Fucking Gravity
Chapter 2
Leah Clearwater's eyes find me as soon as she steps through the Chem Lab doors. Her gaze is intense and unwavering, and I wish that she'd go back to not realizing that I exist. It's weird.
She normally sits on the far-left side of the room, closest to the door, while I sit on the far right, closest to the back. The only reason we became lab partners that one time is because everyone else already had someone, and that particular lab supposedly required two people to complete it. I managed on my own just fine.
Instead of sitting at her normal deserted table, she stalks her way to mine and drops her things beside the empty stool.
I stare, wide-eyed (along with everyone else in the room), as she flops down into the normally untaken seat next to me without ever removing her eyes from mine. My pale cheeks betray me as a murmur starts up around the room.
Leah has always kind of been a loner, even after she became a Special seemingly over summer.
"Hi," Leah breathes, sounding almost nervous.
"Can I help you?" I ask, wondering if she actually did know who I was, and just needed help on another lab. I'd do it- just to get her to go away.
Her hands clench again on the table, and I shift away uneasily. It looks like it takes effort for her to relax them again.
"Ah, no, not really. Is this seat taken?" she asks, suddenly unsure, and I decide not to be offended that she didn't seem to know I existed before now. She doesn't appear to pay attention to anything. I wonder if she can name any of our teachers, or five of any of our classmates.
It just makes me wonder even more what she wants from me.
"No," I say simply, and refocus on my notes. She doesn't move to take out any books or even a pencil. Then again, if my teachers gave me a free pass, I might not bother either. Despite my resolve to ignore her, an unfortunate majority of my attention remains focused on the clenching and unclenching of the volatile girl's hands.
Once the teacher starts the lecture, Leah doesn't try starting a conversation again, and only watches as I make a quick escape after the bell.
Kim slumping over my shoulder, as I'm packing up my bag after final bell, is wholly expected. Her question isn't.
"You coming to mine?"
"What?" I turn my head, blinking surprised eyes at my friend. "Really?"
She backs off a bit, enough for me to actually turn to face her. A guilty look paints itself across her face. "I've been a rotten friend lately, haven't I?"
"Of course not," I grouse immediately. We used to spend every single free moment together until she got a boyfriend. Now she spends more than half that time with him. It's understandable. It's not her fault I've formed some kind of unhealthy dependence on her over the years.
"Yes, I have," Kim sigh, mournfully, reaching out to take my hands, and I stare at the color difference between our skin tones. "And I swear I'm going to do better. Come over?"
"Duh," I say, letting my face break into a relieved and happy grin. I was originally just going to do homework in the library, again, until it closed and then go hang out alone on the beach (or inside the diner if it got too cold). Anywhere and anything to keep me from having to go home for as long as possible.
Kim's house feels like home. Her mom always gives me a huge hug no matter how long it's been since she last saw me, and loads our arms full of snacks to eat before dinner, and Kim's bed is the best and most comfortable thing I've ever slept on.
I flop into the obscenely pink quilt, burrowing into the blankets and pillows in reverence. I almost fall asleep right away because of how tired I am (Kim's bed is so much better than the hard, cold, and rain soaked ground), but Kim sits down on the bed beside me and nudges my leg.
I groan miserably before forcing myself into a somewhat upright position. Laying down is a direct path to unconsciousness right now. Even this slumped sitting position is dangerous with how comfortable and safe I feel here in Kim's room.
"So, Leah Clearwater…" Kim starts and trails off in a leading sort of way.
"Yeah, Leah Clearwater," I say, narrowing my eyes at her. "What was up with that? You know I don't want anything to do with the Specials- especially her."
Kim frowns, and I wonder why this is suddenly so important to her.
"They're not… Fay, you really should get to know them. I bet you'd actually really like Leah."
"I did like Leah," I remind her pointedly. "And then she became a Special." While she talked about her hopelessly unrequited crush on Jared Cameron every sleepover, I talked about my even more hopelessly unrequited crush on Leah Clearwater. Those feelings flamed, shriveled up, and died horribly months ago.
"Please don't call them that," she pleads. "They really aren't what everyone thinks."
"Violent and privileged, walking around like they are above everyone else?" I press, raising and eyebrow in challenged. She can't deny it. I've seen it. Witnessed it. Something happens to you when you join the gang. You change physically and mentally. There's so much anger in that group.
