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

-oOo-

Chapter 9 – Abused

That night, Casey tried to go to sleep early, but as usual it didn't do him the slightest bit of good. Perhaps he was suffering from a very mild case of insomnia, and could only drift off to sleep in the early mornings.

Lucky me, he thought with sarcasm. That's all I need when I need to get up for school at the break of fucking dawn.

Perhaps it was because he had been having a lot of problems on his mind lately; what with his wrist, his parents constantly smothering him, and now Grace. All of these things were happening far too close together, and he must be losing sleep over all of it. The only real thing that seemed to help him pass the time was surfing the net, or doing some homework. He was fortunate that Herrington gave their students so much, or else he would be stumped for activity.

No matter how much he tried to focus on his English assignment, he just couldn't concentrate on anything else but Grace and that loser, huddled together in that corridor, thinking that Casey wasn't watching.

It was a wonder that they could even breathe, he thought spitefully, scribbling furiously in his file. They were that close together, I thought that they would emerge together and become one, big, fucking mistake.

Wow, someone's pissed. The thoughts returned, but this time, it felt that Casey was in control of this one.

I am pissed, he realised, chewing on the cap of his biro. But why?

He couldn't be jealous – not about this. Why would he need to be? Why did he care how that Grace presented herself? He didn't even give a shit about her, or what she did, or what she would ever do in the future. He hated her! And as for that guy she was with, why should he be jealous of him? He was obviously a jerk, screwing around and wasting his time just like all the other "guys". Why should he be jealous of that?

Perhaps it was attention seeking. The idea crossed his mind as he continued with his work, considering the suggestion. Perhaps, now that he didn't need any help with his wrist any more, she wasn't interested in helping him anymore. Besides, after all of the times he had brushed her aside; giving her the cold shoulder, it was unlikely that she would carry on helping him.

Why do I always push people away from me? he thought bitterly, sighing and glancing at the scar on his arm, the remaining scab flaking away every night. What would she think if she saw this? What would she think of me?

The fleeting idea of cutting himself again transported across his brain for a few seconds. If he wanted Grace to see that he was still upset – still in pain – and angry about what he had seen her doing, why shouldn't he do it again, to get her attention?

N...no, he admitted, disappointment plummeting through his body and resting in his toes. No. I can't do that. I don't think that I could ever do that again to myself...it hurts too much...

Why am I so fucking jealous?

It was so frustrating. He slammed his pen down onto his sheets and buried his face in his arms, groaning. Sitting here thinking about it wasn't going to do any good. If his mind rested, he might not think of Grace so much, and the whole problem would mean nothing in the morning.

He crawled under his duvet and snuggled into his pillows, managing to find a comfortable spot where it didn't aggravate his wrist so much. He set his alarm and closed his eyes, but all that he could see was the disgusting eggshell green walls of Herrington High, the concaved, metal lockers littering the hallways, crammed with books and all kinds of stuff students brought to school, to hide away from eagle-eyed parents at home.

He saw soft, brown locks and smelt the smell of strawberries. Soft, angelic giggles floated on the breeze and male laughter echoed along with it. He saw dark eyes mingling together and sparks being formed, bringing gentle sighs and unspoken words.

He moaned and rolled over.

I'm so screwed up.

-oOo-

The rest of the week came and went. Casey didn't see Grace at all in the corridors – not even in science class. Why did it feel as if she was avoiding him all of a sudden? Did he do anything wrong? He cast his mind back as far as it would go, trying to remind himself of the last thing that he said to her.

That's right, he thought. That phone conversation...when she woke me up...she said to me:

"Sorry if I wasted my concern on you, or anything..."

His heart sank. No wonder she didn't want to talk to him, or see him anymore. He was always so ungrateful from her aid, pushing her away, that she must have given up on him. She must have decided that he wasn't worth her trouble anymore, and she shouldn't waste her time.

"Ohhh..." the boy moaned miserably, flopping down in his bed, noticing the gloomy sky hovering over the roofs of the street houses outside. Somehow, this solution hurt more than the self-inflicted injury he had done days ago. Hell, it even felt worse than his wrist being snapped in two like a pencil.

Saturdays always marked the excitement of the week, when school had finished and it was time to relax, meet friends, watch television – or whatever kids did to entertain themselves. Casey could only imagine what some people would do for fun. He sighed and drummed his fingers on his knee, staring at the ceiling.

He heard a knock on the door. "Casey?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"Are you awake?"

He rolled his blue eyes into the back of his head and slammed his pillow over his face. Geez, Mom, don't you think that I would be awake if I answered? Sometimes his parents could be so retarded. "Yes."

"Good," said Lorraine, in a scarily perky tone. "Me and your father are going out to do some grocery shopping, and then probably eat out afterwards. Will you be all right fixing yourself something?"

Fix myself something? the boy scoffed inside. You just said this very second that there was no food in the house.

"Sure, Mom," he sighed, rolling over again and staring at the wall, his sight dancing over the photographs of Delilah's perfect charcoal complexion.

