Valor
Takes place near the end of Season 5, a few weeks before graduation. For Crellie goodness purposes, Craig is still here. Enjoy.
P.S: I've included quotes from the book Cut by Patricia McCormick. I was rereading it one day (while I was writing this) and came across the section you will see, and I immediately thought of Ellie. If my story was a video, I would totally have those quotes be a voiceover. Ha ha. Sorry. I'm a nerd. J
- // -
"'Guess I'll never wear a strapless ball gown.'
'What makes you think that?'
I shrug. I never planned on wearing fancy clothes, but for some dumb reason, now I really want to. In fact, I want to so badly, I feel like crying, 'I don't know.'"
---- Cut, by Patricia McCormick
- // -
I hate dances. Despise them.
You'd think my best friend would know this. Would acknowledge this enough to leave me alone. Think again. According to Marco, senior prom is "important" and "a life experience." I've never been big on life experiences, so I figured I could skip out. But noo. Even though I refused a thousand times and wouldn't get out of the car when I was kidnapped to the frilly-princess-gown store, my mother and Marco bought me a stupid dress and stupid flowers and stupid shoes and whatever else you're suppose to buy for prom. And since I'm such a nice person and they put so much effort into the whole thing, I probably would've given in and gone. Except for one slightly major problem.
The dress they bought? It doesn't have any sleeves.
I guess for every normal teenage girl, this isn't a problem. Most of them don't want a dress with sleeves. But I've never exactly been a normal teenage girl. And there is no way I'm going to show my ugly, pale, stick, scarred arms in public. Which is why I'm sitting in my room in my pretty little dress, staring at my stupid arms and yelling at Marco through a locked door.
"Will you just please come out, El?" he started out with asking, then demanding, and now he's moved on to whiny begging and guilt trips. It won't work. Although I usually feel guilty about everything I do, I won't let it phase me this time. Every girl's prom is suppose to make her feel like a freaking goddess or something. Mine is making me feel like a maid. Or Juliet; the part when she stabs herself. On repeat, playing over and over again.
"No! I'm staying home!" Maybe I won't leave my room ever again, that's how lousy I feel.
"But everyone is outside waiting for you! In a shiny black limo and everything!"
"I don't care! I'm not going out in this dress in public! Ever!"
"Why not?!"
"I already told you! It doesn't have any sleeves!"
"For the millionth time, I'm sorry, El. We thought you were over the whole thing."
Over it? It's going to take me a little longer to get over "it," especially since it's only been a month since I last cut myself. But my therapist says little relapses are okay, so there. It isn't any of their business, anyway. Not that they want to know.
"Well, I'm not! Go have fun at prom! See you tomorrow!"
"You can't stand me up! You're my date!"
"I'm sure you'll have a better time without me!"
"Ellie…" I throw a shoe at the door. The loud thump shuts him up. I hear his footsteps walking down the hallway, down the stairs. Maybe he finally gave up. I listen for the sound of the car driving away, but it doesn't come. Instead there are just more footsteps. And a soft knocking on my door.
"Ellie?"
"Craig?"
I hate him. Marco, I mean. He's such a low, evil, little Italian boy! He knows I like Craig, he knows… of course. If not my best friend, maybe I'll listen to my crush. Well, too bad Craig has a date already. A girlfriend. Manny freaking Santos.
"What are you waiting for?" his voice floats through the walls. The voice I think about all the time. The voice I play the drums to. The voice I (yeah, it's cheesy) dream about at night. He's here. For me. Except I'm not stupid. I know the other girl is right outside, waiting for him too. And she'll always mean more, "It's prom. The night of our lives. Let's go."
I sincerely, truly hope, that this is not the single "night of my life." Instead, I sigh:
"I can't."
"Of course you can. Ellie Nash can do anything."
"Ellie Nash is a freak. I'm not going."
"Since when have you ever cared what other people think about you?"
"I don't… but… this is private. I don't want anyone to see…"
"You've let me see. All summer. You wore t-shirts, remember?"
"I know," I only let Craig see because I trust him, even when I shouldn't. He always made me feel braver, brave enough to be different. Or maybe he makes me feel unworthy, so I try to boost myself to his level. An idiotic confidence. Either way, I like him. Being in like makes you stupid. It makes you willing to share things. And right now, I hate that, "But you're… different."
He knows why he's different, too. That night at the wedding… but he won't say anything.
"I'll be there for you, El. I'll be there all night."
No. He'll be there for Manny. Maybe he wishes he was there for me (maybe, not likely), or maybe he doesn't care at all (probably). Whatever. It's still a lie, no matter how you twist it.
I don't tell him. That would be mean. And lets face it, I'm not completely heartless.
