Disclaimer: All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films.

-oOo-

Chapter 2 – Ignored

Casey squirmed in his seat as he chewed on his lip, fighting to send the pain from his wrist away. It had only been a few minutes ago, but the strange, twisted feeling that was lodged in his fingers just wouldn't go away.

Clenching the edge of his desk with trembling fingers, he gently flexed his fingers together into a fist; all the while it felt as if a vice were crushing it from both sides. Through squinted lids and fixed teeth, he looked down at his arm, and saw the pink skin had grown tender and sore, and a small ringed bruise encircled his hand.

"Shit," he cursed silently, removing his watch from his tightened skin. He pulled the sleeve of his sweater down over the blemish to avoid it being seen by anyone. He concentrated hard to focus on anything else but the pain.

Muttered whispers reached his ears and he looked up towards the doorway. Delilah Profitt had just swayed in, her silky, ebony hair tossed neatly over her shoulders and her perfectly manicured nails tapping against the edge of her cellphone. A few of her little friends followed in her shadow, giggling and murmuring to themselves.

Casey didn't realise he was staring at her until her eyes met his.

Crap, he scolded to himself, quickly darting his gaze away back at the top of the table again. Don't look at her, dammit. Don't look at her...

She's not interested in you. I mean, look at you! You're a dismal little worm who blushes every time a girl smiles at him!

He shut his eyes tightly, trying to block out his insulting conscience from his own insecurity. His wrist gave another throb of pain and he hissed through his teeth, gripping it tightly with his other hand, his toes curling in his sneakers.

"Fuck," he groaned.

He needed to take his mind off of it. It was starting to become all he could think about. For distraction, he scooped up his bag and began rummaging through it with one hand, leaning down towards the floor without leaving his seat. His fingertips groped the zippers on his bag for a pen.

"Oops!" spat a husky voice sarcastically, as a trainer shot out swiftly and kicked away at Casey's bag, knocking it over to the floor and sending his books to avalanche out of it with a thud.

The class dissolved into giggles and spiteful sneers.

Casey gazed up, his blue eyes filled with the sombre of the situation, his fingers still reaching out blindly for his invisible sack. His vision blurred and finally formed into the disappointing figure of Gabe Santora, his dark eyes gleaming spitefully.

"Ooh, sorry," he shrugged, with a mocking grin splaying across his handsome face. "Naturally clumsy, man. You should watch where you put your bag." He lapped up the attention he was getting from the rest of the class; the chuckling seemed to encourage him even more.

Casey frowned. Bastard.

At least, that's what he wanted to say. But like all of the other times he had wanted to retort back to his tormentors, he found that something held him back from it, and he wound up doing exactly the same thing that Gabe and the other students were expecting him to do:

"S-sorry," he croaked out, getting to his knees and making a start on scooping up his books and papers that were splayed on the floor. "My fault." He grabbed his bag and began stuffing the contents back into it as quickly as he could, wanting to return to his seat before anything else happened.

"What a geek," he heard a girl whisper across the desk.

He couldn't help but let his sight wander onto who had just said those painful words – words that inflicted more harm than bruises or razors ever could – and found himself once more looking into the beautiful, exotic features of her. Her dark hair shaped her expression that was clouded over with a distasteful smirk.

Casey's heart sank down to the soles of his shoes. Delilah...

"Argh!" he gasped out, suddenly reminded of the pressure he was inflicting onto his damaged wrist. It seemed to break him out of his trance and he scurried back to his seat, his face burning like a hot coal.

Who cares? Screw her. You don't need her. She's nothing to you.

His fingertips throbbed in unison with his heartbeat as the pain grew. He pulled his sweat sleeve further down his arm and wrapped it around his hand; perhaps to block out the fact that there was actually something to get worried about. He flinched at the sound of the mocking laughter ringing behind him.

Just go to the nurse, you little prick. You've hurt yourself – tell someone about it! Sitting here wishing for it to go away isn't gonna do shit.

The boy continued to ignore his coincidence, cupping his forehead into the palm of his good hand and groaning. "Oh, God..."

At that point, the door creakingly hinged itself open and the giggling hushed.

"Right. Okay, class," droned John Tate, their History teacher, in his usually lazy, bored voice. "Let's get down to it...although I don't see much point." He picked up the coffee mug on his side-desk and took a long swig from it.

Some of the students rolled their eyes and winked at each other as they watched the man drinking. A few of them even whirled around in their seats and stared at Delilah with knowing looks.

Everyone knew what Mr Tate was really drinking with his black coffee. Dedicated to her position as editor-in-chief for the school paper, Delilah had secretly exposed the teacher's love of alcohol in black and white for the whole of Herrington High to hear about, after a kick root-around in the faculty office a few weeks ago.

Ever since then, whenever the History teacher took a break from talking to take a sip of his brew, the class knew the truth. They knew he had a problem with the occasional beer or two and he couldn't even contain himself for school time, when he had to be focused and give the pupils his full attention.

Casey noticed that he seemed to be broody most of the time, but he couldn't really work out why. Perhaps that was a reason for his desire of alcohol.