There is a pitying look tugging at Kim's lips that I hate. I hate that she keeps trying to defend them- hate that she's so close to the group. It makes me worry that she'll change too, and leave me behind for good.
I slump back down onto the bed, no longer in the mood to hang out.
"I think I'm gonna take a nap," I sigh, sinking into the soft mattress.
"Okay," Kim says quietly, not putting up a fight as my eyelids instantly slide closed.
…
Kim keeps her promise. Three out of five days this week she spends with me and, now that it's Friday (date night), she's off with Jared once again, leaving me with nothing to do.
It's for this reason that I find myself at one of the bonfire parties that happen along the beach every Friday, and most Saturday, nights.
I've been to several these past few months, despite my general dislike towards my classmates and their general indifference/dislike toward me. I'm on my fourth foul tasting beer of the night, huddled close to the fire for extra warmth as the rest of my classmates goof off and socialize.
I like these parties well enough, cause I'm not normally the only pale face. A bunch of kids from Forks come down looking to party and have a general good time. It doesn't make me any less lonely, but I'm mostly left alone except for the occasional tipsy guy trying to come onto me.
I've just poured myself my fifth drink when I see them- the two Specials. Jacob Black's sister, Rachel, hangs from Paul Lahote's arm, and my best friend herself hangs from Jared Cameron's.
Kim spots me as I finish at the keg, and her carefree expression turns to one of confusion.
She whispers something to her boyfriend before making her way over. "Hey, what are you doing here?" she asks, pulling me into a hug. When she pulls away and lets go, I waver slightly, and some pale beer slops over the edge of my cup. "Are you drinking?" her brow furrows.
"Little bit," I admit, giggling.
"How much?" she asks.
"Not a lot," I lie. I'm good at lying. The thought makes me giggle again. The night is better now that Kim is here.
"Maybe we should get you home."
"No," I say sharply, taking a step back, and I waver again. "It's not late enough." I've only been here an hour. I need to hide out at least three more.
"Who are you here with?" she asks, glancing around, and I roll my eyes.
"You're my only friend," I remind her. "I came by myself."
"Alright, well," she glances back toward her special Special, who is waiting oh so patiently for her return. "Now you're with me. Wait here; I'm going to go tell Jared that we will hang out another night."
A victorious feeling singing in my veins before quickly getting chased by guilt.
"Wait," I say, before she can get farther than two steps away. I sigh when she looks back, the picture of concern. She's hardly seen him at all this week. "Stay. I'll- I'll go home. You should stay. With him."
It's painful to get out through the jealousy. He can't possibly need her more than I do. But I can hang out in the diner for a few hours, or take a nice long walk.
Kim's face softens. "Okay," she says, and I hate myself for being disappointed that she agrees. "But we are taking you home first. I don't want you walking alone, and we drove."
My heart sinks and then starts to pound as she makes her way back toward the senior boy. My mind whirls, trying to think of a way to get out of this, but there is no way to back out that Kim will agree with. As she tugs him down so he can hear over the music and laughter, I tilt back my cup and chug the entire thing.
When it's empty, the world starts a slow, sluggish, spin.
Kim starts back over with one hand pulling Jared along. Her other hand latches onto my wrist as she passes, and I stumble after her, too.
Kim climbs into the back seat with me while Jared drives, and it feels so odd to be chauffeured around by the man. He's been dating my best friend for nearly a year, I've known him since elementary school, and I've hardly had a conversation with him (if you don't count me asking to borrow his blue crayon in the first grade).
I roll my eyes when Kim immediately reaches over to help buckle me in before I even get a chance to try.
"I'm not an invalid," I mumble.
"I know," she responds, and it sounds patronizing. I let it go, too tired to argue it further. Nightmares and insomnia are ass to deal with.
The car pulls over after five short minutes, and I glance at the innocent looking, one-story house. I unbuckle and climb out, and the world seems to be spinning even faster than before as my heart pounds and confessions hang heavy on my tongue (but I know better than to say them even in my slightly more than buzzed state).
I glance back at the car, hoping for them to drive off so I can circle around to the back yard to hide for a few hours, but Kim rolls down her window and watches me expectantly.
