Fucking Gravity
Chapter 4
It's Friday and I'm alone again. It's date night, and it's only getting colder outside. I stumble a bit as I heave my camping gear onto my back and shuffle towards the woods. It was ready and waiting just outside my window, and I didn't have anyone watching me to make sure I went inside after the party.
The world spins a bit but the alcohol in my veins makes me feel warmer as I trip over fallen branches and slick leaves. I don't know if it's the booze or the dark making me so off balance but I find my way to my sad little lean-to.
At some point I plan to buy a tent, but the thermal sleeping bag and all-weather bag and jacket seemed more important a purchase.
I quickly fumble with the lean-to, fixing it by feel in the dark before rolling out the ground tarp and sleeping bag. I immediately shuffle down into it, glad that it's not raining this weekend, though if it does precipitate it will likely be snow I'm seeking shelter from. A tent would really make things that much less miserable.
It does end up snowing that weekend- the very early morning Monday, and I have to tromp through a thin layer of the powder to get back to the house.
…
"So, what do you like to do for fun?" Leah asks as soon as she sits down in Chemistry, and I dart my eyes over to her expectant expression. She'd been kind of subdued all last week, but apparently, she's gotten over it.
"Read," I say shortly, hoping she will just leave me alone.
"Is that it?" she asks.
"Yes." It's not. I like music and solving math problems and hanging out with Kim.
"What about camping?" she asks, and it feels like a thousand bugs are dumped down the back of my shirt. I look over towards her sharply, taking in her open, curious, expression.
"No." I say, and turn away.
"Oh," Leah frowns. I can hear it in her voice. The pause stretches a little too long before she's speaking again, seemingly determined to carry the conversation all on her own. "I like to hike a lot. And run. I don't like camping much either, but sometimes I accidentally fall asleep in the woods and don't wake up until morning, so I guess that's technically camping. My brother loves it though."
I sigh softly as she continues on, talking about things that she likes to do. Apparently, she's very nature focused now-a-days.
"So, what kind of books do you like to read?"
"Looks like class is starting," I point toward the teacher who is indeed opening his notes for the lecture. Leah, thankfully, falls silent.
It's the first thing she asks me the next day, though, and I huff as she looks at me so expectantly, like she used to look at her teaches after asking a question in class. It's far from the look of pure rage she wore two weeks ago.
"Look, I don't want to be your friend," I tell her bluntly, and watch her face crumble. It's almost painful to see, so I look away, back toward my open textbook. "Just because you've suddenly found me to be interesting and worth getting to know, doesn't mean you are someone I want to get to know."
I watch her sink lower in her seat from the corner of my eye until she suddenly stands up and leaves the classroom just as the teacher starts to lecture. He doesn't try to stop her from leaving, and no one is surprised.
I think that that might be the end of it, only she's back the next day, sliding into the seat beside me.
"Look, I get that you don't like me," she starts, and I can't help cutting her off with a grumble.
"Apparently you don't."
"It's just- if you got to know me-"
"You are violent, antisocial (possibly in the clinical sense), you don't respect other people's boundaries, and you don't listen when other people tell you they aren't interested. You frankly terrify me, and I don't want to be around you at all, yet you keep sitting next to me and forcing your probing, unwanted, questions on me- all the while I'm waiting for the very moment, the very second, that I can get away from you."
It's harsh. I've never been so mean in my life, but she just sets my teeth on edge and she just won't go away.
She flees the room, entire body trembling, and everyone turns in their seat to stare at me. I burrow my head in my arms, feeling terribly guilty, but also so much lighter.
Leah doesn't show up to school the next day, and the other Specials glare at me with so much hostility during lunch that I decide to skip it and escape to the library. Kim follows, looking torn in two as she does it, but she doesn't try talking to me about the group again. We only argue when we do.
Leah doesn't show up the next day, either, and somehow, I feel like it might be my fault.
Friday comes and goes and I find myself laying on my best friend's bed unable to concentrate on the homework I can usually knock out within an hour.
I glance over at Kim, who is diligently working through her math problems. She's ahead of me in the worksheet. Usually, I beat her by a mile.
"Is Leah okay?" I blurt, suddenly, and Kim jolts, looking up in surprise.
"What?"