He always seems so depressed, Casey pondered with concern. I wonder what's wrong with him?

Oh, and it's not like you're depressed, you little worm. His wrist screamed with agony at the sound of his self-hatred.

"Ow!" Casey hissed, his other hand reaching out in a bad reflex reaction, seizing it tightly and setting his jaw. He hadn't made it to be as loud as it had came out to be. He felt the class's entire gaze bore into him, including the teacher's.

"Mr Connor?" Tate sighed, setting his mug down. "Do you have something you want to share with us?"

"N-no, sir," Casey muttered, his tone tingling with the sparks of a new flash of pain being set in. "No...I'm fine."

Liar.

Mr Tate raised his eyes to the ceiling in exasperation before landing them back onto the fidgeting teenager again. They held a look of ironic disbelief. "You're looking pale, Mr Connor," he pointed out with a raised eyebrow. "If there's something troubling you, perhaps you'd be better seeing the nurse – "

"N-no," Casey broke in, feeling his body grow hot. "No...I don't need – "

"I'll write you a hall pass," continued the sullen teacher, reaching awkwardly behind to rummage through his drawer for a pen. The rest of the class couldn't wipe the smirks off their faces and some of them were spitting crude comments about the boy behind reach of his hearing.

"But...but, sir," protested Casey weakly, flushing with embarrassment. "I'm fine – I...I don't – "

"Take this and go down to Nurse Harper's office, Mr Connor," interrupted the History teacher briskly, shoving it underneath his nose without even listening to what he had to say. "Tell her you've been excused and you need seeing to."

"But I don't!" whined Casey. "I'm okay!"

Some of the students by now were finding it hard to contain themselves.

"No excuses, Mr Connor," replied the teacher in irritation. "Just go before I drag you down there myself."

"But...but, I – sir – !"

"You're trying my patience, Mr Connor."

"Sir – "

In was then that Mr Tate leaned in horribly close, homing in on the young boy's drawn face and glaring flame into his blue eyes. "I'm warning you, now," he whispered, his voice oily and threatening at the same time. "I'm not a happy, singing little lark this morning. I don't want to be here anymore than you do. I've got my own problems too. Now get your weedy little ass to the nurse before I fry it in detention 'till you graduate."

Casey blinked. It was very unlike Mr Tate to pull a burst of steam out into the open, especially out in front of a lesson, no matter how serene it had been. He was always so tied up about himself and his feelings, and as long as he stayed like that, he was content. For a moment, Casey was lost for words, and simply stared at him.

It was only when his wrist bellowed agony at him then he found himself crashing back into hell. "Y...yes, sir." He stammered in a whisper, attempting to get to his feet clumsily and taking the note from him, never letting his eyes stray from those that were glaring.

-oOo-

"Why? Dammit – whyyy...?"

He stared down at the pass in his hand bitterly as he rested his head against the hard wall, staring up at the ceiling. So here he was; outside Nurse Harper's office...why was he here? He had told himself that he didn't want to come, but yet his feet had unwillingly found their way.

Should I go in? I mean...

He stared down at his battered and bruised wrist. The swelling had increased, causing it to look like an inflated balloon. He pulled the sleeve down over it again and breathed through the pain. He was almost starting to get used to it by now.

You're such a wuss, he thought to himself, this time, his own thoughts. Why the hell don't you see the nurse? It's not gonna go away by itself, you moron.

Casey sighed, gazing at the floor below, the wax gleaming under the lights and his reflection shining back at him. Striking him hard in the gut as he stared into the mirrored eyes he remembered –

"Ugh!" he choked out, forcing himself to look away. No! He didn't want to look into those eyes again, and see all of that pain...that hatred...No! It couldn't be allowed...!

"Hello?"

He jumped a little and spun around at the calm, inquiring voice of Nurse Rosa Harper, her brown eyes narrowed in confusion at the sight of him standing there looking clueless. Her long, dark hair was tied back firmly. It matched her stare.

"E – erm..." the boy croaked, pulling the sleeve over his wrist quickly before she could see it. "I...I was just, erm – "

But at these words she rolled her eyes around in exasperation. "Oh, it's you again, Mr Connor," she almost groaned. "What is it this time? Headache? Twitching? Rashy skin?" Casey didn't like the bored tone in her words.

"No," he muttered in embarrassment, starting to turn around, walking back the way he had come from. "J – just forget it, Nurse Harper...I'm okay."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, young man!" she scolded sharply in her Spanish accent. "You're obviously here for a reason. And if you're not..." her lips pursed a little, as if she had been sucking a lemon, and her eyes suddenly grew rather dangerous. "...Then what are you doing out of class?"

Casey swallowed. "I – I have a hall pass – "

"Let me see it," she demanded, holding out her hand.

He fumbled with the slip in his hand and handed it to her, all the while feeling as if his ears were about ready to burst into flame. He bit his lip and stared at the floor as she read over the excuse slip that Mr Tate had written for him.

She frowned. "Why do you need seeing to?" she asked him, looking puzzled.

