A Little Death Around the Eyes.
She's different to the other students. Withdrawn, defensive, defiant – what is she hiding? And what will her secret mean for Nicki? Nicki/Tom.
Disclaimer; I don't own Waterloo Road, only Katie.
Set in Series 7.
Monday morning. Dark circles, knotted hair, pale skin.
It was only her second week at Waterloo Road, and she already hated it. The teachers. The pupils. Hell, she even had an active dislike for the colour of the walls.
She painted her lips carefully with her chosen deep red wine colour. It was a little messy, the stain at times going over her lip line as if she was a toddler colouring in. The truth was, she wasn't interested in how presentable she looked – there was no point in showing off how good she could look when she tried, if she was to be stuck in a classroom with the Neanderthal that was Mr. Budgen for hours on end, surrounded by a class whose net IQ was approximately 7.
Gripping her long fringe out of her face and disguising it within her thick, curly blonde locks, she looked at her haggard complexion in the mirror and sighed. Her cheekbones protruded as if they were tent poles placed beneath her creamy skin – and not in a beautiful, Kate Moss or Marie Helvin way. In an undernourished, gaunt, hardly there behind the bright blue eyes way. And she hated it.
She tied her claret and yellow tie loosely around her neck, the top couple of buttons on her shirt undone and revealing pale skin on her chest, further elongating her neck. That was something else she didn't like. Her neck. Long and skinny, with scars all over from various altercations which had all too often ended in hospital visits. She was tempted to apply foundation all over it, but it wouldn't really help – it would just rub off on her collar throughout the day and make matters yet worse.
Picking up her black leather bag from the shabby white chest of drawers she used as her dressing table, she attempted vainly to conceal the death around her eyes with a cheap tube of concealer which, if anything, made the circles more obvious.
It would do for today. It would have to do – she was already late, her watch informed her – she should have been out ten minutes ago, but the Paracetamol had taken an eternity to kick in, by which time, she had done absolutely nothing and couldn't for the life of her remember the whereabouts of her coursework which was already overdue, as Miss Boston took great pleasure in reminding her. She was utterly convinced that Miss Boston hated her – in her week at the school, she had already succeeded in being sent to the cooler twice by the Head of English, been to her classroom three lunchtimes in a row and been kept behind after school. They'd damn near come to blows over whether or not she should be answering back to Mr. Budgen when he said something incorrect about Of Mice and Men, although she had a sneaking suspicion that Miss Boston did, in fact, agree with her, but by professional etiquette, was forced to take the angle that the teacher was always right – although admittedly, she probably disliked the fact that she'd been argued with.
She walked out of her cramped flat, practically slamming the red door shut, flecks of old red paint falling off and laying on the black leather jacket that she wore instead of a school blazer. Ramming her keys into her pocket, she ran along the walkway, glanced over the balcony at the eighteen floor drop to the ground, sped past the battered front doors and began to make her way down the stairs, the high heels of her Chelsea boots clicking against the grey concrete steps and echoing through the stairwell. More graffiti had appeared overnight, as though the walls of the building were a giant canvas for anyone who wished to leave their mark – proof that they lived, rather than merely existed, as so many people seemed content with, or at least resigned to. Her tight bodycon skirt restricted her two-at-a-time movement down the stairs as she made a vain attempt at tucking her shirt in – something else which she was always being shouted at for.
She ran out of the block of flats into the dismal looking setting of Rochdale, the so-called grass outside the block patchy and wet with dew from the cold night that had just passed. The sky was grey, threatening to rain on her as she ran in the direction of Waterloo Road, pulling her leather biker jacket tight around her tall, skinny frame. Her matted blonde curls bounced with each step as she jumped over puddles and sprinted across busy roads, her head spinning so fast that she couldn't sense quite how close the speeding cars were coming to knocking her flying as she raced to get to school on time.
She slowed down slightly as she reached the black iron gates, trying to catch her breath before going to registration – she leant against the gates, breathing heavily and tipping her head back, looking out across the emptying playground as her fellow pupils scurried up the steps into the school.
"Katie, get inside, now!" Miss Boston shouted from her car, slamming the black boot shut and beginning to walk towards Katie, as she finally stood up straight having regained her breath following her mile long run.
"Why are you late?" she asked equally loudly despite the fact that she was now only a couple of feet away from her pupil, who was now trying not to wince at the searing pain which her voice caused in her already spinning.
"Sorry Miss." She responded meekly, bowing her head and looking at the ground, biting her bottom lip and sighing – she decided that there was no point in arguing, because it would just create yet more trouble which, frankly, she could do without.
Miss Boston ran a hand through her hair and nodded, "Go on then, get to class." She said, reasonably softly for her – certainly the softest voice she had used to talk to Katie in a while.
"Thanks, Miss." Katie responded, trying to smile but not exactly succeeding – more a slight twitch of her dark red lips as opposed to a smile – but her teacher seemed to accept it and gestured to her as if to tell her that she was dismissed.
Her head span as if she'd just stepped off a roundabout as she clambered up the stairs and made her way to English with Mr. Budgen, the narrow corridors a hive of activity as she jostled through crowds and eventually reached the classroom.
"Late again, Miss Reid."
"Sorry Sir, I was talking to Miss Boston." She replied without bothering to look at him, making her way to her lonesome seat at the side of the classroom closest to the corridor, one row from the back. She sat down, dropping her heavy bag on the desk and slumping in her chair, putting a hand to her boiling hot forehead and wincing in pain.
As Mr. Budgen droned on about subjects which to Katie seemed frankly patronising, but appeared to stretch the limits of what the rest of the class seemed to be capable of, the edges of her vision began to darken as if she was wearing blinkers to restrict her vision, and despite her now only wearing a thin cotton shirt, skirt and tights, she felt like she was sat in 40 degree heat – whereas in truth, she was sat in a freezing cold classroom at the start of December.
She felt her eyes begin to close – and she was powerless to stop them doing so, as she slid gracelessly off the cold, hard black plastic chair and finally, there was quiet.