I felt so small.
So pathetic.
So low.
Seriously. Like I was some meaningless ant that had crawled across Paul's shoe, and he's flicked me off, and then he'd squashed me, twisting his foot into the pavement.
And he'd enjoyed doing so.
Everything was completely dark. And still. And silent. I was still in that room. I'd been in there for ten minutes. I'd stopped crying, by now. But I was in horrified thought.
Whore?
WHY had he called me that?
Of all things . . . that?
I mean, Dani was a different thing. She DRESSED like one. She acted like one.
I didn't.
. . . Right?
Oh, man.
With even more distress, I leant my head back against the hard plaster of the door, and screwed my eyes shut, hoping dreamily to wake up, away from here.
But when I opened my eyes, I was still in the darkness.
And I was still bruised from Paul's words.
Furiously, and utterly disgusted with myself, I ripped out all of the pins from my hair. No care whatsoever. Just ripped them out. And the pony-tail holder, too. So what if I screwed up my perfect hair? What did it MATTER?
My hair fell loose beside my face, tumbling across my shoulders. It felt painful, after having been up for so long. Like the roots were not used to their new position. Almost as much as I knew that I should never have come back here. I wasn't ready, and I wasn't used to feeling so much.
My shoulders were hiked up. As if I was protecting myself. Which I was trying to do. From the world. The very cruel world, that Paul was making an even scarier place than Cole had, for me.
I was alone, in every sense of the word.
Well . . . when you're alone, at least no one can hurt you . . .
Only, it also meant that there was no one there for you. No one to hold you. No one to love you.
Is that so much to ask for? Have someone hold me? Someone who loved me?
. . . And I didn't mean how Paul had been gripping me against him back at the club. That had been immoral. And more sexual than any affection.
I doubted Paul COULD love anything truly, apart from himself. Dani . . . pfft. He probably was using her, too. Almost as much as she was using him.
Jesse's whore.
As my eyes dampened again, I became furious with myself. GOD! Don't be STUPID, Suze! Stop crying, you loser! He's . . . he's a dick. He doesn't know what he's talking about. Why do you CARE what he thinks!
What if I WAS that?
Did I act like that? Dress like that? TALK like that?
I stared ahead into the unmoving shadows, in manifest horror. My lips were shaking in hurt and anger.
What he'd said had brought back EVERYTHING.
Down to how I was treated by the first guy from Massachusetts who asked me out.
Wow. Big mistake there.
I'd been out with a lot of guys, trying to find The One. Someone who would help me get over Jesse. Selfish reason to be guy shopping, but I needed to keep looking.
So many guys . . .
God . . . I am what he says.
Another pair of tears spilled down my cheeks, and I hugged my knees to my chest, neglectful of the skirt. The water from my eyes saturated the fabric of the skirt, as a spot on each leg grew darkly right before my eyes, from the tear drops.
I hid my face, and just cried, getting smaller, and even more dead.
Wasting away to a mere ghost.
'Susannah?'
Jesse was here.
His tone was curious, questioning, concerned.
I jerked my face up, and gave him such a hateful glare that his expression instantly changed from worried, to hurt. Ha. Jesse didn't know hurt. My hair fell in front of my face in a feral manner, and my hands were still shaking to no end. I squeezed them in each other, hoping he would notice. With a very difficult swallow that digested something like the thorns that Jesus Christ wore at his crucifixion, I just glared. I hated him.
'Get lost,' I breathed at him with a powerful aversion.
I didn't want him here. God knows what PAUL had to say to THAT.
'I take it you did not enjoy . . . clubbing,' he said very cautiously, still standing above me.
Above me.
Always.
With a single look of revolted sarcasm, I let out an unladylike snort, but didn't answer.
'You're not . . . intoxicated are you, Susannah?' he asked with a raised eyebrow.
I laughed hollowly, looking back to my knees, hiding my tearstained face. 'Yeah, Jesse, I'm totally drunk. Now go away, before I drunkenly beat the crap out of you.'
'What happened, Susannah?' he asked sharply. 'Where are the others?'
'Still there, having fun,' I muttered bitterly.
At my EXPENSE.
'And why did you come home early – '
'This is NOT HOME,' I snapped at him, 'As far as I'm concerned, I don't HAVE a home.' Which was true, now. Carmel had been my home. But not without Jesse. Massachusetts had been hell. Never a home. And Fortunaschwein? Give me a BREAK.
'Home is what we make it – '
'LOOK,' I shouted, scrambling up and giving him a HARD poke in the chest, so much so that he winced, 'Just GO AWAY. God knows you're so freaking GOOD at it!'
Breathing hard, I glowered with popping eyes. I was SO angry. And I did NOT want him here. If he DIDN'T leave, I'd end up shouting to high heaven at him. And although it was appealing, I didn't know if I had the energy for an argument.
Jesse, however, seemed to be determined to find out.
If I had energy, I mean.
Which he proceeded to siphon from me.
He held up his hands in surrender, his spectral glow dimly illuminating his face. 'Susannah . . . I am very worried about you. Something's not right . . . I will not "Go away" or "shut up" until you tell me what it is.'
Pushing my buttons . . . prying into my life.
How dare he?
I just gave him my coldest stare, desperate for a biting reply that would put him back in his place, where he belonged. OUT of my life, namely. I couldn't think of one. I spun around, facing the wall, crossing my shaking arms, and I bit my lower lip, my chest heaving with gulp of air.
My head was roaring. JESSE'S WHORE.
'I'm warning you,' I said in a low, deadly voice, one through gritted teeth, 'Go . . . away . . . '
'Did you get into a quarrel with someone, Susannah?' he persisted lightly, 'Danielle? Or – ' he stopped, 'It was Slater, wasn't it?'
I remained painfully silent, my eyes tearing up again. I closed them, and inhaled an arsenic breath, that burnt my throat like leftovers that had been heated up for WAY too long. 'Just go away,' I pleaded.
'Susannah, please. You cannot just sit in this room and cry until everything gets better. It does not happen like that. I should know . . . I have been around for a long time,' he said from behind me.
I slowly turned back around. 'You don't cry,' I told him.
And more and more hate came flooding back, like a dam that could hold water no longer. 'You don't feel anything anymore Jesse, you're not even ALIVE! Don't TELL ME you know how I FEEL!' I screamed at him, my voice soaring up several octaves, as another crushing rage almost broke me from within.
I hated him, hated him, HATED HIM.
I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. I wanted to fall. And run.
I always ran.
Jesse patiently waited for me to stop breathing so hard, before he said to me softly, 'I have been alive, Susannah. I remember sharing happy moments with my family and I remember when my sisters would cry about things. I have felt pain before. I've been thirsty, and hungry, and tired. Not to mention upset, lonely, and terrified. And those things do not just "go away" when you die, Susannah. My soul is the preservation of a man that was once alive. I still feel. I . . . I still cry,' he added in a low voice. 'To cry is to be human.'
Jesse crying seemed like a very pansy-ish thing to me, for some reason.
He was wrong.
To cry was to be vulnerable.
More white-hot bitterness darted at him like poisoned arrows.
And again, it dwindled, leaving momentarily weak and weary again. 'Please,' I said, as more tears threatened to reveal themselves, 'Please Jesse, I want to be alone – '
Of course I didn't. Being alone was something I feared above all things.
But with Jesse being who he was, I could not stand to have him there.
Not then.
'Damn it, Susannah! What did he do to you?' Jesse asked brusquely. I flinched, and moved back a little more. He knew good and well that I was now crying.
'Go – '
'No,' he replied firmly. 'I happen to like staying. And I would appreciate that you'd tell me what is wrong. For, if you do not, I shall not be "going away" any time soon.'
I cried harder, my shoulders shaking from the deadly sobs that were coughing in my chest. I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head in stubborn denial.
Why hadn't he said this FIVE YEARS AGO?
