by Winter Page
She cut me off midword and kissed me. I was starting to see a pattern to her preferred method of shutting me up. Not that I was complaining. She pulled back, and my hand dropped from her wrist.
Clare ran a finger over the edge of the canvas. She lifted her gaze to me slowly, maybe even hesitantly. “You weren’t hurting me, Rain. I don’t know where you got that idea from.”
I took a deep breath to explain to her that I had been doing just that, but she put a finger to my lips. “No. Listen. I don’t know where you got this idea that I need someone stable. Maybe I do. But needing something and loving something are two different things. And I was starting to love you. The only thing you did to hurt me was leave me.”
I identified a bunch of different emotions all tangled up in her voice. I heard anger, sadness, and something else. Something heavier and deeper than the rest of it that I couldn’t put a name to.
She let out a faintly exasperated laugh, a sound I hadn’t heard in a while. I hadn’t realized I had missed it so much until I heard it again.
Clare took the painting gingerly from my hand, murmuring. “This really is beautiful, you know.”
I nodded, looking at it once again. Clare was right. It was beautiful.
It was a familiar scene to us both. It was a painting of a parking lot, cars smudged and distorted in the background because of the snow. Everything was coated in a thin layer of white, dusting down. And in the middle of the canvas were two girls kissing. A tall blonde and a small brunette. I had painted our first kiss.
If I wasn’t mistaken, tension was starting to build back up in Clare’s shoulders. “What I don’t understand is how you can paint something like this, but you can’t bring yourself to even acknowledge my existence for three weeks. Do you even know how much that sucked for me?” Steel edged her words. She turned her gaze on me, her eyes burning with anger.
I pursed my lips and didn’t say anything for a long time. A string of swearing erupted inside my head. Finally, I drew in a big breath. “I was protecting you from the truth. From the truth about me,” I finished in a rush.
She laughed again. But this time it was a bitter sound devoid of humor.
“Oh really, Rain? So the world revolves around you? Well guess what, you weren’t the only one keeping secrets. But I didn’t end the damn relationship because I was afraid of something you didn’t even know about.” Her voice rose until she was practically shouting. Her face was flushed, not only from the anger but from the tears forming in her eyes again.
“You don’t understand.” I whispered. I bit my lip and looked away from her. I didn’t want her to see me this way, and I didn’t want to see her like that, either. There was a storm brewing behind her eyes, and I didn’t want to see it when it broke.
“Of course, I don’t understand! Of course, I don’t understand, because you won’t tell me anything. You can go to hell for all I care. I let you in, Rain! And I’ve only let one other person in my whole entire life in! My family is falling apart, my social life is nil, and just when I needed you, you decided to bail. So tell me, what the hell is so important you would make me fight through all of this crap scared and alone? I want to hear it, and it better be good!”
Slowly, answering anger began to boil in my veins. I felt heat rush to my face. I looked her dead in the eyes. And I let her see all of the anger and hate I felt, not just directed at her but at everyone who had ever hurt me. I knew it wasn’t fair to direct it all at her, but it felt so good to just let go of it all, for once.
“You want to know, Clare? Fine. I’ll tell you. Actually, I’ll tell you for the second time.” My voice was completely calm, and I barely spoke above a whisper. But there was no way she could possibly mistake my demeanor for calm.
“See, the first time I told you was when you were at my house. But the next morning you didn’t remember a thing because you had blacked out because you got so drunk. Do you even know how much it hurt the next day when you didn’t remember the honest to God most important confession of my life? Pretty damn bad.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh come on. Lay it on me. It can’t be that bad. Plus, what do you have to lose? We’re done either way, right?”
“You don’t understand, do you?” I retorted. “We moved away from Texas for a reason. I’m transgender, Clare. I’m trans, and I cut myself over it. I tried to kill myself over it, and you didn’t even have the decency to be sober enough to remember me telling you about it. So there you have it. My guts all out in the open. Happy now?” I did exactly the opposite of Clare and finished in a whisper.
She started to laugh. Huge, cruel laughs. I flinched once. And then I clenched my fists and refused to move. Her eyes crinkled with the force of her laughter, and she actually doubled over, clutching her stomach. I didn’t dare move a muscle. When Clare was finally done, she wiped her eyes free of the tears that had formed. And took a moment to compose herself.
“Wow. You honestly think I care about that? You think that would actually bother me? You obviously don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” With that, she strode off, painting still in hand.
I didn’t go after her. I let her take the painting, and with it, I let her take my anger and regrets. I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with them right now.
I drove myself home, studied for my test in English, showered, ate, and went straight to bed, where I cried basically all night long.
It was finally starting to dawn on me that I had not only lost, but thrown away, the first real relationship I’d ever had.
I know, I know, first relationships never last. Except we had both been starting to really fall in love with and trust each other. And then I let fear get in my way and cloud my judgment.
And because I was feeling masochistic, I got out of bed sometime in the middle of the night and listened to all of Clare’s voice mails. I read her e-mails and her texts, too.
