Not My Hero: Black Mountain Academy

by Michelle Heard

  I lower my eyes to the remaining mess on the floor.

  The flat of her hand connects with the side of my head. “Show some life! You’re like a goddamn zombie.”

  The shock of the slap vibrates through my body, and I draw my bottom lip between my teeth in an attempt to fight for control over my emotions. I want to lash out. I want to fight back. But no good will come from it. It will only enrage her more, which will mean more trouble for me.

  She grabs hold of my left hand, and a shard of glass tumbles to the floor. She forces my fingers to close over the pieces and then begins to squeeze. “Nothing?” She tightens her grip around my fist. Sharp splinters of pain cut through my skin. “Seriously? What will it take to get a reaction from you?”

  Blood trickles over the sides of my palm, and I watch as it drips to the floor.

  When she lets go of my hand, I let out a slow breath. She shoves me hard, and I stumble before I fall down. Somehow, I managed to keep hold of the glass pieces, but the sudden movement makes them cut deeper.

  “Clean up,” she snaps.

  I don’t move and wait for her to pour the cosmopolitan into a new cocktail glass. As she saunters out of the kitchen, I hear her say, “I can’t believe I’m stuck with Kingsley’s lookalike. I should dye your hair and get you contacts to wear. Maybe if you look more like me and less like that bitch you’ll grow a backbone.”

  I wait until she’s gone before I climb to my feet. Walking over to the trashcan, I gingerly pick the shards from my hand. When I rinse the blood off in the sink, I shut my eyes as the cuts burn.

  At least it’s not my right hand. I can still draw, and that’s really all that matters.

  I wrap a piece of paper towel around my palm and fingers, then wipe up the mess on the floor before I go to my bathroom, where I keep a first aid kit.

  I clean the cuts as best as I can, then wrap a bandage around my hand. Wanting to finish my homework so I can climb in bed, I go sit at my desk and read through the essay one last time. I move it to the side and pull my English book closer.

  “I’ve made an appointment for you at the hairdresser tomorrow to get your damn hair colored,” Mom suddenly says.

  I didn’t hear her come in and caught off guard, I instantly dart up and move to the side.

  She glances down at my school work and shakes her head. My heart drops to my feet when she picks up the essay I just spent hours working on.

  With a sigh, she says, “It’s such a waste of money to have you in that private school.” She crumples the papers, her eyes boring spitefully into mine, daring me to challenge her, and my body jerks in an immediate reflex to save my essay. But my survival instinct wins out, and my shoulders slump.

  She lets out a disappointed sigh as she drops my crumpled assignment to the floor. “Such a waste of… everything really.”

  As soon as she’s out of my room, I rush to shut the door, wishing I had a key to lock it. Hurrying back to my essay, I pick it up and do my best to straighten the papers. I bite my bottom lip to keep from crying as misery weighs heavily down on me.

  Just one year. Hopefully, I’ll get accepted to an art school, so I can get out of here.

  Hopefully.

  Things are weird at school. The day is almost over, and no one has picked on me. There were no snide comments about me or my mother. Not that I’m complaining. The reprieve is welcome, especially after last night.

  During art class, I work to finish the sketch I started yesterday. When it’s completed, I sit back and stare at the self-portrait. Yesterday, Miss Snow told us we could use any form of art as long as the work represented us. Now that I’m done with mine, I feel apprehensive about showing her.

  I glance around at the other students to see how far they are and whether I have time to draw something else.

  “What’s wrong, Brie?” Miss Snow asks, and as she moves in my direction, I quickly close my sketchpad.

  “Ahh… nothing,” I mumble.

  Crap.

  She stops by me and reaches for my sketchpad.

  “I’m not done yet,” I try to stop her, but she opens the book and thumbs through the two pages I’ve drawn on.

  My eyes anxiously dart between her face and my sketchpad, and I almost wring my hands, but the painful cuts under the bandange stop me.