Casey shrugged, refusing to pry his eyes away from the enticing floor.

Nurse Harper gave him a long, steely glare; the type of glare when you are certain that someone is giving you one without having to look at them. Casey gulped back his words and winced as another small dart of pain cut his wrist.

She sighed in annoyance and reached out for his arm, an almost forceful gleam in her eyes. "Well, Mr Tate must have sent you here for a reason," she muttered rationally. The expression on her face clearly told the teenager that she must be right and that things were going to go her way.

But...I don't want to get seen to! thought Casey frantically. I just want to get back to class; I don't want to go home!

"N – no, Nurse Harper..." he pleaded as she grappled at his sleeve. However, it seemed to fall on deaf ears. "No, please...! I – argh!" His cry escaped him as he felt the nurse's claw-like fingers scrape at his wrist and tightened around it. White-hot pain, like lightning, flashed up and down the limb and he screamed, backing away from her.

She blinked in surprise. "Wha...? Let me see that," she requested, her words a little gentler this time. Her hand reached out again but the lad jerked it away.

"No! No...don't touch..."

"I just want to have a look. Let me see now..." she murmured, as if she were speaking to a young child with a grazed knee. She carefully supported his swollen arm and peeled back the material of his sweater.

Casey clenched his teeth against his gasp of anguish. "Ow..."

"Oh...Jesus," she gasped, shaking her head from side to side, carrying a look of concern. Her sharp eyes inspected the bruised, swollen lump that was hanging from the boy's elbow. It didn't really look too much like an arm anymore; instead it was a deformed mess of what it had been.

Casey looked away.

"It looks like it's sprained," she finally pointed out, a sense of sternness ringing behind her words.

No shit.

She lowered his arm back to his side and drifted that glare along in his direction once again. The look on her face told Casey that she was not happy. The sound of her disappointed sigh drifted along as the only sound surrounding them.

"When did this happen?"

Casey felt very small. He wanted to say...but when he thought of the reaction it would receive he attached his eyes to the walls and would not remove them. He felt tiny droplets of tears build up behind his eyes again.

Oh, that's right. Go ahead and cry. Like you can do anything else.

"Mr Connor?" The stern voice had returned.

He stumbled over the words, trying to insert them into place as best as he could. "This...this morning," he squeaked.

There was a silent pause. For a few seconds it was broken by a gust of exhaled wind from the nurse: it was another one of her belated, mixed-up sighs that Casey was certain they were reserved for him and him alone.

The silence was finally broken after what seemed like forever. "So, you're telling me," she started, wanting to get every word exactly correct. "That your wrist has been in this condition since you got to school this morning...and you didn't tell me of it?"

Casey chewed on his lower lip and yanked the sleeve over his arm, once again concealing it from the world. "Y – yes," he whispered. "That's right."

Another long pause. Casey had never felt more uncomfortable in front of a teacher in a long time. He knew that he had been stupid by not going to the nurse. But at what cause? He was afraid that she would despise him, groan or bash her forehead against the door at seeing him again. He had had visits to her more times in one semester than all of his class had put together for a year.

I guess I'm afraid of what she'll say.

"Well," she finally said, her voice dry and a little closed off. "I don't know what else I can say; except that you have been very stupid."

Casey sighed. "I know."

"You really should be a little more concerned about your health, Mr Connor. No one else is going to wander in your shadow every day, just in case you fall over and hurt yourself."

"I know."

"You should not have been worried about coming to see me. It wasn't going to get better on its own! What exactly were you thinking?"

He shrugged, closing his eyes blearily. "I – I don't know."

"I'm a nurse, Casey. I'm here for a reason."

"I know."

There was another long silence. Nurse Harper stared at the mysterious, pain-staked little boy in front of her, and looked him up and down; from his brushed back chestnut hair to the untied sneakers he dragged upon his feet. He suddenly reminded her of a child: so innocent and pure to the world, who had no recollection of pain or fear or sadness.

She tried to place her words carefully. "Is there something going on, Casey?"

He darted his head up. All at once, his eyes flashed with terror. "What?"

She bit her lip, her mahogany eyes wanting to be anywhere but here right now. She knew all about the bullying he often suffered from the rest of the students in school, and the number of injuries he had to have inspected before he could pick himself back up again. She cocked her head onto one side with an expression full of sympathy as she ran her gaze over his surface.

Pity, more like. She feels sorry for you because you're so fucking pathetic.

He blinked, the tears wanting to make a comeback.

"Did someone do this to you?" There. She had said it.

He swallowed hard. Unwillingly, his voice came out very shaky and wobbly. He sounded as if he were on the verge of a breakdown and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pull himself away. It had him now. It was too late.

"No," he whispered.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded, feeling a small tear roll down the side of his cheek. "Yes." He hoped that she hadn't seen it.

Not one more word was spoken. For now, Casey admitted defeat and allowed the nurse to take him into her first-aid room, to bandage him up once again and be as good as new. To take away the pain and to snap him back into place.

Only, in this case, it would take a lot more than mending a bruised arm to help the young boy.