revised for consistency on 6/26/19.
"I'm not that nice
I'm mean and I'm evil
Don't call me nice
I'm gonna eat your heart out"
- When You Die, MGMT
The week following passed in a whirlwind of color and sound.
The days seemed to mold into the nights, and Winnie often found herself dizzying in and out of the world around her. Sleep came and went, and the bags under her eyes grew darker as time went by. She couldn't figure out what was wrong, the words were always at the tip of her tongue but they grew stuck in her throat and she found it hard to breathe.
"You can always talk to me," her mother had cooed, as she always did, her long, bony fingers rubbing through her tangled mess of curls, "I'm always here."
But, as time passed and the air began to chill, Winnie found the words to be less and less comforting. And when the first sparkle of snow washed over Amity Park that winter, Winnie felt utterly alone, even with the light, hollow thumping of the phantom in her chest.
Detentions became routine. She hadn't minded them much, as much of it was spent listening to Mendoza and Abe's banter back and forth and trying to avoid Mr. Lancer's hawk-like eyes (something about his stares always made her felt so little, which she hated to admit). Yes, even with the oddities and ghosts and ghouls, Winifred Gallows felt as if her life was bland routine.
You're looking mighty chipper today, my dear.
Nightcrawler's voice was what Winnie could only compare to an oil slick, as she scoffed at her reflection in the school's chipped bathroom mirror. She tugged her turtleneck higher on her neck, ignoring the long, jagged scar that shined in the fluorescent light. Winnie pulled the chapstick out of her pocket, the loose change jiggling soundly, as girls came and went into the restroom. Amber eyes leered back at her, just like they had the year before that and the year before that one. Once upon a time, they were brown, just as her father's, but now they held something more than that.
School had just released for the day, and after what felt like forever, Winnie was serving her final detention. Winnie was slightly ashamed at the fact the week of detention had turned into two (or three), the days piling on as her temper grew more vicious. At first, the sleep deprivation had gotten to her, working its way into her bones, but now she felt more like a pile of bones than anything else.
Wow, rude.
You really need to get more sleep.
You say this like I haven't been trying, Winnie huffed, Do you not have some ghost switch or something that can turn by body off?
Last time I tried that, I got stuck here. So no.
Winnie scooted past a group of girls, waving quietly at the one from her statistics class (Sally-Anne? Or was it just Sally) and pushing her way through the crowds of students. Faces, familiar and unfamiliar, flew by, humming a song she had heard her mother sing countless times before. The walk to Lancer's room was fairly short, with her last period being three halls over. She swam through the people rushing to their buses and cars, quietly wishing that she could do the same. But, today was (hopefully) her final detention.
Winnie would miss detention. She'd miss Mendoza's whistling laugh and Rayman's horrible quips, and surprisingly she'd miss the childish flirting she received from Abe. Her and the students of Casper High's detention were one big, jagged mess of a family. There were so many memories, good and bad, that she'd had in that room.
But, she promised herself she'd do better. Her past few stints in detention had been simply because she often found herself barking back and others due to exhaustion, usually Mr. Lancer. She'd miss it all, but when this was all over and her senior year began, she wanted to simply breeze through the year and begin a new step into her future. She'd weaved her way through suspension and expulsion before, but she knew if her health kept declining, it'd all catch up to her eventually.
Most people knew they were near detention when they heard the clamorous sounds of laughter and booming. Most people knew to steer clear, as if there was some sort of plague or disease that had spread through the hallway. But, today, the hall was hushed, as if a storm had passed through. Winnie felt the queasiness in her stomach curdle - she didn't like this one bit.
When she opened the door, she was surprised to see unfamiliar gray eyes staring back at her.
"Miss Gallows. Take a seat, please."
"Yea, yea," she waved at Mr. Lancer, her eyes flickering towards Mendoza. The boy looked as if he had seen a ghost (how ironic), his usually lax posture tense and his face pale. Everyone else talked in hushed murmurs, even Abe had his thin lips pursed, fiddling at the toy cube in his hand. She tried her hardest not to glance over at those eyes as she scooted through the aisles of desks, before finally seating herself next to Mendoza, near the back of the class. Ackner and Rayman sat in the desks in front of them, having a conversation about God-knows what. "You good?" she elbowed him lightly, poking his beefy arm.
"Don't look over there," was all he repeated, a hand fidgeting with his Rolex.
Winnie had to resist peering over Mendoza's frame at the boy a few desks across from her, before recognition zapped through her head, to one of the first conversations her and Mendoza ever had, and it hit her like a truck.
Ripley Crahan never came to detention.
Finally, she leaned forward, peeking over at the hulking boy a few seats across from her. From the side, she could only see his broad, ranging shoulders, his legs jutting out from under the desk like a toy crammed in a toy-box. His features were covered by a slick, dark curtain of black hair. Even now, she could still feel the mirage of his bitter gaze, her chest pounding.
This boy was dangerous. She had seen it, the way he would savagely beat others and the way others cowered like herds of cattle whenever he passed. Memories flicker in her head, Mendoza's bloodied face and broken nose and how he'd vanished for months, then returned as if nothing happened. This room was filled with bad blood, of past and present, and the air felt stagnant.
She remembered that day vividly - freshman year. Mendoza had gotten himself into big trouble with the older kids, and he'd gotten the shit beat out of him as a result. Winnie couldn't do anything but watch as her friend was beaten to a pulp, calling for a teacher, someone, anyone, but having no one answer back in return. Her and Rayman had sat in that nurse's office for what seemed like hours.
