Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

Title: Violence Recovery

Author: Buttons14

Genre: Drama

Rating: M (subject to change)

Blue eyes, they're so alive
All the tears in my eyes, someone better say it's a dream—King Diamond, Blue Eyes

Chapter 13—Sapphy

Class is always quiet. The only person who speaks is Mr. Seitz and occasionally one of us, if he asks us to. Otherwise it's just the sound of scratching pens, shuffling seats and chalk on chalkboard.

I have noticed that I refer to Denton, Medda, Mr. Seitz, Jack and, Skittery as 'them', whereas everyone else is 'us'. I'm not sure why I make this differentia. It's not like they treat us any differently. Maybe it's because the 'us's are closer to each other.

As I look around class I don't think we're the same type of close that people find. We are all very different. Racetrack in his mismatched clothing, Crutchy, his leg propped up on a chair and his ever-present grin, Boots, tired looking as always, Blink's hair is ruffled, pointing in two directions around the strap that circles his head, David: alert and attentive, his clothing pressed and perfect. We aren't lifelong friends close. Or up-all-night-telling-jokes close. It's a strange close. It's the way we barely trust each other, but we're willing to divulge out deepest, darkest secrets. Anything to relate.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I do my homework in the living room. Homework is algebra and science today. I am not exceptionally good at either of them. I understand the concept of algebra: discovering an unknown, but this doesn't help me to the actual work. I can hardly remember is three times seven is thirty-five or forty.

Finding an unknown. I am afraid of the unknown. Algebra is a bad idea.

Science is biology. The structure, function, growth, origin, evolution, and distribution of living organisms. The creation and execution of life. Chromosomes, atoms and molecules: things that I'm made of. Blood, bone and flesh. I think it is ironic, learning about life when I already know so much about death.

Mr. Seitz wants us to answer questions on mitosis and regeneration. Splitting and becoming. The creation of a counterpart; a new being.

I'm not good at math or science. I'm not logical-mathematical at all. I think that there's so much meaning to a simple question when the answer is just an unknown or 'creation'.

0o0o0o0o0o0

It is early evening. I have a headache. It is gathered in knotted pain between my eyebrows and right behind my ears. I press my forehead against the cold glass of my bedroom window. I stare out the window to the ground below. My eyelashes brush against the pane, droplets of condensation growing on the tips of them.

It is snowing outside. It is a light, wafting sort of snowfall, the kind of snowfall that makes you want to run around and catch snowflakes on your tongue. There is no one outside so the snow falls serenely, slowly blanketing the yard. It is completely undisturbed, but still it falls unevenly.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Through the kitchen window I can see the backyard. The snow has fallen thick on the ground now. It is a huge contrast: white ground on black sky. The snow seems to have muted everything. Even the bright city lights go unnoticed, at least, in our backyard.

There is only one light on in the kitchen. It is soft around the edges, giving no definite end of light, though the corners are still hidden in shadow. I am sitting at the kitchen table, across from Sapphy. My algebra homework is spread out around me and I pound furiously on my calculator; Sapphy scribbles steadily in her notebook.

It is quiet. Every so often Sapphy sniffs and pauses to read what she has written. She is wearing a blue sweater. Sapphire blue, just like her eyes.

But her eyes are hidden now. They are downcast, darting back and forth, across her words. I bet Race loves Sapphy's eyes.

She sighs and massages her forehead; I watch from the corner of my eye. She shuts her notebook and peers at me over her glasses. I get back to pounding on my calculator.

"Need help?" she asks.

I pause, my finger lingering above the '6'. I nod.

"Don't use the calculator; it's confusing. Work out everything on paper so you can see where you go wrong." Her voice is smooth and patient. I turn the calculator off. "You want to isolate the variable," she tells me in the same smooth voice. "Put all the numbers on one side of the equation by switching the sign when you pass the equals sign." She points at numbers and lets me work out how they should all come together.

"Thanks," I mumble, writing in the numbers with thick pencil lines.

"Think of the equals sign like a wall. When it's passed…everything changes." She blinks. Her eyes look larger behind her glasses. They look even bluer than before.

Sapphy swallows and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. In the dim light her skin is soft and white. There are transparent freckles riding the bridge of her nose. She sniffs again, bringing a wrinkle to her nose before releasing and letting it go smooth again.