He, again, waited, assuming that he'd broken me down enough for me to tell him.
Was he ever wrong.
Biting down the pain, and the pathetic blubbering, I managed to once again shoot him looks of something truly hateful. I fed the pain to the fire of my anger. 'Jesse? I told you to GO. I have a right to PRIVACY. If I want you to LEAVE, then you'll LEAVE.'
There was sadness in his eyes. So much so that I had to look away.
Which wasn't FAIR. He'd hurt me. And yet . . . I had no right to think of him like that. I was the one that technically left. If he hadn't loved me enough to come with me, that wasn't his fault. It wasn't. Everything was my fault. I had been stupid, and YOUNG, and CLINGY.
And now, I couldn't meet his gaze, I was so ashamed.
The floor was dark. That was where I was staring. A place where I just wanted to curl up, die, decompose, and be forgotten.
If it meant that I'd stop feeling like this . . .
His voice was like a blanket. Soft, warm, sheltering. 'Susannah . . . things have happened in the past, and they just do not leave. I would like, in my very limited ability, to banish them. But I cannot when I'm the one being banished . . . '
I still couldn't look at him.
I wanted to stay angry. I didn't want to seem weak. I wanted to stay strong, and furious and hateful.
And at the same time, I wished that I'd never met him.
I was now shaking so badly. I was not ready for a confrontation with Jesse de Silva. Not ready. Not after what I'd been called.
But Jesse took a few small steps so he was standing right over me. I stood frozen, breathing, staring past him, horribly aware that he was now almost as close to me as Paul had been. My skin felt like it was decaying away. And I was shivering enough to give one the impression that I was trapped in some bitterly cold blizzard.
And then I felt Jesse's gentle, caressing finger come to my chin, as he gently tipped my face up. With wide, and very wet eyes, I looked at his.
He analyzed my eyes. Trying to piece things together. Trying to steal away the truth from me, through my green eyes.
I was vulnerable. And weak. And scared. And he knew it.
Shakily, I took a hurried step back, so I was against the wall. 'Don't – don't DO that!' I hissed at him, my eyes having gone from wide, to narrowed.
Jesse's forehead creased in torture. 'Susannah –'
'No! No, Jesse, you CAN'T just come back and expect me to let you WALK ALL OVER ME AGAIN. You have no IDEA who I AM now!' I shoved him back, HARD, in the chest, so he stumbled a good three meters. 'You didn't want to know. FINE. You're not GONNA. Jesse, I don't WANT you in my life! So just go AWAAAAY!'
Panting. Crying. Feeling.
'Susannah, you mean none of this. I'm trying to help you – '
'Sure,' I laughed irately, 'Like you helped me FIVE YEARS AGO? Wow. Great HELP THAT WAS!'
My eyes were fiery. I wanted him gone. I wanted him exorcised.
With a look of deepest regret now, Jesse closed his eyes. His height collapsed very slightly. 'Susannah . . . I could never have come with you. I couldn't have let you waste life on a ghost. Someone – something who wasn't even there. I knew you'd be perfectly happy on your own. More than happy.'
Oh my God.
'ARE YOU ON SPECTRAL CRACK?' I freaked at him. 'You really DON'T have a clue! HAPPY? DO I LOOK HAPPY TO YOU, JESSE!'
Furious, shaking, crying, fuming – not a good mix.
His look turned stony. 'I have a clue, Susannah. You had a lovely evening with Slater five years ago, at "The Point" as you call it. Very lovely. You had him, Susannah. Why was I needed, when you had him?'
My mouth fell open, and I just shook my head at him, unable to speak.
Paul! He thought I had Paul!
. . . Oh my GOD.
'You did not need me, querida,' Jesse shrugged.
No. No, he did NOT just call me that.
JESSE DID NOT JUST CALL ME QUERIDA.
He must have realized that he'd said it, and looked quite startled with himself.
Querida . . . it meant "mistress" as much as it meant "sweetheart."
Jesse's mistress. Whore.
He didn't get it . . . oh GOD, he didn't get it –
No longer breathing, I growled, in a tone of quiet rage, 'Get out.'
'S –'
'GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!' I screamed, screwing up my eyes, balling up my fists, and shrieking as much as my lungs possibly could. Screaming out the pain. A pure, intense pain that was born of Jesse's grave mistake.
When I dared to open my eyes again, I saw that I was on my own.
Jesse had dematerialized.
I felt myself falling to the ground. I knew that. My knees ceased to function, almost like my lungs. And then, there was a volcanic eruption of pain. Dormant for so long, but due to the movement under the surface, it can explode and cause devastation like no other.
And I was crying like I had never cried before. It was all out there. It was raw, and ugly, and heartbroken, and agonizing, and I ached, and I cried, and my head was screaming and my heart was bleeding and I was dying and Jesse thought I'd loved Paul over him, and his mistake had been so WRONG –
And next thing, I was desperately pulled into a forcible embrace, crying uncontrollably into Jesse's chest.
He'd come back for me . . .
No words.
His arms held me against him like he never wanted to let go. I cried.
His chin rested on my head, and he hugged me closed into him. I cried.
He was kissing my forehead, many times. Short, heartfelt kisses. I cried.
His fingers meshed ardently in my hair. And God, I cried.
I leaned harder into his chest. We were sprawled against the wall, on the ground. He tangled his leg in mine, and he too, was shaking. Seemingly, in urgency. He muttered things in Spanish, over and over and over again. I just moaned.
Powerful arms were protecting me from the pain that sought to destroy me. He kept me safe. He wouldn't let harm come to me. His chest was heaving, too. He dragged me even closer, and refused to surrender me to my pain. I cried.
I could scarcely breathe. Jesse didn't need to. His cheek smoothed against my forehead, which again, he kissed. I cried even harder.
It's the warmest feeling, to be held by someone who loved me.
And I still cried.
And after forever, I fell asleep.
In Jesse's arms.
- 8 -
I woke up in my own bed. Well, not my OWN bed. I mean, it wasn't my bedroom from Carmel, or anything. No, you know, the one on the fourth floor of the school?
I woke up in that bed.
Alone.
Well, sort of. Jesse was sitting at the window – there was no window seat in Fortunascweinian dormitories – with his head bowed in contemplation. Fuzzily, I sat up, and looked at my watch. It was ten past eight. And I felt horrible.
You know . . . drained.
My eyes felt really dry. Like my tear glands were crusty.
I sat up tiredly, and saw that Jesse hadn't moved a muscle. He was gazing eloquently out the window. The sun was behind the school, so there wasn't any light shining directly over him. He looked uneasy. Just, you know, standing there . . . gazing outside.
There was no ocean for him to look over now.
Or a punk of a sixteen year old, come to that. Just a pathetic twenty-three year old woman with no life to speak of.
The covers were warm over me. I shuffled a little more, and Jesse finally noticed that I was no longer slumbering. When he saw that I was awake, he gave me this very small, very honest smile.
'Susannah . . . ' he said lightly.
I rubbed my eyes, and yawned. 'How did we get up here? I thought we were on the first fl – ' I broke off in complete embarrassment. Suddenly, a hot flush came to my head, as I realized that I'd cried myself to sleep while Jesse was hugging me.
Oh my God.
That was SO EMBARRASSING.
Jesse must have noticed my wide eyes, because he chuckled very softly. In a nice way. Not a cruel way, like Paul would have done. 'I carried you up here, querida,' he nodded gracefully.
There he went again. Querida.
I didn't have the heart to ask him not to call me that. I mean, come on, he'd been so nice and all. Especially when I'd been such a freak, and all. With the oh-my-god-I'm-such-a-tortured-little-lamb-oh-hold-me-before-I-die thing.
And Jesse carried me up four floors.
'But I'm heavy,' I said bluntly.
'You are very small,' he said. 'You are not heavy in the least, Susannah.'
Yeah, I'm small.
Gawd. How annoying.
