Disclaimer: All characters recognized in the Faculty movie are under copyright of Robert Rodriguez and Dimension Films. Casey's mother was given a name by me as I believe it is not credited anywhere.

-oOo-

Chapter 6 – Mistrusted

An hour had passed since the last time that Casey had spoken to his mother. He was still feeling sore about the whole situation, but, somewhere inside of him, he was beginning to heal himself after the little session of counselling that had been happening inside of his mind.

He didn't tell Grace what he had just told himself. No...it was for his ears only – no one else. They just wouldn't understand, Casey admitted, casting his blue irises into the backs of the nurse's heads, wondering how long he was actually going to be in this hospital.

No one ever understands.

He stole a fleeting glance at the digital watch that ticked inconsistently at the base of his good wrist. It was almost two in the afternoon, and the faint gleam of the Ohio sunshine was beginning to dim a little, diminishing the glare of heat. However, this only made him feel a little worse, and somewhat dark inside.

Perhaps it was the ever-building sense of dread buried deep in his stomach. The knowing that he would have to go home and tell this to his parents made him shudder, just at the mere thought of it. He didn't want to tell his mother again, and as for his father...

God knows whatthe hell he will do.

Besides, there was not much more that he could do now, except wait for his parents to come and collect him – drive him straight home to a court jury, more like. He didn't wish to be crucified in such a way, but at present, there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening.

I can't really stay here in the hospital for the rest of my fucking life, he thought sullenly, flinching as he blinked through his bruised eye. His wrist let off a small twinge again and he hissed in pain, supporting it.

He turned his head slowly – reluctantly – and gazed at Grace out of the corner of his vision. There she sat, tapping her flat shoe against the ceramic floor with her arms crossed over her chest. The boy also noticed that she was chewing on the skin of her lips, and playing with small strands of her hair; twisting it around her soft fingertips.

Wait a moment, thought Casey viciously, quickly snapping himself away and staring straight ahead – at anywhere, except at her. I'm still angry at her. Why should I feel bad about the way that she's treating me now? What about the way she made me feel earlier? This was all her fault, after all.

Right?

He opened his mouth, about to say something, but then decided against it – especially when she gave off an aggravated groan just at that moment. Casey could tell that she was getting rather impatient, and seemed to be waiting for something.

But...I know what I'm waiting for, he thought, puzzled for the first time that afternoon. Why is she still here? Is she waiting for someone too? Who is it? Why hasn't she gone home yet? She can't still be waiting for me, can she?

There were so many questions that he wanted answers to, but somehow, he knew that he wouldn't get them from this girl. For all he knew, she would just sit there on her bottom for the rest of the week, without saying a single word to anyone. She would just gaze longingly out of the window with foggy eyes, and chew on her nails so frequently that eventually she would have no fingers at all.

Stupid bitch, thought Casey, with a roll of his eyes.

-oOo-

Casey could still remember the humming noise of the lights and fans overhead as his parents had marched into the hospital, like a pair of World War II soldiers that had just spotted a snitch whilst on patrol. He saw the grave, demanding gleam in his father's pupils, and it made him wish to dash to the nearest cubicle and empty his body of all the sickness.

Lorraine Connor made it over to him first, wishing to have a word with him whilst his father took over the enthralling task of filling in visiting forms and notes of confirmation that their son had just received treatment at the ward.

"Oh, Casey," she sighed, sounding rather disappointed, when she spotted the sling hanging across his hunched shoulder. "Look at your arm..."

He didn't reply. Instead, he simply sat there and felt the sting of her words strike his heart. She doesn't feel sorry for me, or want to make it all better, like other moms' would, he thought, sighing despondently. She just sounds ashamed of me. He lowered his head and let his eyes bore through his jeans.

"Hi, Mom," he murmured, his voice cracking.

"Look at this thing!" she continued, prodding the thick, plastered cast with narrowed eyebrows. "Goodness, Casey – whatever did you do to yourself? Look at your eye and your lip! You're covered in bruises...all of this from falling down a few bleachers?"

He recognised the unsure sound in her tone of voice, and frowned inside. Fuck you, Mom, he growled to himself. You still don't believe me. You come all this way to collect me, and you still think that a couple of those dickheads beat me up. You still think that I'm lying to you.

Fuck you.

"It's just what happened," he sighed angrily, wanting his voice to appear fierce in her ears, but instead it crackled and broke in his own. He shuddered, ashamed. He flexed the fingers that poked out of the end of his splintered wrist and flinched from the pain.

"I called your school and they told me what had happened," she added, in a tight, emotionless voice. Her soft grey eyes burned into his as she stared at him; so seriously. "As soon as you rang...I wanted – "

"You called the school?" Casey couldn't believe what he was hearing! There he had been, informing his mother of the whole accident, and then, despite he had told her the truth, she had called the school anyway to find out what had happened!

