Ray threw his gym bag into his messy locker and grabbed his Science books. He was late for class again, but it didn't really matter all that much to him.
Stephens looked up at him as he entered the classroom and sighed. "Well class, now that you're all here –" he looked pointedly at Ray " – we can begin. You will be working on project handouts today, preparing for your presentations at the end of this month. You will be expected to have some sort of visual aid with information on your topic with equal involvement of the two partners. Get started."
Christy already had her textbook open and was jotting down notes. She looked up at Ray as he sat down. "Ok, so before you came Stephens assigned topics. We're doing lithium, and presenting on the 28th, so we need to practice soon, meet up at someone's house or something." She reached into her bag to take out her CD player.
"How about a poster or a skit or something? That would work for a 'visual aid'." He popped a piece of gum in his mouth to watch her reaction.
She considered the idea. "How exactly would we present the skit? I mean, you can't just go up there and say 'Hi my name is Lithium, I'm poisonous and I explode if you put me in water, any questions?'. I think a poster would be easier. Plus there's more stuff for information, and you can decorate the poster. With a skit the only thing you can decorate are the costumes, and I'm not sewing any frilly tank tops or anything."
Ray froze mid-chew. "For me or for you?"
There it was again: that beautiful, rare smile that he couldn't figure out how he'd missed it before. "Probably for me, even though forcing you to wear something like that WOULD be interesting."
He'd never seen such a bold and feisty expression on Christy's face, but all he knew was that he wanted to see it again. It brought out a completely new dimension to her personality.
Not that that was a bad thing.
His eyes subconsciously strayed to her face again, and he got a strange feeling. Something that suggested that he'd seen Christy before he'd been paired up with her.
He knew he'd never noticed her existence before, but he couldn't help wondering about this gut feeling that he got whenever he looked at her.
Where have I seen her before?
And why does she get to me so much?
Ray's gaze fell upon her open notebook, a few drawings scattered loosely from where they had fallen from the book.
A horse reared in the soft moonlight, its mane wild as it called out into the darkness. Fairies flew around two children, who stared at the magic that the pixies wove around them. A rabbit scampered through the fields of flowers, a small bird flying overhead.
All the drawings were so realistic that Ray could almost reach out to stroke the untamed creature, almost see the sparks flying from the fairies' wands, almost catch the tiny creature darting through the meadow. Everything was real, and everything was beautiful.
He turned the page, and stopped short as he realized what was drawn there. It was beautiful and ugly, real and unreal, wonderful and horrible, all at the same time. An angel stared out from the page, but she wasn't an ordinary angel playing the harp among the clouds.
She lay huddled in the corner of an alley, her robes torn and dirty and wings clearly broken. Blood pooled from somewhere underneath her robes and her hair was dull and lifeless, a tangled mess around her head. A small teardrop was on her cheek.
Yet somehow, she still managed to be beautiful. Her eyes were raised upward and a hand was placed on her heart. Through all the dirt and blood, she exuded grace and beauty.
"What are you doing?"
Ray spun around to see Christy, her eyes blazing with anger. "I was just… looking at your drawings."
Her eyes narrowed and she snatched the folder from his hands. "When did I ever say you could?"
"Why are you being so defensive? It's just a bunch of drawings anyway. Why do they matter so much to you? They're not even good, all they are is a girl with wings who's bleeding. It's not even important, not like I read your diary or anything."
Christy gasped and went white like she'd just been slapped. There was a shocked silence as both teenagers took in what Ray had just said.
"Christy. I'm… I'm sorry…"
She laughed, and it was such an ugly sound that Ray flinched. "Don't worry about it. Like you said, it's not important, and they're not even good."
"Christy, really, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"
"Right, you're sorry and didn't mean to hurt me. Well, I've heard that line too many times to believe it." She turned away from him.
With that simple movement, Ray felt worse than he ever had in his entire life.
A single teardrop fell onto the harsh tiling of the washroom.
The sound of a drop of water dripping from the tap at the same time caused the petite figure curled beside the sinks to look over from where she was staring at the floor.
She was skipping class, but it really didn't matter all that much to her. What she needed was a place to be alone by herself, just to think and be alone with her thoughts and her tears.
Thank god that nobody comes here during classes.
The door opened, and a blonde cheerleader who Christy recognized as Sara Duvall came in and threw her a condescending stare before locking one of the doors behind her.
Well, thank god that MOST people don't come in here during classes.
Especially one certain person.
A slender finger, nail polished black, reached up and wiped away the tear that threatened to spill over onto the floor.
She couldn't let anyone see her cry again, not after what he had done to her when she had let that tear fall in front of him.
"You little slut! I let you out of my sight for one moment and THIS is what you do, go and flirt with the first boy that comes your way?" A fist smashed into her arm. "This is how you repay me! After everything I've done for you, you go and flirt with the first guy you meet!"
She could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Please, you don't understand. It's not like that. He's just a friend-"
The heavy hand smashed into the back of her head this time, and she gasped in pain. "A friend? He's A FRIEND? Then why were you tossing your hair and smiling at him?"