I work on the next question. Sapphy is quiet, except for her soft breathing. She checks my work when I'm done. Tears pool along the bottom of her eye, making the eyeball look swollen and the pupil look larger and darker.

"Are…are you OK?" I ask.

Sapphy looks surprised. She shuts her eyes. When she opens them the tears are gone.

"I think you can handle the rest of this by yourself," she says, her voice defensive and firm. "Goodnight." She stands up and leaves the kitchen.

The oven clock reads one-thirty in the morning.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I don't end up sleeping at all. I keep myself awake with instant coffee mix and hot tap water. I sit on my bed and twist my dreadlocks around my fingers. Blink snores softly beside me, a pile of tissue littering the floor by his bed. There is no sound in the house except the creaking of the walls and the occasional gust of wind against the window panes.

My headache is still present. It has turned into a loud, pounding migraine. It screams in my brain, not allowing it to stay on one topic of thought for too long. Our window is coated in a thin layer of ice on the outside. It makes outside look distorted and curvy. The streetlamp's beam is dispersed around the room, filling it with an eerie yellow glow. I smell like coffee and soap.

Blink's eye patch slips up, over his forehead. His eye underneath is non-existent. The only thing there is a shiny red and purple scar.

The house is still.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I hand my homework to Mr. Seitz. He looks cheerful. I have purple bags under my eyes. I have shoved a hat over my hair, which is standing on end. Mr. Seitz doesn't ask me to remove it, unlike regular school. He sees it and chuckles.

Boots is sitting beside me. There is blue-black stubble growing on his chin. He looks tired too. David's button-up shirt is untucked in two places. I wonder if he knows.

Mr. Seitz is writing on the chalkboard. He is talking about Shakespeare and Twelfth Night, his personal favourite. He draws a chart on the board and taps his piece of chalk beside it swiftly, to get our attention. It leaves a small chalk mark. Miniscule and circular. Mr. Seitz hands out copies of Twelfth Night.

My mind wanders. Looking at Racetrack sends my mind astray to Sapphy. What didn't she want to talk about?

0o0o0o0o0o0

I help Medda set the table for lunch. We are having sandwiches: cucumber and turkey. Sapphy and Charley appear in the doorway. Sapphy takes spoons for the soup and Charley takes the cups. Sapphy falls in beside me.

"Listen," she says, her voice soft and patient like it was last night. "I don't want to talk about it, OK? Ele told me about talking to you. I have accepted everything and I want to move on with it. My family loves me, but they understand what I have to do. I haven't even told Racetrack."

I can see Charley peering at us curiously over the table.

I look at Sapphy. She looks sad and distressed. I nod. "OK. If that's what you want."

I set down the last plate. Medda brings out a platter of sandwiches. The room fills.

End Chapter

Wow! She didn't tell Spot her story! Isn't that amazing? Please review! I will try my darndest to update by next week!

Shoutouts:

Erin Go Bragh—A girl on my soccer team planted the whole naked-50-year-old-in-your-hotel-bed thing in my head. Sorry, I had to pass on the joy.

Yeah, they took down Travelin' Soldier. It made me really upset. It's on my old computer, so I don't even have the file anymore! But we can't kill because without it, where would we post our fantabulous fictions?

I like the mornings. I also like the cold. I'm weird like that. However, my favourite season is fall. I don't like drugs or drinking either. I had champagne at New Years with my friends and I felt funny afterwards. And champagne doesn't taste that good anyways. We have a Goodwill and Salvation Army practically right next to each other (OK, a ten minute walk), but I found a Hotel California record for a dollar (Canadian) at Salvation Army, so it's good in my books right now.

C.M. Higgins—Let's all hope that I don't take your idea and make it a reality. I don't think it would be a happy moment, Skittery dying and all. Sorry to take so long with this!

Margie Driscoll—Actually, you can complain about my lack of updating. You should. And send me angry emails so that I update sooner. I am such a procrastinator.

Coin—We all feel bad for Skittery. I'm just happy my little sister and I get along.

Shooter O'Brien—It's OK that you forgot. As long as you got caught up! Thanks!

Aw! Don't cry! (Tom!Muse hands Shooter a box of tissues) And don't work, Crutchy snoring is funny…well, because it's Crutchy! I hope you did well at softball!

Kid Blink's Dreamer—Yes. Updatedness is goodiness.