Doesn't she believe me at all? he thought bitterly, a white-hot fury welding between his ears. Why would she call up the school – and behind my back as well!

"Well, I had to, Casey," she replied, still in that same, stone-filled voice. "Nurse Harper told me that you said you had fallen down the bleachers. I can't believe that..." – and here, she screwed up her nose a little as she gazed at her son's injury – "this...was because of one little fall."

Casey felt his whole body rush cold with anger. He stared at her with his piercing blue eyes, and shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Why don't you believe me?" he asked quietly.

"You've lied before –"

"I'm not now!"

"What's going on?" came Frank Connor's voice, his glinting eyes attracting the ones of his family when he made his way over to the two of them, demanding an answer just by his presence.

Casey turned away, grinding his teeth. "N-nothing, Dad. Hi."

Frank stole a fleeting glance at his son's injury before glancing into his face; turned away towards the wall. "That looks nasty, son," he included, his voice a reflection of the boy's mother, in that same cold, blank tone.

Doesn't he believe me either? he wondered, feeling very ignored. He didn't ask that. He knew that if he questioned his father about anything, it would turn ugly for his part.

Instead, he simply remained quiet, listening to the humming in his ears. This was torture. He wanted to leave – leave the eyes and questions of his parents and just go home, hide under the soft covers of his bed and just fall asleep forever.

Where the fuck is Grace?

It suddenly dawned on him that she had vanished again, just like that. He didn't know whether to sigh in relief or to scream out loud in frustration. At least she couldn't be here for a subject to the obvious questions his mother would ask, but...yet...

She could have said goodbye, he thought bitterly, Spiteful bitch.

"Does it still hurt you, Casey?" Lorraine asked quietly, trying to stare into his eyes.

He shrugged, staring at his hands. One of them had a purple bruise the size of a grape on the back of it. He couldn't remember how it had gotten there. "Not really," he replied, "only when I move it."

"What were you doing on the bleachers anyway, son?" came his father's voice, cold and metallic, as always. Sometimes Casey would pray that just once – just once, his father would speak to him gently...in a voice that commanded welcome instead of shame.

Casey didn't look at him. "Eating my lunch," he mumbled.

"What?" came the reply, in a tone brimming with annoyance. "Speak up when you're talking to me son – and look at me."

The boy sighed. His father always persisted in doing this to him. If he didn't speak his words as if he were talking through a megaphone, he was told off for saying things "too quietly". He closed his eyes and repeated himself:

"I was eating my lunch, Dad."

"On the bleachers?" he said sceptically, his eyes boring into the top of his son's head. "Don't they have a cafeteria for that?"

"It was full," Casey lied.

His father nodded slowly, not sure whether to believe him or not. He held his breath and kept darting impatient glares at the receptionists, who were still sorting out his son's files and checking to see if he would be allowed to go home yet, or not.

"Well, it doesn't matter how it happened," broke in Lorraine, still with that doubtful voice that made Casey want to run out of the door. "The fact is: it's happened." She shot a sideways glance at her son, her lips pursed together a little. "Do you suppose staying off school might –?"

"Oh, Christ's sake, Lorraine," scoffed Frank, rolling his dark eyes, before Casey had a chance to say anything. "You'd keep him off school if he'd pricked his finger."

"He's broken his wrist," she replied icily, rummaging through her bag for something.

Frank folded his arms, looking at his son's cast, strapped over his left arm from all sides, as if inspecting it. He glared at his wife, who was still pulling out crumpled tissues and cough sweet wrappers from her handbag.

"You're right handed, aren't you, son?" she said quietly, staring directly into Casey's eyes, demanding a response.

"Yeah," the boy whispered dully.

"See? I don't see the problem."

Lorraine sighed, finally yanking out her coral lipstick and proceeding to apply it, all the while shaking her head a little in disagreement. "You can be so cold, sometimes, Frank –"

"He can't afford to miss school, Lorraine," he argued, his voice becoming a little harsher at that point, as if to say that the discussion was finished.

A rather uncomfortable silence ensued afterwards. Casey's father returned to the main entrance desk again with a sigh of frustration, to demand where his return papers were. Lorraine became unusually engrossed in her address book, looking everywhere around the hospital room except at her son.

Inside, Casey felt hollow and empty. A sinking feeling enveloped around his heart and pulled it under a tide of despair. For a moment there, he would have possibly had some time away from school – away from them. He could stay at home and study; perfectly safe. He would have been safe. He sighed in disappointment and tapped his sneaker on the floor.

His mother broke the silence all of a sudden, snapping her handbag shut with a click, turning to gaze at him. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask you, honey," she said cheerfully. "Where's this 'Grace' girl that you keep telling me about?"

Casey frowned. What the fuck? What is she talking about now?

He looked at her as if she were mad. "I don't keep telling you about her," he replied coldly.

"Oh, yes, you do," she contradicted with a small laugh, squeezing his shoulder, suddenly all over-proud and leaping over-the-moon. "You told me on the phone, remember? You told me how much you liked her."