  Emotions flash over her features, and then her eyebrows draw together. When her gaze moves to me, I quickly look down. Her hand settles on my shoulder as she places the book down in front of me. I smell her soft perfume as she crouches next to me.

  “Please stay after class. You’re talented, and I’d like to talk to you about your options for college.”

  Not what I expected. I let out the breath I was holding and nod.

  I thought she was either going to lay into me for drawing depressing stuff or ask me to see the counselor, which would be a total waste of time.

  “In the meanwhile, can you draw a representation of yourself five years from now?”

  She rises to her feet and repeats the assignment for the rest of the class to hear.

  Five years from now.

  I open to a clean page and take hold of a pencil. Staring at the blank canvas, I wonder what my life would be like in the future.

  Will I still have contact with my mother?

  Probably not.

  There won’t be any Sullys and Michaels.

  Hopefully.

  The corner of my mouth lifts slightly as I begin to sketch. I imagine myself standing with my face raised to the sun and hundreds of tiny butterflies flying around me.

  Five years from now, I’ll be hopeful and free.

  When the bell rings, I let out a disappointed huff. I wish I could spend all my time in art. I pack up and wait for the other students to clear out before I walk to Miss Snow’s desk.

  She gestures to a chair. “Bring it closer and sit down.”

  I move it closer and take a seat. Miss Snow smiles at me, and it eases the tension a little.

  “You’re quite expressive in your sketches,” she begins. I fist the fabric of my skirt with my right hand. “Have you thought about college?”

  I nod. “I’m going to apply to a couple of art schools.”

  “If you continue to deliver such good work, I’ll definitely write you a recommendation letter.”

  A smile graces my lips. “Really?”

  “Of course.” Her smile softens, and she leans a little forward. “Is everything okay at home?”

  The smile falls from my face, and the word bursts from me, “Yes.”

  Miss Snow places her hand over mine and gives it a squeeze, but it only makes me feel uncomfortable. “If you need to talk to someone, you can always come to me.”

  I nod, all my muscles tensing. I wet my lips and getting up, I hoist my bag over my shoulder. “I should go. I’m late for history.”

  “Let me write you a note, so you don’t get in trouble.” She scribbles onto a piece of paper and holds it out to me. When I take hold of it, Miss Snow says, “I’m looking forward to seeing what you draw next.”

  I nod again before I quickly walk out into the hallway. I slip into the classroom and hand Mr. Donati the note from Miss Snow.

  He reads it, then asks, “Where’s your essay?”

  I dig it out of my bag and cringe with shame when I hand him the wrinkled papers.

  “What? Did the dog try to eat it?” he asks, and it makes the class snicker.

  I can feel my face turning red as I shake my head. “My mother thought it was trash. I can rewrite it. I just didn’t want you to think I didn’t do it.”

  “It’s fine. Sit.”

  I rush to my seat and notice another scrap of paper lying on the desk. Only when Mr. Donati continues with the lesson do I open it.

  ‘Too many of us are not living our dreams because we are living our fears.’ – Les Brown.

  I frown as I reread it.

  Did someone leave this for me?

  “Isn’t that right, Brie?” Mr. Donati sud
denly says as he walks down the aisle.

  “Huh?”

  My eyes grow wide when he takes the paper from my hand and reads it out loud. Thank God it’s just a quote, but the class still laughs.

  My face reddens to the point that it feels like I could go up in flames from everyone’s attention being on me.

  Mr. Donati sets the paper down and taps my desk. “Focus on the lesson.”

  “Yes, Sir.” I sit frozen with my eyes glued to the desk.

  COLTON

  Well, that backfired. I didn’t mean to get Brie in trouble.

  My eyes are drawn to the bandage around her left hand. I noticed it during English. Again, I wonder what happened.

  Brie doesn’t move a muscle, and as the minutes pass by, the tension coming off of her gets to me until I’m clenching my jaw.

  Today has been a shitty day with Michael trying to start a fight because I bruised his ego yesterday. Also, the rest of the school is continually gossiping. They don’t even bother whispering anymore.