"I… I was just talking to David. He's only a friend!"
He grabbed her and threw her roughly into the corner. As she got to her feet, shaking and terrified, he blocked her with both hands on the side of her head, his muscular arms effectively holding her in place. "You KNOW he's more than a friend to you! You know exactly what you did, you little whore!"
She shook her head violently and tried to escape, but he was too strong. He pushed her back against the wall and leaned close to her. "Admit it. Say that you broke the rules and you were flirting with him. Admit that you lied to me. Admit that you're sorry, you bitch, or I'll kill you."
She swallowed and finally spoke in a voice barely louder than a whisper. "I… I lied to you."
"LOUDER!"
She flinched at the anger in his voice. "I… I lied to you… and… and…" A tear escaped from the corner of her eye and rolled down to rest on her cheek. She prayed that he hadn't seen the tiny tear, but not even God could help her.
He laughed cruelly at the display of emotion. "Well well… is the little bitch weakening? Is the little slut going to weaken and cry now?"
She squeezed her eyes tight to stop the tears from spilling out of her eyes and continued. "I… I lied to you…"
"LOOK AT ME!"
She opened her eyes cautiously, willing the tears not to fall. "I… I lied to you. I was… was flir…flirting with David and I… I broke the rules, and I l…lied about break…breaking the r…rules. I'm… I'm sorry, Daddy."
Christy's eyes opened wide and for a moment she couldn't figure out where she was.
To have someone criticise her art was painful for her. Drawing, writing and singing… all art was a form of release for her.
But to have someone criticise THAT particular drawing… was like criticising her soul. In a way… it was much, much worse than reading her diary.
Every time she looked at that angel, she was reminded of that moment when her father had thrown her into the wall and forced her to beg, forced her to beg for him to let her go.
The dying angel in the alley was her, left to suffer alone, broken and bleeding in a dark corner where nobody saw her.
The janitor came into the washroom and peered at her. "You shouldn't be in here, missy."
Christy rubbed her tired eyes and sat up. "What time is it?"
Floyd checked his watch. "Just after four."
She thanked him and walked out of the washroom, running over the list of things she had to do before her father came home that night.
Go to locker. Go home. Get off makeup. Do homework. Cook. Change.
She hated having to be two different people every day, to be the goth that nobody paid attention to at school, then running home to be the timid servant-daughter to keep her father from hitting her.
Even though she had envied all the beautiful, popular girls with perfect hair and designer clothes when she had been younger, being the goth that nobody saw was a release from the world, just like her art.
And something else.
She looked around quickly to make sure that nobody was watching, then pulled up her long sleeves all the way to expose a series of neat, perfectly parallel cuts on her arms.
She knew that self-mutilation wasn't good, but it was a way to kill the pain. It was a way of releasing all the pain built up inside of her that she couldn't live with.
Christy quickly pulled down her sleeves, knowing that she was wasting time, and walked to her locker. As she approached, she noticed an envelope sticking through her locker vents.
Strange. Someone must have gotten the wrong locker.
She unlocked it quickly and took the package from its slot, wondering if she could find out who it was for.
Christy checked for names on one side, then flipped it over.
There it was. The name in sloppy cursive.
Christy Collins.
Tentatively, she ran her finger along the inner flap of the envelope, breaking the seal, and pulled out the contents of a letter and a CD.
Who would be sending me a CD?
She slotted the CD into her player and pressed play, uncertain as to what was about to blast through the headphones.
Can you forgive me again
I don't know what I said
But I didn't mean to hurt you
I heard the words come out
I felt that I would die
It hurt so much to hurt you
Then you look at me
You're not shouting anymore
You're silently broken
I'd give anything now
To kill those words for you
Each time I say something I regret
I cry I don't want to lose you
But somehow I know that you will never leave me, yeah
Cause you were made for me
Somehow I'll make you see
How happy you make me
I can't live this life
Without you by my side
I need you to survive
So stay with me
You look in my eyes and I'm screaming inside that I'm sorry
And you forgive me again
You're my one true friend
And I never meant to hurt you
Evanescence – Forgive Me
A smile slowly broke over Christy's face as she opened the letter, the words of the song still pounding through her head.
The letter was in the same messy, almost unreadable handwriting, but the message was completely clear.
Hey Christy,
Sorry about today, I didn't mean to say what I did. You have so much talent that it almost comes out of your ears.
I'm not too good at writing letters and stuff, so the song should pretty much explain everything else.
Ray =)
Christy laughed out loud as she folded the letter back up. "I think you say it just fine Ray. I really do."
A/N: I know… I know… a huge bombshell on the so-called 'perfection' of Roscoe High. I just couldn't have any mindless talking or anything in this chapter, and was absolutely DESPERATE to use this lyric.
There's no guarantees as to when the next chapter will be coming up, as I've already written the ending and am now working on more major scenes (yep… I don't just write straight). Chapter 4 is more about character and story development than anything else, and may be a bit lacking after this chapter, but there has to be balance.