying groceries in Bearing is next to impossible.
I shiver against the cold as I put my card into the pump and wait for the acceptance. I almost laugh; just a year ago, I knew which pumps I could go to in California that only charged a dollar to your card at first and you’d have a day before the real charge went through. There were a lot of times that I’d fill my mom’s car the day before her payday when there wasn’t enough in her account to cover the fuel charge yet.
It’s so nice not to have to worry about those things anymore. I’ll never take having money for granted, ever again.
Once the reader accepts my card, I stick it in my back pocket and pull the nozzle out of the holder and push the button for the high-octane fuel. That’s also something I never bought before, but these upper end vehicles require the better fuel.
I’m almost done pumping the gas when it happens.
“Hey, you’re that slut,” I hear a male voice call out from the other side of the pump. I cringe.
No no no… just lemme get outta here.
“Check it out,” he says, apparently calling out to someone else. “It’s that whore who got Coach Penn fired.”
I stop pumping the gas then, not caring that I’m at some weird odd number. Usually, I’m a little OCD-ish about pumping gas, always rounding up to the next even amount. But now, hell no. I toss the nozzle back into the slot and put the cap back on, spinning it quickly and slamming the little door before I hurry to climb back in the Rover.
The only thing I don’t think about is locking the doors.
Because, really, who would think that someone would have the balls to open a car door and pull someone out? I mean, yeah, if you were planning on carjacking them, or something…
The guy is big who yanks me out, older, around my dad’s age. He also has really bad breath, which is saying a lot, considering I shouldn’t have been able to smell it since it was so freaking cold.
He leans close after he shoves me up against the passenger back door and I cringe. A normal person would assume that they’re probably not going to get their butt kicked in broad daylight at a public gas station with a dozen other people around, but not me. Not in this town.
There isn’t a single freaking person in a hundred-mile radius who will help me.
“My kid is on the soccer team,” the guy growls as he grabs my coat. “We were planning on taking State again this year, until you screwed that up.”
“I…I didn’t…” I start to defend myself, but I know that it won’t do any good. My own effing mother doesn’t believe I’m innocent, that I was raped.
The guy’s hand tightens on my coat and twists. I realize that I can’t breathe now, and panic starts to set in. I struggle, then, grabbing the guy’s wrist and try in vain to pull his hand away.
> “Hey, jerk, let go of her!” I hear Aleen call and I alternate between relief and fear for her. But she’s not the target, I am.
“Keep out of it,” the guy growls at her, but Aleen doesn’t listen. She throws her hot coffee at him and while he yelps, she pushes the guy aside and grabs me, pulling me toward the open door.
For some stupid reason, I’m glad she didn’t throw it in his face, but hit him in the chest. After getting burned with hot coffee myself — and yeah, I still have a red streak on my cheek — I’d hate to see it happen to someone else, even if that someone else is an abusive bully douche.
Aleen is surprisingly strong, I realize, as she shoves me into the Rover, throws the bag of snacks she just bought in my lap, and slams the door.
I’m in a bit of shock, but I hear Aleen chewing the guy out. “How dare you!” she yells and I turn to see her poking the guy in the chest. Shockingly, he backs away.
“She’s just a girl! And you’re a grown-ass man! What were you gonna do, beat the crap outta her?”
The man mumbles something I can’t hear, but, thankfully, Aleen lets it go and I watch as she stomps across the front of the Rover and climbs in.
She’s grumbling about “jerks” as she starts the car, then peels out of the gas station with her tires squealing. I start to say something about calming down and focusing on her driving, but I’m honestly shaking too much to get any words out. Plus, I am so grateful for her interference that I think I owe it to her to let her rant and drive however the hell she feels like.
“Thank you,” I finally get out after we’ve gone a few miles. We’re out of that hateful town now, and I feel like I can almost breathe normally again. That’s how I felt the two days I ditched school to put my plans in place. Getting away from the crazies is the only way I can start to feel normal again.
She glances at me. “You’re welcome.” She’s still pissed, so we drive in silence for a while.
Aleen asks me to plug in the name of the road we have to turn on into the GPS. We’re still twenty-three miles away from it, and then we have another thirty-three miles north after that.