  A couple of guys were friendly during lunch, asking if I played any sports, but the second I said no, they moved onto the other new guys.

  When the bell rings, I feel the tension ease as Brie darts up and runs out of the class. I let out a breath and pack my bag.

  Walking into the hallway, a girl pushes away from where she was leaning against the wall. “Colton, right?”

  “Yeah,” I grumble. I keep walking, and she has to move to keep up.

  “A bunch of us are going to Devil’s Bluff. Wanna come?”

  “No.” I quicken my pace to get away from her.

  “Your loss,” she calls after me.

  I feel the curious stares on me as I walk to my truck. Once I climb into the cab, I let out a sigh. I start the engine and steer the vehicle through the bustling after-school madness.

  Driving down the main road, I see Brie again, and I wonder where she lives. She’s walking fast with her arms crossed over her chest and her shoulders hunched forward as if she’s bracing for a blizzard or something.

  I glance at her one last time through the rearview mirror before I focus my gaze on the road ahead.

  When I get home, I kick off my shoes at the front door and drop my bag in my room. Changing into a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, I go check on my mother.

  I’m quiet as I enter her room, and when I sit down on the bed, she glances up at me. A slight smile graces her lips. “Hey, how was school?”

  I lie down and hug her. “It was okay. Nothing spectacular.”

  “Do you have a lot of homework?” she asks, and the fact that she still shows an interest in my life gives me hope that she’ll be back to her old self… one day.

  “Yeah, but I first want to pull the weeds from the flower beds. Do you want to sit on the porch and keep me company?”

  She shakes her head. “Another time.”

  Getting up, I suppress a sigh. I walk to the kitchen and grab a bag, then head out to the front. Crouching by a flower bed, I begin to pull the weeds out. The work keeps my mind busy until I’m breathless. I sit back and rest my forearms on my knees. I glance over the area I still have to do, and movement catches my eye.

  Climbing to my feet, I’m surprised when I see Brie walking by my house. Curious where she’s heading, I wait until she’s passed by before I take a short cut through the flower bed. I stay a safe distance behind her so she won’t notice me.

  A few houses from mine, she stops in a driveway and stares at the house.

  Does she live there?

  Fuck she walks far. Should I offer her a ride?

  She pulls a phone from her pocket and stares at it before glancing back to the house. When she turns around, my heart almost stops, and I duck behind a row of hedges.

  The next moment, Brie rushes past me. I step forward and peek around the leaves. She keeps glancing behind her and then breaks out in a run.

  What the hell?

  Did she see me?

  When she’s out of sight, I walk back to my own house, and distracted by Brie’s weird behavior, I finish plucking all the weeds out.

  After I’m done, I take a shower to clean all the sweat and sand off. Dressed in sweatpants and a fresh shirt, I sit down to do my homework until it’s time to prepare dinner.

  By nine o’clock, all the chores are done, and I feel restless. I slip on my sneakers, thinking a run around the block might tire me enough to sleep.

  I don’t bother telling Mom I’m heading out because she won’t even notice I’m gone.

  Starting with a slow jog to warm up first, I glance at the houses as I pass them. Nearing the one Brie was staring at, I slow down and stop by the driveway. My gaze is drawn to the light shining from a bedroom on the second floor. With the curtains open, I have a clear view inside.

  A girl comes into view, and the corner of my mouth lifts slightly. She shuts the door and turns toward the window. The smile on my face grows.

  So Brie does live here.

  With my eyes on her, I walk a little closer to the house. I watch as she brushes her long black hair, and it’s hypnotic, just like when she draws.

  Suddenly, her head snaps toward the door, and I watch as a woman walks into the room. Brie cowers away from her, and when the woman starts to yell at her, waving her hands angrily, tension winds tightly in my chest.

  Brie staggers backward until her back is pressed up against the window.

  The breath is knocked from my lungs when the woman lunges forward. She grabs Brie’s arm and shoves her to the floor.