I actually wanted to flop right back on the warm, soft pillows, roll over, and sleep for another four hours. I didn't have a hang over, so much as a really bad headache. That, probably, had been from crying.
Jesse was staring at me strangely. Well, not so much strangely as differently. I was actually getting very freaked out by it, so I was like, 'I'd better go grab sustenance.'
A fleeting look of something weird came across his face. He actually made a forward movement, but then thought better of it. 'Yes,' he said. 'Go . . . '
So I did.
Well, you know, after I slipped into these black slacks and a dark green sweater. I didn't know why, but I felt cold.
. . . Oh, all right, I was trying to wear my UN-SLUTTIEST clothes that I owned. I mean . . . I did not want to give Paul reason to believe that he'd been right about me. My being a whore, I mean.
A word that hurt so very much.
As I was moving downstairs, something occurred to me.
. . . Things between me and Jesse were going to be very different.
And Paul?
They were going to be a LOT worse than what they'd been.
And I wasn't looking forward to it.
- 8 -
I didn't want to face him.
Paul, I mean.
Like, I didn't know how I could, after what he'd said.
So I went downstairs, hoping that, you know, he hadn't woken up yet.
I found it strange that, from the first floor, when you went down the hall, it lead first to the kitchen and then to the Dining Hall. You know. Like, if Fortunaschwein had had any big wiggie guests, they would have had to trump through the kitchen to get there. Very tacky. And the boys? Nicking food on their way? Didn't seem all that logical.
That's when I saw like, a large detour that probably took everyone straight to the Dining Hall. I took that, this time. Maaaaan, there were some heavy duty cobwebs. I gave ireful glares. Keeping my eyes peeled for spiders, I finally got into the big Dining Hall. It was, you know, all Oliver Twist-y. Especially knowing that a bunch of boys used to eat here. I could so imagine Bart, (the Misfort, not the Simpson) going up to some fat, oppressive teacher with their gruel, going, "Pleeeeease sir, can I have some more?"
Ugh.
Stupid Charles Dickens book.
I could write a novel.
. . . I just don't wanna.
It was a long way across the hall. I mean that. When I got to the other side, I cautiously went into the kitchen, as not to scare anyone if they were in there.
'Suze! There you are!'
I froze, halfway through the doorway. CeeCee and Adam had been monkeying around the stove.
All of a sudden, I wasn't that hungry anymore. I mean, seeing them together didn't give me the warm fuzzies anymore. In fact, it was almost sickening.
Sickening because I knew I'd never have that ever again. Hell, I didn't even have that in the first place. I, impressionable, young, naïve, stupid . . . used.
'Uh . . . hi,' I greeted them awkwardly as they disentangled themselves. I felt so stupid just standing at the doorway . . . so much so that I wanted to just leave right then and there. Turn around and walk away, right out of the school.
Or, maybe I'll just like, settle for turning into a puddle of Susie-goo and seeping between the floorboards.
CeeCee stared at me all motherly with concern. 'You . . . you just left the club. We were worried about -'
'I'm fine,' I replied quickly, cutting CeeCee off. I felt bad for doing it – but hey – what's another thing on my aura of negativity and gloom?
Adam left CeeCee's side for a moment and stood in front of me, examining my face for a few drawn out moments with his head slanted in thought. I kind of looked away, not ready to be "examined" by anyone. I didn't want them to see . . . to see what Paul saw.
'Your eyes are puffy,' Adam concluded.
CeeCee's violet eyes shot him a very disapproving look and said, 'Adam, you aren't helping.'
He looked back at CeeCee and, very sternly, said, 'No, Cee. She looks like she's been crying –' he turned back to face me and asked, ' – have you, Suze?'
I turned around quickly, to avoid the suspicious eyes and asserted, 'No.'
The room grew suddenly silent. Like my reply had choked the noise, killed it, and dug it a deep grave next to my dignity. Adam, instead of continuing his cross-examination or whatever, just patted my shoulder and went back to CeeCee.
I glanced at the two over my shoulder somewhat guiltily and said, 'Um . . . breakfast smells great.'
'Thanks,' CeeCee grumbled, 'it's the best we can do. You know, with a hangover.'
'Speak for yourself! I was the designated driver, remember?' Adam scoffed, taking pride in his accomplishment.
I snorted in disbelief. Adam? Sober? That's probably the best joke he's ever told me. 'You aren't serious,' I said, chuckling despite myself.
'He is,' CeeCee attested. 'He somehow managed to stay completely sober the entire night. One part of me is proud, but the other part –'
'Is wishing you didn't have to spend the whole night puking in the toilet?' Adam suggested.
CeeCee lifted her elbow to give him a swift nudge, but she quickly put it back down again, grabbing her head and groaning.
'Were you THAT smashed, Cee?' I asked.
'Not as bad as Dani and Paul. Those two were hammered,' Adam answered for her, handing CeeCee a glass of water for her headache.
'Yeah,' CeeCee agreed after taking a long sip of water, glaring at him, 'and that's why Paul let you drive his car. He wouldn't have otherwise.'
Adam smiled and threw me a wink. 'Give me a bottle of Vodka, and I bet he'd let me drive it again.'
I laughed uncomfortably. You see, any mention of Paul at the moment was toxic. 'Right,' I said. 'So, you . . . erm, sleep all right?'
Adam mock-frowned. 'Sleep?' Then he shot an evil grin at CeeCee, who turned red, and swiftly took another sip of water. 'Oh yeah . . . sleep.'
Oh, great. Adam and Cee had done it all night long.
That was a rather disconcerting thought.
Then again, ugh. It's not exactly as if I'd been alone, right?
I'd had Jesse with me all night, apparently. TOUCHING me all night.
Just not in the way that Paul would assume.
'Breakfast,' I asked, noticing the hopeful sizzle of something off a pan.
'Sausages,' CeeCee replied.
'You already got a sausage,' Adam said, sliding behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his cheek against hers. CeeCee just giggled.
. . . Eww.
Adam stopped. 'When I said that, I didn't mean that you had a sausage. I mean, I hope not. Last time I checked, you were sausage-free – '
'Okay, Adam, really,' I said with a nauseous laugh, 'We are all glad that Cee does not have a penis. Can you please just keep cooking? Or making out, don't mind me. Just, don't drool on my breakfast, I'm not all that into saliva.'
Adam grinned at me. 'If you say so,' he obliged, spinning CeeCee around fast, who was still holding a spatula. And then he kissed her sweetly.
One, two, three: Aww.
Of course, in a moment of such romance and beauty, who should come in and ruin that picture but –
'Ugh . . . Cee, got any Tylenol?'
I looked up sharply, as I saw Paul enter the kitchen. So far, his back was towards me. He hadn't seen me yet. Good.
I glanced at myself, self-consciously checking that my outfit was, you know, un-whorish. And then I slipped into the Dining Hall, which was empty.
Susannah Simon in a Dining Hall would still qualify as it being empty.
That's when Paul came in HERE, too.
SHIT.
He, still with his back towards me, sat down, placed a glass of water on the table, two tablets, and he groaned, holding his head. Then, he popped both pills in his mouth, took a long swig of his H2O, and let out a refreshed, 'Aaah.'
Was there NO ESCAPING THIS GUY?
Because, seriously. After his accusation, I was perfectly content with never seeing him again. If he dropped off the face of the earth, I would not give a damn. I really wouldn't.
I stood there as silent and as rigid as I could. I thought maybe if I didn't make any noise, he wouldn't know I was there or something. Like I was going into super-secret-stealth-mode or something. Maybe he wouldn't notice.
He gave no indicator. He didn't acknowledge my presence or anything. He just sat on top of the table (not even bothering with a chair, how RUDE) and held his head, letting out a constrained groan.
I kind of frowned in momentary concern, but then caught myself. This was the cruel, heartless being that left me low all the time. He deserved no sympathy for getting so hopelessly smashed last night. None at all. Not even if his head feels like its going to explode.