"Goodnight, Fay," she calls, and I sigh morosely.
"Night," I grunt, and stalk up to my front door. I close it quickly behind me and listen hard in the entryway.
The sound of the television reaches my ears along with a soft snoring. I sigh in relief before bending down to pull off my shoes, intending to sneak past the sleeping man, but my usual coordination fails me. I wobble, tilting sideways, and my arms fling out to catch myself on the wall.
It happens quick- too quick for me to process it happening. My hand reaches out, smacking against the glass bowl that holds my dad's keys and wallet, and then I'm catching myself against the wall as the heavy object shatters on the ground.
I gape disbelievingly, heart pounding.
Fuck.
I hold absolutely still, like I'm staring down a mutant wolf, praying, praying, praying.
The couch springs squeak. "Fay?"
I tremble as the front hall light flicks on.
Shit.
"Dad. Hi. Sorry, it was dark and I was trying not to wake you."
The man my mother married isn't a big man, but he's not a small man either. He's one of the few mechanics around these parts, and even people from Fork come to him for work on their cars. When I was younger and used to hang out around the shop, Jacob Black was usually there, too, asking a million questions of the man who was only all too happy to teach the young boy.
"Are you okay?" he asks, looking down at the colorful sharp pieces.
"Yeah. Fine." I hurriedly put my shoe back on so I don't step on any.
"Come here, let me see," he commands firmly, and I hesitate only a moment before resignedly picking my way over to him.
I wince as he gently grabs my chin, hoping he can't smell my breath as he tilts my head side to side, looking for cuts.
"You been drinking?" He asks, voice calm and questioning.
My hands tremble.
"Yes." I hardly finish the word before he's shoving me to the floor. I gasp as I land right in the glass pile, unable to stop myself from reaching back in an attempt to break my fall. It only serves to have glass cut through the skin on my palms.
A foot snaps out quick, once, and I'm expecting it so it hardly bruises my belly. My forearms take the brunt of the force, and they hurt horribly, but taking it to the unguarded belly hurts worse.
"I'm really disappointed in you Fay," he says earnestly, true displeasure dripping from his lips. "Drinking. What were you thinking?"
I can feel a large hand curling around the fabric of my hoodie, but I remain tucked up in the fetal position, desperately protecting my head as he yanks me through the glass pile and flings me down the hall.
My back collides with the corner to the kitchen, and I can't help gasping and arching away from the pain- arching right into another quick, solid, kick.
I cry out, before gagging and curling back up around the exploding pain that spreads from one point of my stomach to seemingly settle in my spine and all the nerves connecting.
Fuck!
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I gasp. "I wasn't thinking."
Begging helps. Apologizing helps. Not being here helps.
He crouches down by my head (I can hear is knees pop twice each), and reaches out. It's with a gentle hand that brushes back my fringe from my face.
"I know," he says softly, seeming to calm down, and his's tone makes me relax the slightest bit. "I know, and you'll do better next time, right?"
"Yes Sir," I wheeze, squeezing my eyes shut. Next time, I'll crawl through my window.
"Good girl," he leans forward and kisses me on my forehead before standing up (knees cracking twice more). "Now clean up your mess and get to bed."
"Yes Sir," I rasp again, slowly uncurling. It hurts moving. My chest shudders, still trying to draw in a full breath, but my lungs abort before they even get half way inflated.
I shuffle as fast as I can through cleaning up the broken glass, which is more difficult than it should have been because I have to search out the scattered fragments (if I missed one and he stepped on it- this punishment would look like a slap on the wrist).
By the time I've gathered and dumped all the pieces in the bin, I can breathe mostly normal again and my hands have stopped shaking so bad I can hardly hold the broom. I make a hasty break for my room after a soft 'goodnight' to the man who is once again sitting in front of the TV.
I sigh shakily, looking down at the blood streaked and drying on my palms. I fished the biggest pieces out already, but there are a few small bits still stuck under the skin. I use my fingernails to dig them out, which causes them to start weeping red again.
Exhaustion pulls at every fiber in my being, so I let my back slowly slump against the door and let my head tilt back and thump against it, too. My bedroom makes a slow spinning, sluggish, lap in unfocussed dizziness.
A/N: Please let me know what you think!
~Silver~