  Without thinking it through, I run to the front door and pound a fist against the wood. My heart is hammering against my ribs, forcing the breaths to rush over my lips.

  Finally, the woman, who I saw in Brie’s room, opens the door, her hand fluttering over her ginger hair in an attempt to compose herself.

  “Can I help you?” she asks, and even though she’s breathless, she still manages to sound sugary sweet.

  The atmosphere pours from the house. It’s explosive and hostile.

  “I’m here for Brie.”

  “Oh.” She eyes me up and down, and I know the earrings and nose ring don’t make a good impression. That’s why I got them. It keeps people at a distance. “It’s late,” she states, the look of disapproval on her face making it clear I’m unwelcome.

  “I need to ask her something about school,” I lie. My eyes keep darting behind the woman. “It will only take a minute,” I add. “Please.”

  My hands fist next to my sides as she says, “Wait here.” I watch her walk deeper into the house, and then she calls, “Brie, there’s someone here to see you.” I watch her go up the stairs, and not able to just stand still, I move closer.

  I hear the woman hiss, “Talk to the guy so he’ll leave, and don’t you dare tell him any of our personal business.”

  When I hear footsteps, I quickly dart back to the front door.

  Brie’s clasping her arms over her chest, and when she sees me, she anxiously glances back to where her mother is following right behind her.

  This feels too familiar.

  The tension and fear coming from Brie sends my blood racing through my veins. My muscles tense, and I clench my jaw to keep from responding the way I would’ve with my own father.

  “Hey.” I gesture to the bench on the porch. “Can we talk?”

  She glances back at her mother, and the woman warns, “It’s late. Don’t be long.”

  Brie steps out of the house and gives me a questioning glance before she turns her gaze to the floor. “Why are you here?” she whispers.

  I see the red handprint on Brie’s arm that she’s trying to cover, and my hands itch to grab her and run.

  Like I should’ve done with Brady.

  Just fucking run away from all of this.

  “Are you okay?”

  Stupid question, Colton. Of course, she’s not.

  Brie nods, shooting another glance toward the front door.

  I see her mother’s sh
adow fall onto the porch, and knowing she’s listening, I ask, “I wanted to check if we got homework for history.”

  Brie’s eyes fly to mine before focusing on her feet again. “No, it was just the essay we handed in today.”

  I step closer to her, but it only makes her tense up even more. “Can we exchange numbers? That way, I can just call next time.” I say, then quickly add, “Or you can call if you need anything.”

  Like, help if you’re being abused.

  “You want my number?” she asks, sounding guarded.

  “Yes.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and hold it out to her. “Just type it in.”

  “Hurry up,” her mother calls.

  Brie quickly takes my phone and adds her number. When she hands the device back to me, I press dial.

  “I just called you, so you’ll have mine.”

  Brie glances at the front door, where her mother is hovering. “I should go inside.”

  Fuck, what do I do?

  Do I just leave?

  I follow after her, and once her mother comes into view, I lock eyes with the woman while saying, “I’ll see you at school tomorrow, Brie.”

  “Okay,” Brie murmurs before disappearing into the house.

  I keep my eyes on the woman’s, hoping to all that’s holy she can read between the lines.

  I know. I fucking know.

  She begins to shut the door, and unable to stop myself, I step forward. Placing my hand against the wood, I stop her. My voice is a low rumble of warning, “I saw what you did.”

  For a moment, surprise widens her eyes, but then they narrow on me while a sneer pulls at her mouth. She leans forward and hisses, “And? What are you going to do?” She lets out a chuckle then slams the door shut.

  My body begins to tremble with anger as I whisper, “I’m going to help Brie.”

  Chapter 4

  BRIE

  Cleaning my room, my movements are frantic while my eyes keep darting to the door.

  She’s going to be so angry!

  The lump in my throat grows impossibly big, and a strangled sound escapes as I suck in a painful breath. My body trembles so severely, I keep dropping things.