Hmm, that'd be nice. A great fireworks display.
It wasn't MY fault the guy can't control his liquor intake. Sure having the bitchiest supermodel in all the kingdom as a girlfriend makes it easier to make oneself drunk beyond belief, but he should really get himself in line.
He wasn't as inebriated as CeeCee and Adam led on when he called me a certain unmentionable name. Yup. The way he said it was so clear, so intended . . .
Which led me to ask myself, when DID he decide to drink so much? And why? I thought he was so much smarter than that, to know that the next morning he'd wake up with a headache matchable to the ones we get after shifting. Not that I would know or anything, but by the way he looked I could totally see.
Eh. Maybe I just give him too much credit. He's not smart. He's a jackass. And he deserves every single jolt of pain he feels.
He took another long draw of water, still not saying a single word. He definitely knew I was there, though, because he threw me a quick wink, followed by a grimace of pain.
Hah. Justice has been served.
'Drink too much?' I teased bitterly.
Paul scowled and replied softly, 'Yeah. Just a little.'
Just a little? Yeah. Right.
He continued, 'I could barely make it out of bed this morning. Dani . . . she's a lost cause.'
'I'll say,' I replied cantankerously. Paul didn't seem to appreciate my comment, but he kept his opinion and any physical contempt to himself in order to dodge the pain.
Silence. Long, long silence.
'So why'd you leave?' Paul asked finally.
I stared at him with the coldest anger I'd felt in a long time. As if he didn't KNOW. I swear, he's either clueless or cruel. I didn't bother to answer him. I just continued staring at him, not believing what he was asking.
'We were worried,' Paul went on. 'You went AWOL on us. CeeCee said something about her car being gone, so I figured you went home.'
'This isn't home,' I replied flatly. 'This is an ex-boarding school for boys, inhabited by a group of for horny eighteen-year-old ghosts. This is work, Paul. Not home.'
Paul smirked at me in the most annoying way and said, 'I think it's kind of cozy here.'
Yeah. If you like that House on Haunted Hill type of thing. An interior complimented with nice cobwebs for added effect. I couldn't think of anything any LESS cozy.
Except . . . Paul's grandpa's house.
Glass . . . cold . . . blue.
I glared at him icily again. Leave it up to someone like PAUL to like creepy places. This school was, like, BUILT for him or something. He could go off and marry it for all I cared. Then he can live all alone in this old dust-bunny-infested "house" and take care of the pesky ghost problem all by himself.
He didn't need MY help. Or anyone else's for that matter. Because he was Paul-Look-At-Me-I'm-Better-Than-You-Slater.
Even in the silence, my mind was shouting. Shouting at Paul for obvious reasons, but also shouting at myself for letting it get to me like that. Why did I let him control me like this? Why did I let his stupid words affect me so much?
That's all they were. Stupid words. From Paul. Stupid Paul.
But if he was so stupid, then why did I still feel so low?
'So,' Paul said conversationally, placing his glass down on the table he was leaning on, 'are you going to tell me why you left the club?'
I froze, but replied with a firm, 'No.'
Paul traced the rim of his water glass with one index finger boredly. He looked up at me with his eerie blue eyes . . . eyes that used to melt me, but in a totally different way than they did now. It was almost as if he were expecting me to say something like my reasoning for leaving or something. Well, if that's what he wanted then . . . too bad.
I'll never tell.
Like Brittany Murphy in Don't Say a Word.
. . . Yeah. I'm psychotic too. Kudos to me.
But he kept looking at me. Staring at me as if he concentrated more, he'd be able to see right through me. It was so scary – no, ANNOYING – that I quickly snapped without thinking, 'Would you stop it!'
Paul threw me an innocent smile, the one thing Paul seemed to do without a protesting headache. 'Stop what?'
Realizing what I'd said, I clamped my mouth shut quickly. Stupid mouth, STUPID MOUTH. 'Stop doing that thing,' I replied lamely.
'What thing?' Paul asked, again with the innocent smiling. God, you'd think he was one of heaven's own angels or something.
Or maybe hell's. Hehe, then he could join his biker buddies.
And combust, like the other ones did.
Or, you know, get crushed by a chapel.
I still didn't know how I did that.
But I sure as hell wasn't going to ask him now. I wasn't going to ask him anything like that again. I couldn't believe that I was standing here, talking to him. After being dissed so bad by him. But I just . . . I couldn't move. Like it was too hard, or something.
I tossed my hair, and looked away a little.
'What thing?' he persisted. He took another sip of his water.
'Who cares?' I said dismissively, crossing my arms nervously.
I seriously could not move from that spot. I was like, cemented to the wall near the door.
'Fine,' he shrugged.
'Fine.'
'Good.'
'Great.'
'Fantastic.'
'Wonderful.'
'Fuck off.'
'You too.'
'You more.'
'You the most.'
Joy. He reached the superlative before me. I pursed my lips, and glared. 'Grow up,' I said after a moment.
'I will if you will,' he replied airily.
I flushed, and my eyes flickered away from him, again.
'I've . . . I've grown,' I murmured in my defense.
His smile became less innocent. It became a smirk. Something so typical of him. 'I'll say.'
Again, my cheeks went hot. He was treating me exactly like what he'd said. I mean . . . he was the one who was objectifying me here. So why was I the one that got called the whore?
I didn't understand.
I wanted to leave.
. . . But I couldn't move.
My eyes narrowed. 'You're a freak, Paul,' I said with a very subtle aggression.
I knew good and well that he hated that word. "Freak." He'd told me that a long time ago. He'd told me that on the night that he'd ruined everything for me.
He chuckled, and I noticed a slight lack of humour, now.
'You still didn't answer me,' he said, his voice possessing a lot more clarity than my own.
'Huh?'
'Why?'
I blinked, stalling. 'Why what?'
He sighed in exasperation, looking headachy again. 'Why'd you leave the God damn club?'
'Why not?' I said lightly. Although, I wasn't exactly feeling all that light.
He groaned at that. Too hungover for this, I guess.
And still, after a night of alcohol, he looked hot. You know, with his hair all tousled in an I-just-got-out-of-bed-after-partying-madly sort of way. His eyes were toned a tired blue color, but still as searing as ever. Still hot, just not in such a good way.
I knew what he thought of me.
And I couldn't see him the same way.
I looked away, and swallowed down something prickly and hard. My confidence – what he hadn't raped me of that previous night – was draining away, fast.
'I – um, I left – I was tired. I came here . . . and I slept. Tired. I get – um, tired a lot,' I stuttered an explanation, one which I'd pulled out of my ass.
This conversation was so cold, it froze me. So impersonal.
And you know the worst thing?
He knew what he'd said last night had affected me.
I was sure of it. There was something in his eye . . . nonchalance. But beyond that, dwelt something a little more sinister.
'Couldn't find Jesse at all last night,' he smiled at me.
Another sip of water.
I went ghastly pale.
'You looked for him?' I asked skeptically.
'Sure I did,' he said. 'I wanted to see if Jack was okay. Jack said that Jesse wasn't there. Hadn't been for a while. I mean, I knew the guy was a piece of shit, but I thought that at least he wouldn't leave Jack on his own. God. I didn't know he was that irresponsible.'
He knew.
I could see it in his smile.
He knew that Jesse had spent the night with me. He just wanted me to give him confirmation. He wanted to prove he was right.
And even if he did know that nothing had happened, well . . . he was ignoring that.
'I was going to have a go at him,' he went on slyly. 'But . . . no one could find him. Or you, even.'
I just stared at the ground, as he shoved me farther into a cold, numb, inescapable place. Where everything was grey.
A place that I thought only Cole could have sent me.
I was wrong.
You may have thought that I, Susannah Simon, would be FURIOUS at such a subtle accusation. That I would yell in indignation, defending myself and my morality, that Jesse and I had NOT had sex, as he was so obviously implying.
