Panicking, I run blindly back to the dorm room, stumbling around corners I can't even remember taking. My mind is fixed solely on returning and getting rid of the soiled bandages before Fulton can find them and ask any more questions. Finally skidding to a halt in front of the closed door I wait a moment to calm my breathing. He mustn't suspect anything, can't recognise that anything's wrong. Controlling myself, I open the door quietly and breathe a sigh of relief to find the small room empty, then make my way into the bathroom. As I walk in I see them, lying discarded on the side of the bath, just as I left them. My heart is still jumping erratically as I pick them up, stuffing them into my pocket and striding from the condemning glare of my reflection in the mirror. I suppress a shudder as I remember my dream from earlier. Will there ever be any peace for me? I locate one of my bags and open a side pocket, pulling out a neatly rolled, clean bandage whilst hurriedly stowing the old one at the same time. I sit on my bed and begin to wrap the snowy linen around my tender wrist, both the original sprain and the self-inflicted cuts aching under the applied pressure. I jump and look around guiltily as the door opens quietly, the ends of the bandage slipping through my fingers. It begins to unravel and I grab it just before it falls from my arm completely. Turning, I glimpse a rather tall figure silhouetted in the doorway and as I look it steps forward and materialises into Dwayne. I give my second genuine smile of the day. I really like Dwayne; he seems to understand me better than the others. Most people either pry or ignore, but Dwayne accepts me for who I am and understands that I'm a solitary person and want to remain that way. In the same way I give Dwayne the space he seems to need and leave him alone if he doesn't want to talk. I've always found a strange quality to him, though; as if there's a lot more than meets the eye. He messes around with the rest of the team and laughs and jokes, but I don't think that's what he is inside. To me he seems a much sadder, lonelier person, much like myself. Maybe that's why I find him easier to get along with, I don't know. Ever since he joined the Ducks we've been close friends and I know that he tells me a great deal more than he tells anyone else, and I respect him for that. He returns the smile and moves forward, seating himself on Fulton's bed. I hastily pull down my sleeve and roll the bandage up again, placing it beside me for later. I can't do this with anyone watching; the slashes on my arm can't be ignored and Dwayne won't fail to notice them. I lean back against the wall behind my bed and wait for Dwayne to speak.
"Had a good summer?" he asks, a grin lighting up his face. He's a quiet guy, but there's a wicked, biting sense of humour inside the soft exterior and he's not as naïve as he pretends to be. Sometimes a little slow, yes, but I've always wondered if he does that deliberately to fool people into thinking he's not the full dollar. I've often glimpsed the quick-witted genius beneath the happy-go-lucky exterior and I have to say he's a brilliant mastermind. If he ever tried to take over the world he would be the first super villain to succeed. Overall, though, he is a sweet and caring person, that part isn't play-acting. I shrug in answer to his question, giving him a more accurate idea than most.
"It wasn't so great." He nods in understanding. Out of my few friends, he is the one I open up to most, but that's still not a great deal. I haven't told him about the beatings, but I think he's guessed. He seems to understand more than I'm telling him, at any rate. He gives me a reassuring smile.
"At least you're back with us now, though." Again, I nod. He continues. "What was Varsity like?" He seems genuinely curious.
"It wasn't that great. The whole team resented me," I give a bitter smile "not that I'm not used to that, but at least they ignored me. I was glad about that."
"It seemed to us that they were treating you like some kind of slave or servant or something."
I shake my head. "No, they only acted like that in front of Charlie, just to annoy him. When he wasn't around they left me alone and I was able to survive adequately. The frequent visits to you guys helped."
Dwayne's smile falters and a guilty expression crosses his face. "Not everyone welcomed you back, though."
"I know, and that's not your fault. Some people just aren't willing to accept that there are other teams I can play for, they don't realise that the Ducks don't mean everything to me." I see Dwayne's shoulders droop and hastily amend my answer. "But that doesn't mean I'll forget my friends, it just means that if an offer for a better team comes up I'll take it, if it'll help my career. I have to move forward with time. We can't go through life clinging onto our childhood, eventually we'll all have to grow up." He nods in agreement to my words.