I spent the night staring at her words, first of concern, then hurt, and finally anger. Idly, I wondered if she wasn’t sleeping, either. Maybe she had gotten drunk, again. I wondered if someday we would ever be able to fix things. Or, more accurately, if I would ever find a way to mend the rift between us.
I was the only one who needed to do any mending. As far as I knew, anyway.
CLARE TOSSED her keys onto her bed, carelessly. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, hugging Rain’s painting to her chest. The tears rolled freely down her cheeks.
A little part of Clare was relieved that Rain was gone. That she was once again alone with herself, alone with her guilt. She wasn’t surprised that things hadn’t worked out between them. After all, what right did she have to be happy after that night?
Clare shuddered. She stood slowly and propped the painting against her window. She would rather look at her window and see that than the empty town that would swallow her whole if she let the demons inside her out.
She picked up her phone and dialed Rain’s number. She had no right to be mad at Rain anymore. Well, maybe she did, but she didn’t want to be. She was too tired from grieving to have the energy it took to be angry anymore. What she wanted desperately at the moment was to tell someone about it. To let someone else help her carry the burden weighing so heavy on her shoulders, dragging her down to hell.
Clare stared at the phone screen a long time, hesitating to complete the call, and thought back to Rain’s face when they had parted in the hallway. Her eyes had been completely empty. Like she had been hollowed out, and the only thing left of her was a husk. Clare shivered and tossed the phone away from herself. Being angry might take more energy, but it was also safer for her.
She sat up all night long, staring at the painting in her window, seeing nothing but Rain and the future together that they had both thrown away—even though Clare knew it was herself that she had run from in that hallway, not Rain.
And Rain had no idea what the reason had been for her leaving like that. Sure, Rain being transgender had come as a shock, but it hadn’t both
ered Clare particularly. Rain was who she was now, and that was all that mattered. And she’d lost Rain.
So Clare spent much of the night crying, trying to shut down but remembering, anyway. Remembering one name over and over again. Remembering one night until she slipped into a waking nightmare that followed her into sleep when she finally dozed off near dawn. Even when she woke up to her alarm clock a bare hour after she’d drifted off to sleep, the nightmare stayed with her. It followed her around the house as she got ready for school. It was freaking haunting her.
To put it lightly, she was losing it, and she felt like Rain wasn’t that far behind her. Something bad was coming, and Clare felt it all the way down to her bones.
Nineteen
I SIGHED, pulling at my shirt. C’mon, Raimi. You can do this. Just take your Spanish test and don’t flunk it. Then you can skip the rest of the day, and you won’t have to deal with any of it, anymore.
I shuffled into class my feet literally dragging a little, I was so reluctant to face her. Thankfully, she wasn’t there yet. I sat down and buried my head in my study notes.
Clare came in shortly after I took my seat. We didn’t even glance at each other. It was like we were both desperate to avoid one another but hoping we wouldn’t be able to. It was pointless, in other words.
Brad didn’t come to class. I didn’t blame him for skipping. This test was 30 percent of our grade in the class, and the only bigger test we would take this semester was our actual final exam. He would no doubt get the other kids to tell him what was on the test before he made it up.
I shivered the entire class. I had left my big winter coat at home. The weatherman had said we were supposed to be back in the midforties by this morning, but instead, it had yet to hit thirty degrees and was showing no signs of warming up any more.
The lying bastard had also said that it wasn’t going to snow, hail, or sleet. And yet there was a constant plink against the window that could only be explained by precipitation of some kind. Maybe it was the Clare Effect on the weather. The bottom of the windowsill was dusted with a fine white substance that was either cocaine or snow. I was pretty sure it was snow, though.
The Spanish exam sped by. I conjugated verbs with the best of them and translated like it was second nature. Which it was, by now. I turned my test in with confidence at the end of the period. I actually felt a tiny bit better and ended up staying for the rest of my morning classes.
Everyone was nicer with each other than usual and just in a better mood overall. I thought it was a result of the weather. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the snow. The winter so far had been relatively mild besides that early cold snap we’d had.
I felt a pang in my gut when I thought about how I’d spent that first cold snap. My mind went to the painting, and I sincerely hoped that Clare hadn’t used it as kindling.
I walked into the lunchroom like normal, but immediately, I knew something wasn’t right. For one thing, everyone was silent. Secondly, the people were dispersed so that there was a huge circle in the middle of the room. Thirdly, there were no staff members anywhere in sight. And lastly, Brad stood in the middle of the circle with his arms crossed. He was staring directly at me.
I stopped just inside the threshold and searched the crowd for familiar faces. Cam and Freddie were nowhere in sight and neither was Clare. Brad stood there, his jaw clenching and unclenching manically. His pupils were seriously dilated, and I honestly thought he might be high on something. That theory only became more likely as the seconds ticked past.
I finally cleared my throat and croaked, “Am I missing something?”
The crowd looked restless. It was only then that I noticed Brad’s friends were spread out evenly through the crowd. This was turning more and more into a bad, late-night movie scene.
Brad snorted. “Other than the memo that you’re a boy, not much.”
I froze. I swear my heart stopped. Someone in the back of the room coughed. No one said a thing. No one moved. It was utter silence.