I haven't even HAD sex.
God!
. . . But I didn't.
I took it all, completely unable to reply. Almost as much as I couldn't move. I was there for Paul to taunt me as he pleased. For him to degrade me, and make me feel low, and dirty.
Even though I wasn't . . . that's how he made me feel.
Everything just seemed so . . . cold.
'I – um, I'm just gonna . . . ' I attempted, but only managed to very skillfully trail off.
'You don't happen to know where Jesse was last night, do you?' Paul probed, his tone still light and seemingly curious.
Curious. He wasn't curious. He was asking a question that he knew the answer to. Well . . . in a twisted way, he did.
I'd slept with Jesse. Just . . . not in the way that Paul – and the rest of the world – would think, if I phrased it like that.
But I would NEVER voice anything like that out loud.
Because I guess that Paul's statement about me would turn out to be kind of true.
I couldn't bring myself to answer him. Not even to lie. Because if I did lie, he would know. He saw right through me.
He must have seen the defeat in my expression. His fierce blues mocked me, laughed at me, poked and prodded me. It was like going under the knife, only without blood.
'Is that CeeCee calling me in there?' I asked, quickly holding my hand to my ear.
Paul furrowed his eyebrows. 'I didn't hear anything.'
'Well, I did,' I said, quickly heading toward the kitchen. 'See ya.'
'Wait,' Paul called after me. His voice put a cement wall all around me.
I turned around slowly, trying to concentrate my vision on something else. My eyes wandered to his feet. I wondered if Paul had six toes on one foot or something. Just then, I notice them shift a little bit, which caused me to slide my eyes up and look right at him. He steadied himself on his feet, but still rested his hand on the table for support.
'I just wanted to tell you that I . . . '
My widened eyes snapped to his unpurposefully. He kind of trailed off for a minute, which definitely caught my attention.
Was this . . . an apology? For what he said the night before? "Suze, I was wrong and I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry"?
I looked at him hopefully. Maybe he'll admit he was drunk. Yeah, he had to be. Why else would he say that. He couldn't have meant it.
Paul wasn't that much of a bad guy after all . . . was he?
WAS HE?
Pleasepleaseapologizeplease. C'mon. Be sorry . . . please. I'm sorry. That's all I needed to hear.
' . . . I think you're a great dancer.'
Another sip of water. A ring was forming on the wood of the table. Much like the ring that encircled my heart and squeezed it so hard that I felt my blood couldn't get anywhere. That's probably why I felt so cold.
Oh.
'Thanks. I, um, I . . . uh,' I mumbled. I left my thoughts unspoken, my words unsaid and got the heck out of there. I could have sworn I heard Paul laugh to himself as I left, but that may have just been my ears deceiving me. I wouldn't be surprised. He was just that . . . that . . . hateful.
Why did it matter whether or not Paul apologized? I mean, I hated him, right? This is just another reason to loathe his entire being. I can go off and start making little voodoo dolls of him or go back to throwing darts at his picture or drawing uni-brows and Hitler mustaches on him. He was just trying to annoy me and, as usual, succeeding.
Only, this time it hurt.
- 8 -
Class favorites. I remember the week they did nominations for them. The yearbook staff collected the votes and tallied them for every category from Best Legs, to Mr and Miss Mission Academy. There were a ton of categories in between, but the most coveted was the title of Best Dressed.
It went to Kelly, of course, but only because she totally slept with the head yearbook editor.
Well, that's what Debbie Mancuso said when she didn't get it.
I, of course, got Girl Who Most Frequently Wears Black.
Which is a very small step up from Most Likely To Dismember Someone that I'd been awarded back in Brooklyn.
Meh.
I sat in the lobby with a heavy yearbook spread out in my lap. It was Fortunaschwein's 1969 book, old and dusty. There were so many faces . . . snot-nosed brats all the way to smug independent seniors. All of the boys were different in their own way. I could pick out the jocks, the geeks, the freaks. But where did the Misforts fit in?
I looked under all the boys' names to see what awards and titles they had. Most Likely To Succeed went to some uber-nerd with huge thick rimmed glasses that won the Science Fair. Best Smile went to a guy with an enormous mouth comparable to the great Steven Tyler's, and an even bigger set of teeth.
All of the boys were dressed to the nines in their blazers and ties for their pictures. There were the usual pictures where some boys had their eyes half-closed, some were not even looking at the camera.
Still no sign of the Misforts and their bright, shiny faces.
It wasn't until the last page of the seniors, that I noticed they weren't in it. At all. And they weren't going to be in it. In small print in the bottom left corner, there was a column that read "Students Not Pictured".
And right under it, the full names of all the Misforts were printed in big, bold upper case.
CHARLES
AUSTIN
NATHANIEL BLAKE
ROBIN LAWRENCE
Wait a minute . . . that's three. Where's the runt? Bart?
Then I remembered, he was a year younger. I flipped a few pages back and saw just the same thing.
BARTHOLOMEW FORD.
I went through all of the sports pages.
Varsity
Swim Team, Not Pictured:
NATHANIEL BLAKE, ROBIN LAWRENCE
Cross
Country, Not Pictured:
CHARLES AUSTIN
Latin Club, Not
Pictured:
BARTHOLOMEW FORD
Wow. Okay. Looks like Photo Day was after the guys had eaten smoke. That kind of sucked, huh? I mean, it couldn't have been BEFORE? No. They had to die, and never be remembered.
How rude.
Ha. It was their suicide, not mine. They were the ones who decided to end their life. So why were they all of a sudden so bitter about it?
Unless, of course, they DIDN'T kill themselves in the fiery death chamber, aka attic. That's what CeeCee said the report said. That they killed themselves, I mean. But why in THAT manner?
The freakiest part was that the cause of the fire was unknown. No traces of cigarette butts or gasoline or chemistry projects gone wrong. Nothing except for their charred remains.
My mind instantly flashed back to the other night. All I could think about was those four burnt flowers. Scorched almost beyond recognition. That must have been exactly how their bodies were found.
A chill coursed through my body just thinking about the visions. But maybe they had a reason for showing me that stuff. The blood, the laughing, the flowers, the burning doorknob . . . maybe there was a connection. But what did it all mean?
'Whatcha doing?'
Startled, I jumped in my seat, knocking the yearbook from my lap onto the lobby's lavishly carpeted floor. I looked up and saw that it was only Jack, and then I relaxed.
'Shit, Jack,' I said, placing my hand over my thudding heart. 'You scared me half to death.'
'Really – ' Jack began, but then he corrected himself instantly, 'I mean, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.'
I sat back down again, and the room fell silent as I stared blankly at the pages of the yearbook. I was aware Jack was still standing there patiently, hand in his pockets.
He stood there. And stood there. And stood there some more. Finally, it got to the point where his standing there was just making me nervous.
'Do you need anything, Jack?' I asked, my dry throat cracking.
'Nope,' he replied with the trademark Slater smile, 'I'm just standing here.'
'I'm aware of that,' I mumbled, flipping a page in the yearbook to busy my mind from certain other things.
You know, like how much Jack resembles his older brother. Same gut-wrenchingly political smile, same fluoride-enhanced teeth. The only difference? I didn't want to punch Jack's out. His teeth, I mean.
Jack kicked the fringe on the edge of the carpet. Then he asked, 'Have you seen Jesse?'
'No, not since-'
EEP! What was I saying?
'No,' I answered sternly. 'No I haven't, okay?'
'Are you sure?' he grinned, 'last night when he went away, he said it was because of you, and then he didn't come back. So – '
'LOOK,' I roared at him, standing up suddenly and shoving his shoulders, 'I have NOT seen him! I don't know what Paul has said to you, but would you PLEASE shut the HELL up about it, because it's NOT true, and if you ask ANOTHER word about whatever he told you, I will KILL you and make it look like an accident!'