"There are other people on the team that could do with that kind of logic, it would certainly solve a lot of the arguments we seem to constantly have."
I nod slightly. "Charlie in particular could do with this kind of sound advice. When he accepted Riley's challenge last year and had a go at me I realised just how much he's changed. I didn't expect him to lash out at a friend...but maybe I was never his friend. He's never really accepted me since I returned from Varsity." At the mention of Charlie, Dwayne's face becomes carefully blank and I know he's hiding something.
"Charlie's attitude has always been 'my way or the highway', you can't change that Adam." I'm rather startled by the hardness in his voice and momentarily wonder what has passed between the two to have caused such a reaction from the easy-going Dwayne. Before I have a chance to ask, however, he changes the subject.
"How's your wrist?"
I shift slightly, suddenly uncomfortable. Does he know anything? What did he see when he walked into the room? I pause, carefully considering my answer. "It's much better, than it was, but still sore. It's still quite weak and I end up spraining it a lot, but it's on the mend, or so the doctor says." Okay, so the doctor bit was an outright lie, but I can't get my wrist seen to while my arm is in this state. It's true that it's still not fully healed, though. Dwayne seems to accept my answer, however, and I breathe a sigh of relief. "So," I begin, "how was your vacation?" It was the right question to ask. His face suddenly breaks into a grin and I smile unconsciously at the transformation in my best friend. He sits up and eagerly begins to tell me all about his holiday at his cousin's ranch. His parents have a ranch too, but they only breed horses. His cousins, however, breed cattle and buffalo. They get to charge around rounding up the cattle (which has always been a favourite pastime of Dwayne's) and they make money by opening up the ranch to visitors who pay a great deal of money to stay for a weekend and catch buffalo. Dwayne's cousins sound like a fun group of people and I realise that I enjoy listening to him talk about his family and the things he gets up to during his holidays. It makes me realise what I'm missing and I'm momentarily angry, but Dwayne's enthusiasm and obvious love for his family dissolve my jealousy. I sit for maybe two hours, listening to Dwayne talk, soaking up emotions and memories that aren't mine, which never will be.
As I sit in the dining hall that evening, eating my first meal at Eden Hall, I dwell on the holiday. All around me are the other Ducks, chattering away and glad to return to school and their friends. I'm the only one, it seems, who has other reasons for wanting to come back. They're all now talking to me again, previous discomforts forgotten or swept under the carpet. It's almost like the old days again, all of us sitting around talking and laughing excitedly. It would seem that they've all banished the memories of their ill treatment of me, but I haven't. I've forgiven, but I can never forget.
I look around at all the happy people; the laughing faces and wonder how many are as false as mine. How many people are like me? It feels like I'm the only one in the world, but am I really alone? Are there others in this room with a past like mine? Do these supposedly content lives actually exist? Or is everything a lie? My whole existence has been one huge cover-up. I've spent years avoiding both questions and people: the school nurse, the guidance councillors, my friends...I even tried not having friends, for a while they were too much trouble. I've always found their petty squabbles meaningless, although I suppose in their world they're the most important things to them. They seem to need the arguments to sustain themselves. I'd rather have a life of silence-it's all I've ever wanted and why shouldn't I have it? Why is everyone else allowed an easy ride through reality? I let my fork clatter to my plate and rise from the table, throwing my napkin down and turning to leave the dining hall. I hear someone call my name, I think it was Charlie, but I ignore him and carry on, not quite sure where I'm going. Eventually I find that I've unconsciously walked back to the dorms. Sighing, I open the door to mine and Fulton's room and make for the bathroom, confused. I'm still not sure why I left in such a hurry, my mind was in such a mess...it still is...I don't know what happened, I just...lost it, I suppose, in my own way. That was my equivalent of an outburst. What's going on? I give a cry of frustration and slump to the floor, punching it in anger. Why can't I forget, like I always have? Why can't I carry on like everything's normal, like I'm just like all the other people? Why the sudden change? What's caused it? I knot my fingers into my hair in anguish and shut my eyes against the tears. It was inevitable, but I didn't expect it so soon. All the self-hatred, the despair, the disgust come flooding back and burn into me, scorching my insides with feelings I don't want, can't deal with. It's too much I have to...