"I just can't, okay?"
He sighs loud enough for me to hear through the door, "Listen, I know this is a big deal and everything, but can't you just come?"
Obviously, he doesn't know what a big deal this is. Not if he's dismissing it so easily. Does he listen to me at all during Group? Or does he tune out everyone else because he's so self-absorbed?
So sorry for inconveniencing your prom night, Mr. Manning. Why don't you just go back to the limo and feel up your girlfriend in a sweaty gym? I'll stay here and mope.
"No."
He groans, "Fine. Stay here for the rest of your life and be afraid."
Afraid. Afraid?! I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid of anything! I--
"Hang on!" he shouts, his mood seeming to have changed in the past two seconds, "I'll be right back! Don't move!"
Um, as if I was leaving?
His footsteps fade away. I wait a few minutes, picking at loose strings in my bedspread before the steps return. But this time, there's more than one pair. And they're… they're heels? Oh, God…
"Ellie Nash, get out here right now before I yank you out by your braids!"
It's Paige. She isn't happy.
I sigh, figuring I'm better off letting her in than keeping her out, and stand up to open the door. I'm surprised to see Manny's behind her. Oh joy. Now two people I dislike (okay, one. The other, I have some weird love/hate relationship with) get to see my room.
"Paige Michaelchuck," I fake a smile, dripping with sarcasm, "I lost the braids after Grade 10. A bit too Girl Scout-y, don't you think?"
"Sorry. The bad trends tend to stick with me," she grins, stepping inside like she owns the place. Then again, what should I expect? I'm delaying the Queen Bee's last hurrah. That's probably worthy of being burned at the stake.
As I step back, I notice Manny follows more hesitantly. Weird. I never expected her to act all… Bambi on me. More like GI Joe.
"So," Paige says, her cheerfulness definitely clashing with my room décor, "What's the problem, hun? Don't like the dress?"
"No," the word comes out flat and bitter.
"Why the hell not? I think you look good."
I look away, staring at the dark spots on my floor, "My arms."
"Oh," she sounds surprised, like she forgot all about it or something. Maybe she did, "You're not ready yet? It's been, what, two years?"
Now I'm the one who's surprised. Paige, actually sounding understanding? Go figure. I never would've thought she'd be the person to say you're not ready yet instead of stop being such a baby. Maybe everyone's grown up more than I thought. She's not even staring that much. Manny, however, is staring. Big time.
I nod slowly, "I've tried a few times… in town. But I can't at school."
"Just tell them all to go fuck off. It's not like we won't be there for you."
"I just can't, okay?"
She ponders this for a minute. I realize Manny still hasn't said anything. Why did she even come? Don't she and Paige hate each other? Doesn't she hate me?
"Okay, I have an idea," Paige smiles, and suddenly I'm weary, "I need scissors."
"I don't--"
"Come on, Ellie. I'm not an idiot. Just give me some."
Slowly, I turn my back to them, reaching under my bed and pulling out a box. Inside is where I keep all my… things. I pull out the pair of scissors and hand them to her.
She doesn't flinch at the blood. They might as well be rust spots to anyone who didn't know better, but everyone does know, and even it really was rust, people would still assume things anyway. No matter how hard I scrubbed, the tiny splotches wouldn't come off. Paige doesn't say anything, of course. Neither does Manny, but I'm sure that's more from shock (or fear) than kindness.
I wonder if Paige is putting two and two together. If she realizes how much this is bothering me, and the fact that I still hoard sharp objects under my bed. Will I be dragged into Sauve's office on Monday? I hope not. Paige has been giving me knowing looks, sympathetic looks. Angry looks.
Just how much do people know about me, assume about me? It makes my skin crawl that I can never know.
"Okay Manny, I'm going to need your help," then, she starts cutting the bottom of my dress.
"Hey! What are you doing?!"
Paige scowls, "Calm down! Just wait! Now, do you have a sewing kit anywhere?"
- // -
A shorter dress and twenty minutes later, I have armwarmers. Sort of. They're not exactly fashionable, but they're sturdy enough, and they don't fall down. Paige steps back, admiring her handiwork. Manny sets the sewing kit and scissors down on my bed.
"I think we did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself."
"You look good, Ellie," Manny says hesitantly. I cast her a fleeting glance, and tug at the armwarmers again.
"Now, what do we say?" Paige chides me like a four year old.
"Thank you," I say, trying to keep the sarcasm to a minimum, "Both of you."
"No problem, hun. Now, are you ready to go rock our senior prom?"
"I guess so," I say, letting a smile slip through, "Lead the way, Michaelchuck."