Jack looked back at me stunned.
. . . And hurt.
I stopped glaring, and realized I'd made a big boo-boo. Jack didn't have a clue about what Paul had called me. He just wanted to know where Jesse was. Because he was friends with the guy. He hadn't been taunting me.
He wasn't Paul.
'I'm – I'm sorry,' he spluttered, 'I didn't mean – I mean, I wasn't – Paul hasn't said anyth – sorry – '
His sharp blue eyes were glinting with hurt. He looked rather ashamed of himself, as well as utterly confused.
So what was the grown-up thing to do? Comfort him?
. . . Well, we all know what a stellar grown up I turned out to be.
So I mumbled something at him, and took off, out of the lobby.
It seemed all that I did these days was run down these Fortunaschweinian hallways.
I ran away from Jack. Just like I did with all my problems. Leaving yet another mess behind me. Or in this case, an upset thirteen year old who didn't know what he'd said to make me so mad. I mean, seriously, I'd threatened murder. I wouldn't kill him. Duh. I'm not a killer. But still, I'd been so angry to think that he too might have been ready to call me a whore, on his brother's order.
He wouldn't have, though. He was Jack.
He wasn't his brother, no how much he sometimes wanted to be.
I hated being here. This whole place. I hated it so much. I couldn't handle these things. I just couldn't. I couldn't deal. It was too hard. I mean, being called that didn't exactly give me an ego boost. If anything, it yanked my already fragile self-esteem back down to zero.
Thanks a bunch, Paulie.
And plus . . . I was probably getting unfit, too.
Which IS surprising, considering how much running I apparently do.
I stopped at the same room I'd been in last night. Me and Jesse. When he'd found me, crying my soul out. My fingers ran down the door frame gently, feeling cold. I blinked, and stepped inside, looking at how the bed was still perfectly neat, a great relief to me. You know, that there was NO possible way that anything whorish could have occurred.
I sighed, went in, and lay back on said bed, my hair fanning out around my head. I shut my eyes longingly. They still ached from the previous night's crying. I turned over so I was on my side, and my face was half-sinking into the feather pillow.
I felt torn. Damaged. Tainted.
Just shift. Get away from it all . . . shift, so no one will bother you . . .
How had my whole life gotten this crummy?
This grey?
Well . . . okay, that was a stupid question. I mean, obviously it was because of Paul.
However . . . I'd thought about this forever, but . . . I dunno. Five years ago, at The Point, where Paul had taken me, after Jesse had left (for the first time,) – yeah, I know, it's complicated – I've said it before, I know, but Paul had been willing to drop everything for me. His college applications, everything. Sure, he'd totally taken advantage of me when I needed sympathy after Jesse had left me, right after graduation, but . . . he HAD cared. Back then.
. . . And as soon as Jesse came back, I was so quick to forget about Paul, despite everything he'd done – you know, taking me to hospital after I'd almost been hit by a car out on The Point.
So maybe it was a little bit my fault.
But not much. Because Paul SO didn't have to go and tell Jesse that I'd been out with him, kissing him. So what if it was true? I hadn't INTENDED to, in fact, Paul had outright FORCED kisses out of me, after breaking me down enough.
That was when they both left.
And I was left alone, in a hospital room.
I wasn't worth it to them, anymore . . .
And I guess not. I mean . . . even if I HAD have, you know, gone with Paul, I still would have dropped him like a hot potato, the moment Jesse wanted me again. What kind of a relationship would that have been?
Nothing.
And besides . . . if Jesse hadn't wanted me, I figured, who could?
This perfect, perfect guy . . . the only guy I had loved . . . and he hadn't wanted to be with me.
So if someone I loved that much could have refused me, how could I have stayed with Paul? As in, like a back-up or something?
Well, whatever. I lost them both. I was a pathetic teenager, and I lost both of them, because I'd been so reckless, and stupid.
That was over now. And this was the aftermath.
My devastated life.
I guess I deserved everything I got, now. I'd hurt Paul. I'd hurt Jesse. And my dad –
. . . You don't want to know what happened with my dad.
Whatever. It made sense. Paul was a ruiner.
And I was a hurter.
I guess it fit. He'd destroy something of mine, and I'd hit him right back.
Where it hurt . . .
So. We'd all contributed to this mess that I was drowning in now. Me, Jesse, and Paul. It was all our faults that I was this useless, low piece of scum.
You know, who pretty much made thirteen year olds cry.
Oh well.
This is my life.
All I had to do was wait for CeeCee to get some more research, and then I'd be able to make Bartholomew Ford, Charles Austin, Nathaniel Blake, and Robin Lawrence move on, and then I could get out of here, and I could keep running away from Paul, and from Jesse, and from Cole, and from . . . life.
Who ran away from their life, anyway?
. . . CeeCee was good at research. She'd get the information we all needed to get them out of here, without exorcising them, because I'm just such an obedient little child of the Lord.
Ugh.
Kill me.
Whoever was listening to my thoughts, apparently, obviously took my last request literally. And even if they didn't, they sent some very lovely potential assassins who seemed pleased to try and do the job. Kill me, I mean.
You see, it was about that moment in my train of thought when a large, hot hand landed heavily on my shoulder, and I was immediately alerted of the arrival of the Fab Four.
And BELIEVE me when I say it wasn't the Beatles.
My eyes snapped right open, and I sat up with a glare. And although I was determined to hide it, slight fear. A horrible, clenching sensation developed in my abdomen, making me feel quite sick.
The hand in question belonged to a Mr. Lawrence. He leaned right down over me, bringing his face close to mine . . .
'Boo.'
I shoved his hand off of my shoulder, and squirmed back a little on the bed. It was just a single, so any more movement and I was going to fall off. Big deal. 'Um, boo to you too. What do you want?'
He stood up, standing about three steps in front of the other three. Nathan and Charlie actually happened to be smiling. Bart just looked anxious.
Little turd . . . bah.
'Do I even have to answer that?' Robin asked, his lips curling suggestively into a smirk. My gaze intensity flickered for a spell, but I decided that standing up would be the best option. I tugged down my sweater for good measure. My heart had started beating faster the moment he'd made contact with me, and was not looking like it would be slowing down any time soon.
'Right,' I mumbled. I crossed my arms over my chest, and gave him a " . . . Well?" look.
Nathan took a lazy step forward, so he was next to Robin. He tossed his elbow over Robbie's shoulder, and leant on it, so they both looked rather chummy. I guess that these two were like, best friends. I mean, more so than with Charles, and definitely the pipsqueak. 'Heard you went partying last night,' he drawled boredly, 'Where was my invite, Susie?'
I flickered with annoyance his choice of nickname, but ignored it casually. 'Lost in the mail,' I shrugged, furtively edging back. What? I hadn't forgotten the last time that they'd graced me with their presence. Well, sort of.
Their haunting, I mean. The blood. The fire. The laughing. Illusions. It had chilled me to the bone.
Like I Still Know What You Did Last Summer. And poison oak.
. . . And cockroaches.
Nathan was grinning at Robbie, with narrowed, smug looking eyes. Robin was leering at me. So was Charlie, behind them. Runty still looked kind of worried.
Must be fearful of his weak bladder.
'You came home sooner than we expected, Susie,' Nathan slurred, tilting his head forward and looking back to me. I pursed my lips, and stood dead still, not wanting to make any sudden movements around them. My heart was still thudding a million and one beats per second. 'We were going to pay you a visit last night, but you were sad. And this morning, we were going to drop in and say hi . . . but you were busy.'
I raised my eyebrows nervously. 'Uh huh.'
Robbie's leer turned to a stony look. 'Yeah, busy. Looking at things that are none of your business.'
I just blinked, oblivious. Huh?