I laughed nervously. “What are you talking about?”
Brad strode toward me, his jaw stiff. He got right up in my face. His breath smelled weird, like blood cologne. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, you worthless piece of trash tranny.” Brad actually spat a little on me because he was speaking with such conviction.
The blood drained from my face. “I have no idea what you—”
He punched me square on the chin. Pain blossomed through my teeth. Brad grabbed me by the front of my shirt and pushed me against the wall.
“I didn’t say you could talk, you little shit. Shut up and listen,” he growled at me. I tried to nod, but I was so rigid with terror that I couldn’t move a muscle.
No one moved. No one spoke. It was like they were all ignoring what was happening, or too captivated to stop it.
“You listen up. I don’t know why the hell you came here, but I want you gone. You’re a monster, you know that, right? You’re the type of thing that little kids have nightmares about. You’re unnatural, and you’re worthless. You know you’re going to hell, right? You’re disgusting.”
His calm voice was definitely scarier than if he had been screaming and yelling at me. He slammed me back again, and my skull connected sickeningly with the painted walls. My vision was blurred over with tears.
Brad laughed. “You know, I don’t hit girls. But it’s okay for me to do this.”
He let go of me and punched me again, this time in the eye. He kicked me in the stomach, a lot like he had done to Freddie. I fell on the floor. I didn’t even register the sound of the cafeteria door opening.
I heard Brad’s voice vaguely from somewhere above me. I was in so much pain I had trouble understanding him, though. “She left me for this, everybody. She left the best guy at the school for a stupid, worthless tranny. What a whore. I guess she’ll take it wherever she can get it, won’t she?”
Brad snickered cruelly. I heard someone crying. I spat blood onto the linoleum floor. He kicked me again, this time in the throat. Spots appeared all over my vision. I didn’t even know if there were tears coming out or not. I felt numb. This wasn’t real.
No one said a word. No one moved.
“Did you honestly think you could have something with her? I heard you two in the hallway, yesterday. It was pathetic. That whore couldn’t even love you. Nothing could love you. You don’t even know what love is, do you? You make me sick! You don’t deserve to live!” Brad screamed.
I saw his fist come toward me. I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to be conscious anymore. I hadn’t even really started to understand what was happening. I waited for his fist to connect. And waited. But it didn’t come. I opened my eyes.
Clare stood over me. She held Brad’s fist in her hands and spoke in a voice that would have carried to every corner of the dead silent cafeteria, “How dare you, Brad. You’re a coward and a liar and pathetic. You had to blackmail me to even get near me. You’re just jealous that you lost the only girl you ever loved in your own twisted little way to someone who’s quite frankly, a better human being than you.”
His crazed stare bored into her. He was obviously high on something. What, I didn’t know. Clare shoved him back with more force than he was expecting, and he stumbled a few steps. She glared at him a moment longer and then turned on our avid audience.
“You’re all sick. You watched him beat a girl up, and no one did a thing. You all talk a big game about doing what’s right. But then again, I’m just a worthless gay whore, so what do I know? Go home and tell mommy that the big bad fag told you all to go to hell, today. I’m sure that would make for a great discussion at the dinner table.” She laughed bitterly.
“It’s a he, not a she! How can you stand to be near that… that thing?” Brad screamed.
Clare rolled her eyes. “Because I love her,” she answered matter-of-factly.
A few people gasped. I was one of them, even though it hurt like hell to do so.
“You�
��re a slut, Clare.” Brad spat. He slurred his words slightly and was starting to lose his balance.
“Go home, Brad. You’re… well, you aren’t drunk, but you’re definitely high. Have fun in prison. I’m sure you’ll be a great bitch,” Clare retorted sarcastically.
Had I been more aware of my surroundings, and in a lot less pain, I probably would’ve laughed uproariously. But I wasn’t.
Clare helped me up. I felt like I had been run over by a truck. Someone ran to get a teacher.
A little voice in the rational corner of my mind announced archly that Brad was done for. My mom was a lawyer, and she would have no mercy on anyone who’d assaulted her baby. It actually promised to be quite a show in court when Brad finally got sober enough to plead his case.
Clare led me slowly down a series of familiar hallways. Huh. She had taken me to the art room. The teacher wasn’t in, so Clare took down the first aid kit off the wall herself. I lay down on one of the counters, my head spinning so violently I thought I might be sick. I closed my eyes. The last thing I saw for a while was Clare taking my hand very gingerly in hers and squeezing it reassuringly.
WHEN I came to, I was still on the counter. Something soft was under my head, now. Quiet voices were drifting in from the hallway. I recognized Clare’s at once. And then the principal’s. And there was a third voice I couldn’t identify. I blinked blearily at the big clock on the wall over the teacher’s desk. I was asking myself if I had really been out for more than fifteen minutes when Clare popped her head back in the room.
She smiled grimly at me as she announced over her shoulder, “She’s awake.”
The principal, a police officer, and an EMT walked in. The first two asked me a bunch of questions about what had happened while the EMT checked me for concussions and patched me up. What I couldn’t answer, Clare filled in for me.