I run back into the bedroom, frantically searching through the bags I've yet to unpack, each passing second now an unearthly torture I can't ignore. I actually smile as I come across what I'm looking for, removing it carefully from where I had stowed it the night before...the last thing I had packed. I walk to the bathroom in a daze, turning the penknife over and over in my trembling hands, hardly daring to think, not wanting to disturb the trance. I sit on the edge of the bath and close my eyes, hating myself for what I'm about to do, for being so weak. My breath catches in a sob as I press the ice-cold edge of the knife against my skin, feeling the throbbing pulse vibrate through the bitter metal. There's only one more step to take; one movement and the barrier will be broken...
I jump violently as the bedroom door slams open, followed by Fulton's bellow.
"Yo, Banksie! Where you got to?"
I swiftly stow the knife in the bathroom cabinet and turn my back on it, wiping my damp cheeks with the back of my hand. I open the door and stick a painfully fake grin on my face.
"Hey Fulton...what-what's wrong?" He starts, not expecting me to be in the bathroom and turns to look at me, his expression bewildered.
"What was that all about in the dining hall just now?"
I shrug, trying to act like I don't know what he's talking about. "About? It wasn't about anything. I...felt sick, must've been the steak..." I attempt a weak laugh. "That's the last time I listen to Goldberg." Fulton frowns, I can see he doesn't believe me, but I make my expression as sincere as possible. Someone once told me I had the most honest face they'd ever seen, something about my eyes...I don't know what they were talking about...every time I look into the mirror I see a liar. I see eyes that are blank and expressionless and I see the face of a weak, lying, pathetic-
"Are you sure you're all right Adam?" he's concerned again; I can hear it in his voice. I'm prevented from having to dispel his uncertainty, however, by Portman bursting into the room a wide grin splitting his face.
"Hey Fulton, man, ready for a little curfew breaking?" He cries, ignoring my presence. Not that I'm bothered, I just want to be alone. Please, go, I find myself thinking, go and leave me in peace. Fulton looks uncertain, his eyes flickering between Portman and myself. I can see that he desperately wants to go and decide to take matters into my own hands for a change.
"Yeah, why don't you go, Fulton? I'll cover for you if anyone asks. Go and have some fun."
Portman gives me a grateful smile and joins in. "Oh come on man, live a little! It's been ages since we did anything fun together. Please, come out? It'll be fun, I promise..." He widens his eyes and pouts. Fulton groans.
"Aw geez-not with the eyes..." His defences are weakening and Portman, knowing this, grins again. He's already won this fight. Fulton sighs resignedly. "Okay, I'll get my coat." Portman whoops in jubilation.
"All right! Let's go!" He waits while Fulton goes in search of his jacket and, grinning, gives me the thumbs-up sign.
"Nice one Banksie, I owe you!"
"No problem. Just bring me back something decent to drink, all right?"
"Sure thing. Any requests?" I just shrug.
"You choose." Portman frowns.
"Is everything okay?"
"Great." I reply, turning away towards the bathroom again, the sarcasm only evident to me, I hope. Portman decides to wait in silence instead, and I lock the door behind me, sitting against it until I hear their muffled voices leave the room. I let my head fall back against the door, tiredness making it ache. I'm always tired...I can't afford to sleep...it's not safe at home...
Forcing myself to stand I reach towards the shower and turn it on, waiting until the tiny room fills with steam, leaving only to retrieve a towel. I stand under the pouring water, letting it run through my hair and over my face, gathering in my eyelashes and making them heavy. I look to my feet, my eyes drawn to the plughole, watching the dirt wash away, feeling my skin being gently cleansed...but it won't ever be truly clean...I won't ever be clean...there's no water for the soul...no cure for people like me...I remember the knife hidden in the cabinet...