Oh. 'The yearbook?' I frowned, 'I have no business looking at some yearbook? It's not as if you're even fully there,' I shrugged, with a small laugh, 'I mean, you killed yourselves before the school pictures were taken – '
Robbie seized my wrist, and yanked me forward so I almost collided with him. A look of murder stole his eyes, and he glowered into mine. He clenched my wrist tightly, and hissed at me, 'You just want to get rid of us, don't you?'
Nuuuuuuuuh.
I gave him a sarcastic smile. 'Why of course not, dearie, I want to have a Tupperware party. Of COURSE I want to get rid of you, loser. Just, you know, fairly.'
At that, his other hand came to my hip, and he forced me against him like I was this flimsy toy or something, and he dug his fingers very sharply into my side. A harsh gasp was torn from my throat. I mean, come on, it hurt.
At least he didn't have Dani's knife-like fingernails.
Eww . . . Thank God.
'Well,' he snapped down at me into my hair, 'We're sticking me around as long as we feel like. No amount of your research is going to make us move on. So stop trying, Susie. Or we won't be as hospitable as we've been thus far. Right boys?' he looked over his shoulder at the other three, who all nodded, with evil smiles spread across their faces.
Well, scratch that. Bart was just nodding like he felt he was supposed to.
I seriously think that the little guy's on something.
. . . Well, I would if I knew that ghosts could get high.
Cough.
I shoved myself away from Robbie's body, but he still held my wrist in his killer grip. 'I've been doing this for a long time. It's my life. I have a very sucky life. But I know what I'm doing, and if you piss me off, by GOD, you are going down. I could get rid of you right now, if I wanted. But Father Dom told me not to. So you should be thanking him that you're still here, and NOT hitting him over the head with a shovel,' I retorted furiously at him.
He actually looked clueless for a second, but he didn't deny it. The whole shovel-incident, I mean. Maybe Charlie did it . . . stupid mucho black guy . . . go grow an afro, you foolish poophead –
'If you don't want to end up like the priest,' Robin Lawrence went on, bringing my attention back to him, 'Then you'll get the hell out of here. You and your little agency.'
'That's not gonna happen, kid,' I threw my features into mega bitch-mode, I mean – he WAS a kid, wasn't he? He was only eighteen. 'You don't belong in the realm of the living. You're dead.'
'So is your cowboy,' Charlie pointed out in a veeeeeeery deep voice, unlike Dani's gay underwear model buddy.
I shook my head quickly, and tugged my wrist from his hand. 'You're causing trouble to those who actually still have heartbeats. Jesse isn't. He helps the living. He's nice. He - '
Robin narrowed his eyes in a sinister mode. 'You seem rather attached to the cowboy,' he mentioned.
'Shut up,' I scowled, 'Don't push it, I'm ALREADY really pissed off – '
Nathan laughed from behind them. 'She's probably screwing him,' he shrugged, elbowing Robin with a wide grin.
Okay. That's it.
I drew back my fist, and punched in outright in his stupid, conceited face, as hard as I could.
He fell back in a huge mess, swearing and holding his nose. He let out a long, loud groan, and then glared at me from over his hand. Bart's face spasmed in what looked like approval or amusement, or something, but then he quickly coughed, and looked away.
'It was just a guess,' Nathan growled at me.
I rubbed my knuckle, because it was sore. 'Stop guessing then,' I said maladroitly. 'You leave Jesse alone. He's a sweet little virgin who wouldn't hurt a fly,' I scolded.
. . . HEHEHE.
I had no idea if Jesse WAS a virgin. I believed that he'd died one. Unless he was a frequent visitor to the Salinas brothel, or something.
. . . Ewwwwwwwww . . .
And hey, maybe since I'd left, he'd found a nice dead girl to get un-virgin-y with.
Robin was looking at Nathan in shock, when he rounded on me again. 'Don't you worry about your cowboy,' he spat at me in angry threat, 'Watch your own back, Susie.'
DON'T . . . CALL . . . ME . . . SUSIE.
It was worse than SUE.
ARGH.
I rolled my eyes. 'Please. That was lame. And grossly unoriginal.'
Nathan's nose had made a full spectral recovery, by then. 'It won't be so lame when you start losing members of your group,' he glared at me, pouting that he'd been struck by a girl. Especially one my size. I wasn't exactly towering over them.
I gave him a wry smile. 'Whatever, Nat.'
'We'll start with the white one,' Charles growled.
He could have meant Father Dom. But I was guessing it was CeeCee, because Father D wasn't here.
I mean . . . maybe it was Dani. Maybe her hair was naturally white. Maybe she was really some ugly eighty year old prostitute, and had gotten a buttload of plastic surgery to look young.
Charles fully reminded me of that guy from, you know, Pirates of the Caribbean? The one who slaps Keira Knightly? And when he says, "you brought us the wrong person!" his pectorals tense up? It's kind of eww-y, actually. And very funny. But still, Charlie Austin was totally that guy. All muscle and aggression. 'I could snap her like a twig.'
'Wow,' I mused. 'You guys are really starting to worry me. I mean . . . come on, these anger vibes I'm getting from you are quite stinky. As soon as I finish my psychology class at B.C and get my degree, I will be very willing to give you all a psychoanalysis, free of charge. Because, ladies, these anger issues are kind of a turn off.'
Nate stumbled up, grabbing Bart's shoulder for support and practically tearing it off. Bart looked pissed, but stayed silent, his blond hair falling over his eyes a little, making him look all cute and innocent and babyish.
He didn't belong with the other three.
'Oh, we have anger issues all right,' Nathan marched up next to Robbie, and waggled a finger at me in ire, 'With you. We're staying. We've been here for over fifty years!'
What?
. . . Fifty?
Wait. It was 2009. They died 1969.
Oh my God, I'm such a dorky mathematician. That's forty years, not thirty. And the other years must have been when they were alive. 'We're not going to let you shove us out of here so some fat bastard can come in here to live!'
But we ALL know that he's really just Mike Myers in a fat-suit –
Oops, they died before Austin Powers.
'Whatever,' I shrugged. I wondered how Father Dom's perfect rules could apply in this situation. No exorcisms, and stuff. I so badly wanted to kick the crap out of them. 'Okay, thanks for cheering me up. I need to punch piss-heads like yourselves more often.' I breezed past Robbie and Nathan to the door of the dormitory. It looked so different from last night. There was grey light flooding the corners, now, as opposed to the impenetrable darkness from the previous night. As my hand had stretched out to grab the doorknob, I was suddenly slammed against it. The door, not the doorknob.
And it HURT.
Robin had pinned me there, smashing the side of my head against the wood. I writhed beneath him, incapable of speech at that moment. The door had definitely broke the skin on my forehead a little.
'Keep going on like that, and maybe you'll eventually join your albino friend, when we decide we're bored.' His ghost of a body was right up against the back of mine, pinioning me there. The side of his face was against the back of my head, as he hissed wrathfully in my ear. I winced, 'let me go.'
I GOT ENOUGH SHIT FROM THE LIVING! WHY THE DEAD, TOO?
He suddenly pulled on my hair, causing my head to tilt right back sharply, sending horrible pain up my neck as if he'd snapped it. A dog-like yelp burbled from my mouth, as he forcefully brought my ear back that much closer to his mouth. His lips formed the words in his threat, making me hear, feel, and recognize them as they trailed across my skin like cryogenic ice, 'This school is ours. We ruled it back when we were alive . . . we rule it now. What we say goes. And there's nothing you can do about it.'
And he tipped my head back that little bit further, before smashing it brutally into the door.
My cry was horribly strangled. That was DEFINITELY going to leave a mark. He hadn't just broken the skin, this time. He'd given me a simply enchanting head injury.
Why? Why was it always guys that did this? When the gal ghosts attacked, I wasn't scared. But when the dudes had a go at me . . . I could hardly breathe.
And it wasn't just with the dead ones, either.
Robbie repeated this action swiftly, so I half-shrieked again for him to stop, and then he threw me across the floor, so I was sprawled on my stomach. I skidded a few inches more, and then lay motionless for a moment.