"I don't like her."

He hoped that that comment would put an end to it, but it didn't. Instead, Lorraine chuckled dryly, spinning around in her seat, but throwing a sly glance at her son every now and again. "Well, love, that's what I used to say about your father. Then look what happened."

Casey let his head fall back against the wall with a bump, casting his eyes upward. God...help me. Get me out of here, now. Please...no more of this. No more problems.

"Hey, Casey," came Grace's small voice, appearing from around the corner, her dark hair hanging around her face. "You still here?"

Oh, shit. He felt his eyes widening at her appearance, all possible varieties of horror slapping him in the face. His teeth clenched and he scrambled to his feet, stumbling out of the chair.

"What are you doing here!" he hissed, pulling her aside. "I thought you'd gone home!"

She sneered at him. "I was just about to say the same thing."

"Look," Casey sighed, glancing back at his parents, who had suddenly caught his attention. "You can't stay here. You should just go – my parents are here, and I don't want them meeting you."

She sighed exasperatingly, but Casey saw a glint of hurt flash through her brown eyes. "Why not?"

"I-it's complicated," he stammered, grabbing the sleeve of her jacket in his good hand and attempting to pull her away from the watchful eyes of his mother, who seemed to be intrigued by what was going on. He thought that he would die and sink into the hard floor when he heard her voice:

"Casey? Who's this?"

Great, he thought angrily, fucking brilliant. He groaned, looking back at her and shaking his head. "No one, Mom," he mumbled.

However, it did no good. His mother had leapt out of her seat and made her way over to the two of them, ignoring the creeping blush billowing across her son's cheeks, and peering mysteriously at the young girl, who smiled pleasantly at the woman.

"Hello," Lorraine greeted warmly, returning the smile towards Grace. "I don't think we've met. Are you friends with Casey?"

Grace opened her mouth to respond, but then froze. She listened to the woman's words, over and over again in her head, trying to come up with an answer. Am I friends with Casey? Am I friends with Casey?

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, looking up and down his pink cheeks and his closed eyes. He seemed as if he wanted to collapse and be wheeled into the next emergency ward. He looked so embarrassed...what would he want her to say?

Am I friends with Casey? Is he friends with me?

"I wish I'd never met you."

"I-I...know him from Herrington," she finally said slowly. She did not want to give a definite 'yes' or 'no', and she heard Casey sigh next to her. Whether it was from relief or disappointment – she couldn't tell. She laughed nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm Grace."

Casey felt his world crashing around. Shit.

"Oh, so you're Grace," Lorraine Connor smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Casey's told me all about you."

The boy's face paled. "Mom –!"

"Did you come along with him to the hospital?" continued Lorraine, ignoring Casey's pleas and grinning at Grace, who looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but now – even in one of Mr Furlong's science tests.

She managed to urge her neck to move, nodding up and down. "Yeah," she said carefully. "I...I volunteered to go. I was with him when it happened, anyway. I guess...I felt responsible, in a way."

Yeah, because it was your fault, Casey snapped inside.

His mother's face beamed with appraisal. "Well, it was very sweet of you to come with him," she said, squeezing Casey's arm. "but I'm sure it couldn't have been your fault, dear."

Casey looked away. Wanna bet?

"Well," answered Grace, giggling uneasily and absently twiddling with her fingers. "I just came to say goodbye to him...since I guessed he might be going home soon, and all."

Lorraine's grey eyes lit up with a sparkle, and she turned to Casey, trying not to make her enthusiasm seem obvious. "Oh, isn't that nice of her, honey?" she cooed, unable to wipe a pert smile from her face.

Casey could not answer. Instead, he nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor. He just wanted to go home! Why was his mother still standing there, humiliating him like this?

"Can we go now, Mom?" he asked in a tiny voice.

Grace, however, heard him, and seemed to get the message. She was making things worse by standing here, and she was obviously making Casey feel uncomfortable. She was even ready to admit that she wanted to leave, too.

"I, erm...I'd better be going, then," she spoke up, making her way towards the door. But before she did, she turned around, staring directly into Casey's shining blue eyes, wondering what to say next.

Would he want me to be friends with him? Would he?

"'Bye, Casey," she said quietly, seeing him lift his head up in surprise.

She actually said goodbye? She wanted to say goodbye? To me?

Grace stood there for a while, staring into the deep pools of his soul, struggling to find those messages again...those messages that held his inner feelings without him wanting anyone knowing.

What's happening here?

Why do I feel so strange? Why?

Could this be what friendship feels like?

Why do I feel so...so bad?

Perhaps because it will all be lost soon...all be lost...

She shook her head to herself as she stepped out of the door, thinking hard as to what Casey might have meant. She shivered against the chill breeze, worried about the boy.

What will be lost soon? she wondered. What did he mean by that?

She couldn't even tell if she wanted to know or not.