Loaded Words

My heart is on my sleeve

Wear it like a bruise or black eye

My badge my witness

It means that I believed

Every single lie you said…

School the next day was, to put it mildly, hell. Eva sat through the jeers, the accusations, the shouted insults, everything; everyone thought she murdered Mike, even some of the teachers. She walked briskly to her locker, avoiding the eyes of most people in the hall. She dodged a wadded up piece of paper thrown in her direction and tried to keep what little remained of her dignity intact. When she got to her locker she stopped short and gaped. The chipped gray paint had been written on over and over again, the same word in angry capitol letters, scrolly cursive, chicken scratch, neat printing, even bubble letters: Murderer. The multicoloured graffiti covered every inch of her locker and Eva began to shake all over with anger, she wrenched her eyes closed hoping that when she opened them the words would be gone, but they were still there.

Behind her someone shrieked with laughter, quickly joined by everyone in the hall. Before she even turned around, Eva knew exactly who was standing behind her, and exactly who was responsible for this. She turned anyway and came face to face with Carla, who was a good six inches taller than Eva's 5"4. As usual her perfectly glossy ringlets were pulled into a trendy knot at the top of her head and her brown eyes were lined far too heavily complete with a bright blue eye shadow that stood out vividly

in stark contrast to her pale complexion. Her laughing mouth was runway-red, the exact shade of the sharpie she held in her hand. Eva's cheeks flared pink with embarrassment and rage; she could feel the heat creeping along the back of her neck and if she didn't find a way to get out of this situation she was going to break down in tears in front of everyone. With one arm slung casually around his girlfriend's waist, Wayne's brother Jamie leaned casually against the wall; he wasn't laughing but a bemused smirk was on his lips and his grey eyes were mocking. It was strange that he could look so different from his brother; they didn't share one common feature and shared even less in personality. Jamie had a black sharpie tucked in his pocket. The rest of their crew were scattered in the otherwise deserted hallway, blocking any escape in either directions. Carla stopped laughing abruptly.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here today," She sneered.

"Look, I didn't kill anybody, so can you get out of the way so I can go home and go to work?" Eva tried to keep her voice from breaking as she noticed Carla's friends were moving in to form a tight circle around them. Eva couldn't deny that she was scared.

"You're not going anywhere my dear,"

"What are you going to do?"

"Oh, nothing," Carla said in a purr, twirling a loose curl around her finger absently, "just teach you a little lesson so you don't feel inclined to show your ugly face tomorrow."

"Wha–," but then they grabbed her, two very big guys from the football team each grabbed one of her arms to keep her from running while Carla grabbed a handful of Eva's rusty curls and yanked her head up so that Eva was looking at her.

"Knife," Carla said coldly, holding her hand out. Her mouth wasn't laughing anymore, but curled into an ugly sneer. Jamie fished a switchblade out of his pocket and handed it over. Eva watched in horror as one of Carla's perfectly manicured fingers pressed the button on the side and the blade swished out with a frightening noise. Eva started to struggle, not that she was getting anywhere; she was just succeeding in dislocating her shoulders. Carla yanked on her fistful of hair and Eva went limp.

"What are you going to do with that," Her voice cracked Eva had no time to be embarrassed about it, she was too busy watching the light glint of the blade with morbid fascination; Carla waved it in front of her face.

"Don't worry, we aren't going to kill you. We're just going to cut you a little…" Eva struggled with greater urgency, her glasses slid off her nose and clattered to the ground. Carla caught her chin with surprising force. "What a pretty face you have," She purred again, "a pity it won't be anymore…" Eva cried out as the knife flashed across her cheek, felt with terrifying awareness the cool metal bite into her skin. The knife came away stained crimson and Eva saw blood – her blood – splatter the ground and her green converse high-tops. Carla was poised to strike again when someone came around the corner.

It was Wayne, he was carrying Jamie's backpack, looking royally pissed off when he spotted the ring of people. He stopped looking bewildered, and Carla and her friends looked just as surprised back at him, until Wayne's eyes came to rest on the knife.

"Hey!" he shouted, "What the hell are you guys doing!" He dropped the bag with a dull thud a sprinted towards them while Carla abruptly dropped her knife and they scattered. Eva felt herself shoved to the ground as the football players tore down the hall. She couldn't see what was going on, she was blinded by tears of pain and she found herself on her hands and knees in her own blood. There was chaos all around her, people running, people shouting. She couldn't help it, she gasped out as sob and they kept coming, tears flowed down her face and burned as they mingled with her blood.

"Eva…" Strong arms went around her, coaxing her into the warmth their embrace offered. She sobbed and sobbed, burying her face in Wayne's chest and he stroked her hair, not saying anything. Eva wasn't sure how long they stayed this way; it felt like an eternity had past by the time her tears had exhausted themselves and she sniffed and hiccupped. By now she was surely late for work. She pulled out of his arms reluctantly seeing that she's ruined his shirt with mascara and blood.

"Let me see it," He said kneeling beside her. He brushed away the hair that had matted itself to her face and examined her left cheek with narrowed eyes. His hands were soft, his probing fingers gentle, he bit down gently on his bottom lip in concentration. "It wasn't deep," he told her, "I don't think it will scar as long as it doesn't get infected."

"Thanks," She said quietly and looked up at his eyes. They were clear and she breathed a sigh of relief and then recoiled in surprise when she noticed he had the beginnings of a black eye. "What happened to you face!" She cried.

"Oh, that," he put his fingers to it absently, "I went chasing down Jamie, and I got a hold of him but he punched me and kept running."

"I'm so sorry!" She gasped.

"No, I'm sorry. Sorry that that little bastard would do this. If I hadn't decided to pick him up from school on my way to work, I might not have showed up and…" He trailed off and they both knew what might have happened it no one had come along. "I'm going to kick his ass when I get home." Wayne said savagely. They lapsed into awkward silence and as grateful as she was that he'd saved her she couldn't forget how upset she'd been last night to discover his stash; she also couldn't forget that he'd kissed her.

"I have your jacket in my locker, thanks for letting me borrow it last night," She said pulling herself up from the floor. She watched him closely for a reaction but he didn't give her one, he just smiled and mumbled something about it being no problem. She turned toward her graffittied locker with a frown, and began to turn the dial of her lock when she noticed a faint smell.

"Oh man, I hope they didn't put something gross in my locker," She groaned, as the lock clicked in her hand. She swung the door open and all the colour drained from her face. "Oh my god…"

"What?" Wayne said alarmed, "what is it?" She couldn't answer him as she stared in horror at the only object occupying her locker: a severed, bloody human ear; Mike's ear. She slammed the door shut before Wayne could see inside and locked it. This isn't happening, this isn't happening, THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING. But it was, and there was no way that Carla's gang planted that in her locker; the newspaper this morning had said that missing from Mike's body was his right ear. Whoever – Whatever killed Mike, was taunting her.

"What's the matter with you, you look like you've seen a ghost." Wayne asked with concern. "You just went pale as hell."

"Nothing, I – er, must have left your jacket at home." She said a little too quickly. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "We'd better get to work; I bet Peter is having a coronary."