Ow . . . ow . . . my head . . .
My fingers were shaking. It took massive amounts of effort, but I slowly rotated, to see Robin now standing at my feet, looking homicidal.
So with all my energy, I kicked at one of his kneecaps, temporarily snapping it right back.
He roared in pain, crumbling to the ground. I tried wriggling back, but despite his leg, he seized my ankle, dragged me back, and then landed heaving on top of me, his face twisted in the pain that he would feel for only moments longer.
I hadn't realized how mad he'd be, though.
He'd managed to pin me down. I felt a dribble of something roll down my forehead, and I momentarily freaked and thought Robbie was drooling.
. . . He wasn't.
With one hand, he supported himself, and with the other, he grabbed my chin, HARD, in his hand.
'I guess you won't leave our school without a fight, Susie,' he menaced in rage. 'You want a fight? You just got one.'
He laughed, as there was a click, indicating that his knee was no longer broken. 'It'll take a lot more than that cowboy in your bed to keep us away from you,' he whispered in a low, carnal growl. He lowered his face fleetingly, stole a kiss, and then got off of me quickly. I tried to stand, but he shoved his boot down on my shoulder, and twisted it callously. I turned my head in agony, rather than granting him with any scream.
'You bastard – ' I began hatefully at him, when he kicked me in the stomach. That time, I couldn't keep the shout inside of me. I curled on my side in pain, jamming my eyes shut tightly, and when I opened them, they were all gone.
. . . They'd won. I couldn't believe it.
We were obviously going to be anticipating bigger and better things from the M&M&M&Ms.
Shut up . . .they're all Misfortunates. I was being clever, a RARE thing for me!
Hmph.
I just lay there, feeling winded. I'd inhale air, hold it to stop the pain, and then I'd release it as quickly as I could, to get it over with. Exhalation was when it hurt the most.
I guess I should have taken Jesse more seriously when he'd said that they'd come after me.
I didn't know why.
. . . Was I the most vulnerable?
Oh, GOD.
I moaned, and felt another bead of liquid run down my forehead. Lifting my hand up, I gently felt for the source of it.
It was blood.
With an unattractive grimace, I drew in a deep breath, and then hoisted myself up, leaving heavily on the grey bed beside me. I crawled onto it, and closed my eyes again, gripping my stomach. It was aching. He didn't have to kick it like it was some football. That was just RUDE.
Wow. They'd really done a number on me.
Isn't my life just a bowl of honey-roasted macadamias?
I got called a whore.
And then I got kicked in the tummy.
But things were SO uncalled for.
I shut my eyes even harder, and twisted it into the pillow, not caring it I stained it with any blood.
That was when I felt weight beside me –
I jerked my head back around, but a hand came right over my mouth.
First thought: COLE! AAAAAAAAAAH!
. . . But it wasn't Cole.
It was –
'Mmm!' I mmm-ed indignantly, at the hand over my mouth.
A hand that belonged to Bartholomew Ford.
'MMMMMM! Mmm – !'
'Shhhh,' he whispered. 'Don't worry . . . I won't hurt you.'
He placed a silencing finger over his hand that was still covering my lips, and then slid his hand out. I stared at him curiously.
'You're bleeding,' he said sympathetically, his eyes raking my hairline, 'Sorry 'bout Robbie. He's the world's biggest jerk.' His last statement was mentioned in the quietest of undertones, as if worried that his buddy would hear him.
Ever so gently, he rolled me on my back, lifted my hands away from my stomach, and slid my sweater up a little. A mournful look crossed his boyish face, that he hadn't grown into yet. 'He kicked you real hard,' he concluded, making me wonder HOW obvious it was. 'You're bruising,' he added in explanation.
I groaned. 'Oh goodie.'
God knows I got enough of them.
Bruises, I mean.
Proudly Sponsored by Cole Kennedy Inc.
He pulled the sweater back down, and helped me sit up. I leant against him, screwing my face up as I did so. My stomach ached like the tortures of hell, and using the muscles in said stomach wasn't very helpful. Once in a sitting position, I asked him, 'Why are you helping me?'
He looked a little pained. 'I'm . . . I'm not like them,' was all he said. He actually looked a bit guilty to be helping me. I decided that I wouldn't use it against him. He was obviously going out on a limb, here.
'Right,' I muttered. 'Erm . . . thanks, then.'
He smiled. 'If they find out – what's the worst that can happen? They can't . . . kill me again,' he said, again, his voice dipping to a low volume. He aided me in standing. 'If you don't mind me asking,' he began, 'why were you crying last night?'
I closed my eyes briefly, and murmured something in the back of my throat. 'Nothing . . . '
The look in his eyes told me that he did want to know, but didn't want to ask again.
So I sighed, 'Paul just said something kind of . . . um, degrading to me.'
'Paul? The suit?'
'Yeah.'
'What he say?'
I hesitated. 'He called me . . . a whore,' I shrugged. 'I guess I'm over reacting, I just – I'm not used to – I didn't know that's how people saw me – '
Bart looked rather annoyed. At Paul, I hoped. 'You're not . . . what he said,' he mumbled. Aww. The seventeen-year-old didn't want to say the widdle-"w"-word. Aww. 'You're more conservative than most of the gals I knew. And you're a lot prettier than them, too.'
Oh my God, this guy was so sweet.
I smiled shyly. 'Thanks,' I blushed.
I OFFICIALLY TAKE BACK CALLING THIS GUY A RUNT.
AND A PIPSQUEAK.
And . . . whatever else I called him.
He was a TOTAL cutie-pie.
As I said before, like a mini-Heath-Ledger.
A blond one, anyway.
We were at the door by then. I leaned against the wall, and just breathed. My stomach would get better soon. 'Thanks,' I expressed my gratitude again. For helping me, not calling me pretty.
He nodded. 'I . . . I can't control them. I'm sorry for what they do . . . they don't listen to me. I'm not as strong as them, I can't fight them. They pick on me all the time. I'm sorry – '
'It's okay,' I interrupted. 'You're one of the decent ones, Bartie. They're all losers, and they're probably going to jock-hell when they move on.'
I mean, Bart would totally go to heaven.
How can a guy who was in the LATIN CLUB go to hell?
Bart avoided my eyes for a moment, and then looked up at me guiltily. 'I'm sure,' he said quickly and dismissively. 'Well . . . I'll watch on you till you get back to your friends. Susie?' he said suddenly.
I winced again, at him calling me that. But I guess I'd just called him Bartie, something which he most likely despised. 'Hmm?'
'Don't take Robbie lightly. And take his advice, too.'
'What do you – '
'Watch your back.'
'Oh, right,' I mumbled. 'Sure will – '
'No,' he cut me, 'Really. Get the cowboy to stay with you. Because Robbie is angry with you. You see . . . ' he leaned in, 'He didn't commit suicide.'
My mouth fell open.
Wow.
'Then – '
But he gently pushed me out into the hall, and dematerialized. I knew he was still watching me from somewhere, so he would still be listening, but I wasn't about to should out, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, HE DIDN'T COMMIT SUICIDE, BART?" because that would defeat the purpose of his whispering thing.
So holding onto the darkly papered wall, I made my way back to civilization.
Well, I began to, when Jesse materialized in front of me, smiling.
His smile slid off his face, though, like an egg yolk on a window.
'Susannah? Dios, what happened to you?'
Oh, well that's nice.
Great to know that at times of violence, I still look my best.
- 8 -
Sorry we took so long!
STOP ASKING US WHEN COLE'S COMING. WE HAVE NOT FORGOTTEN ABOUT HIM, OKAY?
Good.
Love ya!
Lolly and Hayles, who are NOW BOTH AT SCHOOL AND CANNOT BE EXPECTED TO UPDATE QUICKLY!
. . . Purple monkey dishwasher . . .