I sigh harshly through my nose. "I was trying to get her to leave me alone and I was… brutally candid. Mean. I was mean. And she hasn't been back to school the rest of the week." I bite my lip guiltily. "I just wanted to make sure she was okay."
Kim's face softens. "She's… no, not really. It's complicated. A lot of things are with that group, and it's hard to understand looking in from the outside. But, she'll be okay, Fay. You didn't do anything wrong."
I nod uncertainly, hoping that when she comes back, I haven't made myself a target for her or her pack of wolves' admittedly scary hostilities.
It's with mixed feelings that I see Leah on Monday, and when it comes time for Chemistry, she sits at her old table that's the farthest one away from me. After weeks of her hovering, it's odd and almost liberating to be able to relax again without having what feels like the equivalent of a nuclear bomb in the seat right next to me. The nuclear bomb at my house is daunting enough.
On Wednesday, I come home, sneaking into the house well after dark as I do every school night. It's after 10, which is when my father usually goes to bed, but I freeze just in the doorway to the Livingroom as a lamp flicks on.
My dad is thrown into soft orange light, and under it, his skin looks more burnt than usual.
"Dad," I say, unable to help the waver in my voice. Changes in routine are never a good thing.
He rises from the lounger, slowly and deliberately. "It's late. Where were you, Fay?"
"The library." It's true. Jared had Kim today. Sometimes it feels like I'm one half of divorced parents with joint-custody.
"The library closed an hour ago," he says, and his hands clench. After it closed, I went for a very long walk on the beach. "You know, I heard something very interesting today," he continues, slowly stalking closer. My hand on the backpack strap clenches tightly as he makes a slow circle. "Mrs. Connweller came into the shop today, and she said the strangest thing. Do you know what she said?"
The lump in my throat won't let me swallow. "What?"
"She expressed her regret that you haven't been able to do your weekend sleepovers with Kim as much as you used to. So, then I thought: my daughter was gone this past weekend. Every weekend in fact- just like always." He stops back in front of me, and I flinch as he grabs my chin in a familiar tight grip. "So where have you been, Fay, if you weren't at Mrs. Connweller's?"
"I don't- I'm not-" my thoughts scatter in fear.
His grip tightens with my inability to articulate. "Were you with a boy? Have you been spending your nights, laughing at my foolish trust in you, with your filthy, lying, lips wrapped around some boy's dick?"
"No!" I gasp, panicked at his festering anger. Pain explodes like fireworks across my lips, and it's so blinding that I don't realize I've hit the floor until the hard toe of a boot is driven into my ribs, too. Whatever sound I might have given is sucked from my lungs as I look up with wide eyes at my step-father's looming form.
"Liar!" he accuses loudly. "How can I believe a single word that comes out of that disgusting mouth!?" He strikes out with his fist again, and the blow is so hard and unexpected that my arm collapses underneath me and my head rebounds off the wooden floor.
He hardly ever strikes me in the face. I can count the number of times on one hand- it's too hard to hide. He's really, really, mad.
He doesn't give me a chance to gather my bearings again- he starts lashing out wildly and angrily, and I instinctively raise my arms to block my head even as I'm still reeling from the blow to my face.
Fists and feet rain down on me- on my shoulders, across my back- anywhere that I can't protect with my arms. When I feel a lancing, consuming, heat, and hear the click in my forearm, I scream and pull it protectively into my chest. I don't care if he goes after my head anymore- as long as he doesn't hit my arm again.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I sob loudly, hoping my apologies will break through his raging haze. "You're right- I was bad- I'm sorry!"
The beating stops suddenly, but the pain doesn't. "God, I'm sorry!" I gasp into the ground again, unable to stop the snot and tears and bloody drool from making the hardwood floor slick under my cheek.
There is a heavy sigh from the man looming over me. His knees protest as he crouches, like they always do. "Look what you made me do," he says softly, sounding so tired and regretful. I flinch as he reaches out to gently brush my hair from my face. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to realize that I don't know where my daughter has been? That she's a filthy whore? Go to bed, Fay." He straightens up, and I try. I try to move, try to climb to my feet, but pain lances my body in one continuous bruise and I just end up crying harder. Even that hurts, every time my shoulders shudder.
My step-father watches wearily before sighing and reaching out.