Something's gonna happen.
A first grader could figure that out, Nightcrawler scoffed, I'd stay out of it, just two hours and you're free.
But she couldn't Winnie knew she couldn't - it wasn't in her nature.
Winnie's vision made a connection from Mendoza to Crahan once more, Abe finally seemed to gain his courage back, flipping around in his desk. "So, last day, huh?"
Winnie nodded, "Thank God, I'm sick of you guys."she exclaimed sarcastically, everyone in their corner snorted, before Abe clutched his chest dramatically.
"You wound me," he gasped, "how could you, fair maiden?"
"You're such a fucking dork, Ackner." Rayman chimed in, shaking his head.
The underclassman had become more bearable as the days passed, and as it turned out, under that layer of irk there was a humorous boy that Winnie thought she just may miss. He gave a wide-lipped grin again, Winnie shaking her head in good humor.
"Are you sure you don't want to stay another day, Miss Gallows?" Mr. Lancer's eyebrow quirked, "If you want I can add another day on…"
"I'm good," despite their jokes, Winnie still couldn't shake the feeling, "I thought you'd be tired of seeing me. Mr. L."
"Maybe," Mr. Lancer opened the novel on his desk, "Maybe."
The light conversation continued on, the corner throwing quips back and forth like clockwork, and before Winnie had known it an hour had passed. "He's creepy," Abe whispered, "he's just been sitting there, dude." The shift had returned once more, and Winnie had almost forgotten that he was there, where she had usually been, his arms crossed. Mr. Lancer had left the room some time ago, probably hiding out in the library or in a conference of sorts.
"Leave it be, Ackner." Mendoza warned, and suddenly he was all tense again.
"What?" Abe propped his elbows on Winnie's desk, "I'm just saying. I don't see what the big deal is."
"Abe. Relax." Rayman had joined in by this point, his expression poignant.
The conversation that followed after was tense, as Mendoza's eyes seemed to flicker over in Crahan's direction every second. Lancer had stuck out, a few minutes ago, as he always had when he had detention with them.
Winnie slapped Mendoza's hand, which seemed to snap him out of it. "You'll be fine. Relax."
Abe seemed to use that as kindle to continue, "Look, I just don't get it, okay? Why are you guys scared of some dude that looks-"
Winnie couldn't help but jump when Crahan seemed to spring to life like the dead, raising from the corner in one fluid motion. His footsteps were loud, his boots clanking against the tile floor. Abe turned the shade of an eggshell, while Mendoza tried his best to keep his expression neutral. Winnie was a tad unsure of what to do, and seemed to be glued to her seat.
Ripley Crahan had sharp features, his nose hawkish and his cheeks high-set. Ripley had a russet complexion and a towering physique, a spasm of freckles dotting his nose and a long, sliver of a scar covering his neck. Everything about him screamed red light, full stop, and Winnie wanted him to do so desperately. He stepped across the room in three long, hard steps, and before she knew it he was leering over them, his large hands gripping her desk. Finally, he spoke.
"Is there an issue?"
Abe shook his head, almost to the point where he was rattling, "Uh, no, well I just thought-"
"You thought. You don't know." Ripley spoke in short, choppy sentences, his tone surprisingly gentle, despite the malice it oozed. Ripley Crahan was the physical embodiment of the word, it seemed, because his stare seemed to travel it's way to Winnie. "This isn't the first time I've heard you say this shit, isn't it, Ackner?" Ackner's mouth opened wide, but no sound came out, his hands raised as if he was about to be struck down. "I need you to shut your fucking mouth before my foot is in it."
"Listen, dude, you need to chill," Rayman had stood up, using his monstrous height to tower over all of them, "The kid-"
Ripley's hand shoved out, pushing Rayman back into his desk as if he weighed nothing. "Shut the fuck up."
"Go away." Winnie found herself saying, "Leave the kid alone, okay? He doesn't know better." Ripley's skin flushed, momentarily, and his thick brows furrowed deep into his face.
Oh, you had to go and make things complicated.
"Protecting your little boyfriend, huh, Gallows?" he spat her surname with such contempt, as Winnie found herself raising from her seat. Winnie was by no-means tall in any shape or form, and next to the senior she felt so minuscule, but stood her ground.
"How about you go sit down, Crahan?" she continued, "Nobody likes a bully, dickhead." His brow twitched once more, his lips pursed in anger. At this point, he seemed as if he was ready to burst, like an inactive volcano ready to throw ash and lava and destruction upon them.
"I'm no bully," Crahan seemed insulted by the idea.
"I'm not the one using intimidation tactics."
"You're always sticking your nose where you don't belong. Why don't you back the fuck off?"
"Then why don't you get out of my face, Crahan?" she wasn't letting up, surprised at how harsh her own voice was.
There seemed to be a pause that lasted forever, the clock tick, tick, ticking for what seemed like an eternity. Winnie wasn't actually sure how long she stood there, her stare unwavering, her arms now crossed. Finally, Crahan leaned forward, bending down to join Winnie's eye level.
"Fuck you. You don't know me, Gallows."
Before she could respond, the boy made his strides again, grabbing his backpack and marching out of the room, the door rattling shut behind him. Abe finally pushed out the air he had been holding in, Mendoza looking at Winnie as if she had shot someone.
"Why the hell did you do that?"
"He wouldn't leave Abe alone!" she exclaimed, her hand gripping onto the younger boy's shoulder, "Don't do that shit. He is bad news and we don't want you around him. Right?"
Ackner gulped, "R-Right."
You always make things complicated.
Don't remind me.