Paige lets out a squeal and drags me outside, managing to hang onto me and run in heels at the same time. Manny follows us quietly, shutting doors behind her, smiling a little. We all climb into the limo, finally ready to leave.
I let out a sigh, feeling Craig's hand brush against mine for a brief moment. He smiles at me, and I almost feel like I can do this.
- // -
God, what was I thinking? I can't do this!
There are people everywhere. There's barely enough room to breathe in this stupid place. I feel like everyone is staring at me. Maybe they aren't, but they probably are. It's not everyday you see a girl wearing patched together armwarmers to the prom. I look like an idiot. But I know how much worse it would be if everyone saw what was underneath. I should be grateful, idiot or not.
We're a little late, and it seems to me everyone is drunk already (but that's just my humble, daughter of alcoholic opinion). I stand against the wall, trying to hide my arms. Everyone's out on the dance floor. Marco tried to get me to join, but gave up after a while and is now doing the sprinkler with Paige. I don't blame him. I've never been much of a dancer.
The room is dark and the air is thick. Music is crashing through the speakers. Manny and Craig started groping each other in the corner a while ago. Somehow, I feel like I'm really not missing anything. I could be at home reading War and Peace, or counting the cracks in the ceiling. Instead I'm here.
Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn and see Craig, holding out a bottle of water.
"Drink?"
"Thanks," I smile slightly, taking it from him, "I see you were smart enough not to choose the punch."
"I think someone spiked it."
"Someone definitely spiked it," we laugh a little bit, and then it's quiet. We've always known what to say to each other, about music or the band or school or issues that invade our lives. Silence is strange. Different.
"Where's Manny?"
"Girl talk with Emma," he grins, sipping from his water, "You're two favorite people."
"Oh, yeah. Can't believe they didn't invite me."
"Bet they're whispering about you this second."
"Probably. Everyone else seems to be."
Craig's face falls a little, but he doesn't let it show, "You know, you could just take them off."
I eye him. Didn't we talk about this? "I can't."
"Yeah, yeah, broken record. Blah, blah, blah. Who says you can't, huh?"
I don't have any answers for him that I like. I hate it when he's right. Maybe he does pay attention in Group. This is a fairly intelligent thing to say, for him.
"Me," I sigh. He's so annoying.
"That's right, Ellie Nash. You. So tell yourself to shut the hell up and come dance with me. Without the armwarmers."
Dancing with Craig? It's tempting. Very tempting. Makes my little girly self scream inside. But without covering up? Everyone will see. I don't like it when people can see me. Then they know parts of me, bits and pieces they can take and do with what they wish. It's dangerous to show yourself.
Dangerous, but maybe worth it?
"I don't know…" I hesitate.
He looks at me, eyes shining, "I dare you."
Really? We're not five. Then again, we played games like this all summer. Truth or Dare. Almost worked up the courage to dare him to kiss me once or twice, but it vanished as soon as the words were on the tip of my tongue. We had a record going. No one was allowed to back down from a challenge. If you did, you were a loser. The winner got bragging rights, and maybe a few other things. We hadn't worked out the details.
If Craig had learned anything, it was that I hated to lose to him.
"What's the matter, El? Are you afraid?"
Afraid? No. I'm terrified, and not just of losing Truth or Dare. But there's no way I'll stand him telling me that.
"Ellie's afraid, Ellie's afraid--"
"Fine!" I shout, ripping the armwarmers off and tossing them to the ground in one single sweep. The water bottle hits the ground with a crack and rolls away. I hold out my pale, scarred arms as an offering, a badge, a story. This is what I have to hide.
The skin is whiter than the rest, with upraised marks. Some are in straight lines, climbing up and down ladders, and faded. They are the oldest. Some are criss-crossed and a little jagged, newer. The most recent is close to the place I first started, very white and not quite even a scar. Sometimes, if I press hard enough, the blood still boils.
He does not flinch at any of this, because he is Craig. He just smiles, grabbing my hand and pulling me out onto the dance floor. We are thrown into a mass of twirling bodies. It is uncomfortable and soothing all at once.
"I told you you could do it," he says, "You just needed a little push."
"Shut up, Craig," I smile. He's still holding my hand. If he let go, I think I'd have an uncontrollable urge to run. When he's there, I don't. I have no idea why, but whenever he is here, I feel safe.
Craig is the only person who knows me. The real me, scars and all. And he still thinks I'm okay.
The music doesn't seem so bad anymore. I don't care what Manny is thinking, or anyone else. Their words cannot harm me. For once, I just dance. And it feels so good.
- // -
"'You might wear a ball gown someday.'
'I might?'
'I have every reason to believe you'll do all the things every other girl does, all the things you want to do.'"
--- Cut by Patricia McCormick
- // -
I hope you liked it!!