He's strong enough to scoop me up into his arms and cradle me to his chest as he carries me to my room.
"My poor little lost fairy. What have you done to yourself?" he murmurs, gently laying me out on my bed. I hate it when he gets all soft after a punishment. He catches sight of my arm, swollen to twice its size, and shakes his head before going to the drawer I keep medical supplies and pulls out the arm brace I kept from last time.
He's only broke one of my limbs once before- over three years ago. Actually, it was the last time he went off like this, when my teacher called home in concern when I completely bombed a test. It wasn't that I didn't know the answers- I was just so tired that I fell asleep during the middle of it.
I ended up missing school the next day to 'catch up on sleep' and my teacher let me retake it the day after.
"I'm sorry," I rasp again, and it's hard to talk around my swollen lips- both of them were split and it feels like I'm trying to talk around cotton.
"I know," he reassures, finishing fastening the brace. The throbbing in my forearm is almost worse than the last time I broke it. It's the same arm. He brushes a hand over my hair one last time before getting ready to leave. "I'll call into the school and let them know you're sick the rest of the week, and I think you better stay home this weekend."
I don't protest, even though it really was supposed to be a Kim weekend.
I burst into fresh tears as soon as he closes the door to my bedroom, feeling sorely sorry for myself. I hate him. I hate him so much. I wish he and mom never met... I wish he was dead. Or maybe that I was.
Sleep is fitful and in short bursts at best. It seems like every time I'm about to drift off, my arm or some other body part twinges and painfully drags me back into wakefulness. It's a long night. Most nights are.
In the morning, my father peeks into the room and drops off a bottle of Tylenol before leaving for work, and I eagerly down four.
By noon, I've taken four more and manage to drag myself out of bed and to the kitchen. It's grueling work, but by the time I get there, I'm nauseous from pain and no longer hungry, so I just grab all of the ice packs in the freezer and go back to bed.
My phone buzzes and buzzes, but I ignore it. I don't want to talk to Kim right now. I can't trust myself not to slur past my bloated mouth. Around when school lets out, there is knocking on the door, but I ignore that too because I'm finally drifting in and out of sleep.
Dad gets home at six and peeks in at me with a plate of pizza.
"There's my fairy. How are you feeling?" He puts the pizza down on the bedside table. Next to the Tylenol and empty water glass.
"Better," I lie. It always hurts worse the first day after a beating, and I think I might have overdosed on pain meds again. I feel a bit loopy.
"That's my girl," he ruffles my hair before leaving.
By Monday, it only takes thirty seconds to be able to climb out of bed for school. Luckily, mouth injuries heal quickly, and my split lips could have passed for healed yesterday, even if they might still be slightly puffy. For the bruises on my face, I have to gently dab concealer along my jaw and temple. The other injuries can be covered easily by clothes, except the arm. There is no hiding that.
I get to school with plenty of time to spare with how much cushion time I gave myself. With bruised (maybe broken) ribs, I wasn't sure how long it would take to put my shirt on let alone how many times I'd need to stop and rest on the walk there.
Kim spots me almost immediately from where she is over by the doors and rushes forward.
"Don't jump on me, I'm injured!" I say, quickly thrusting my braced arm out into view and effectively halting her launch.
She stops short, staring dumbfoundedly at my arm.
"What did you do?! I thought you said you were sick?"
"Apparently, deliriously uncoordinatedly sick," I shrug weakly. "Tripped over my bag on the way to the bathroom and landed right on it. I think it broke in the same spot as last time."
"Ah man, that sucks!" she grouses sympathetically.
"Yeah, it does," I have to stop myself from deadpanning.
"Anyway," she says, snatching up my uninjured hand to drag me into the school. I wince at her fast pace, trying not to show my discomfort even though she isn't even looking back at me. "Since we missed this weekend, we'll just have to do our sleepover this coming weekend to compensate."
"Sounds good," I sigh, wondering if my father will believe me when I tell him that it really is a sleepover with Kim and not some imaginary guy I'm doing sexual favors for.
A/N: Hmmm. I did not intend for you guys to dislike Kim, but it's interesting seeing your guys' take on it. And yes- Leah will have to work hard. Sigh. Poor Leah. She'll figure it out eventually.
~Silver~