"Positive?"

"Yes."

"Okay, honey, we shouldn't be too long. I've taken my cell phone with me, just in case you need to contact me. Oh – and if you go out anywhere, don't forget to take the spare key, so you don't lock yourself out."

"Okay," he agreed, sounding exasperated. Every time that his parents left the house, they always went over the same precautions. It was enough to drive him insane. Why couldn't parents just say things once and then that was the end of it?

'Cos they're parents, he thought glumly.

"'Bye then, sweetie!"

"'Bye," he mumbled, with no emotion or meaning in his voice. He rolled over into the pillows again; his chin and lips becoming buried in feather down. He sighed and stared silently out of his window, watching his father's car pull out of the driveway and onto the street.

Was he just going to stay upstairs all day, staring out of the window and doing nothing? It seemed like such a boring thing to pass his time. But, then again, he couldn't really think of anything else to do. He had finished all of his homework last night, attempting to block out unwanted memories, and he wasn't really hungry.

He watched the faint sun's rays shine through the half-closed curtains, creating dappled shadows along the carpet. He felt as if he had been sitting in his room for a year. He hadn't left the house in weeks, except to go to school and that visit to the hospital. Everything lying in his room reminded him of something painful. Delilah, his sling; thrown over his chair, and the phone.

Grace.

She hadn't called him since that one morning. He often sat down and wondered why. When he first met her, she was always fussing over him, ringing him up, and asking him if he was okay. Now...nothing. What had changed?

Maybe it's a good thing she hasn't talked to me since, he decided, after considering it for a moment. Now maybe she'll finally leave me alone. I mean, it's what I've wanted from the start, right?

He growled in annoyance, sitting on the edge of his bed. He was thinking about her again. Why did everything nowadays revolve around her? Why did he have to meet her in the first place? She had messed him up even more than he already had been from the beginning.

I have to get out of this house, he thought to himself, thumping a closed fist softly against the pillow. I have to get out before I explode. I can't stand thinking about this stuff...

He traipsed downstairs and grabbed the spare house key from the shelf. He would only go for a walk – just to take his mind off of everything. After all, it was better than spending eternity in his room, trying to forget his life.

He sighed and pulled his jacket on. Just because the sun was shining, it didn't mean the cold couldn't creep through.

-oOo-

The streets and driveways near his home seemed deserted, which was a little strange, especially on a Saturday morning. Casey had always known that his street was quiet, but he expected to see a little more than two or three people outside.

He didn't know where that he was going, and he hadn't planned on setting a time for coming back. He just wanted to wander. He wanted to stretch his legs further than down the stairs and around the confined space of his bedroom. He wanted to experience a little freedom by himself without being suffocated or hurt by others.

He looked across the street and saw a couple of guys from the football team laughing and messing around on the community basketball court. It was painted with florescent white and yellow lines, so it was made to look like the real thing. However, due to the amount of times it had been used, it had all begun to weather away by stampeding feet. Many kids had complained to their council to sort it out and get it repainted, but it never had.

Glancing his eyes away and forcing his feet to keep moving, he began to take the shortcut across the court, trying to avoid their stares. He knew how much that they loved to bully and annoy him, and although he didn't know them personally, or know their names, he still hated them.

It was only when he thought that he had made it safely across, when he felt a strong hand snatch his jacket and spin him around, almost pulling him off his feet.

Shit. Maybe I should have just gone the long way round after all. How could I have been so fucking stupid?

"Whoa –" he gasped out, looking up at a boy almost twice his size and with three times as much muscle. He tried to catch his breath, but it was lodged in his throat. Swallowing couldn't free it. He wondered if he should make a run for it, or if that would just make his consequences direr.

"Yo, shit-for-brains," he mocked, his voice mean and sturdy, like his face. "Where you headed?"

Casey couldn't speak. "Err..."

"You don't know where you're going?" Another one of the boys lumbered over, an amused smirk slapped across his face, bouncing a basketball against the tarmac. It made horrible, thundering thuds whenever it leapt back into his fingers.

"I –"

"Maybe we can help you," the boy with the ball sneered, grabbing Casey's shoulder and spinning him on his heels, so that he was whirled around in a direction he didn't want to go.

The impact of the wall was so sudden Casey had no time to react. All he felt was the throbbing of his cheek, pounding against rough brick. The bullies had slung him straight into the side of the court building like a pile of rags.

"Ughhh..." he groaned, his teeth scraping against the skin of his face. He could feel grazes burning near his temple and he gasped in pain.

"There you go!" one of them sang. "No charge for delivery, huh?"

I forgot how corny jocks can be with their insults, Casey thought, wishing he could roll his eyes.

The helpless boy pushed his hands to the wall in an effort to spring away. Perhaps going out for a walk this morning was not the best idea that he had had in a while. It made more sense now just why that he stayed inside all of the time.

"Hey, you're not going anywhere, you punk-ass son of a bitch!" the first bully spat, shoving him against the wall again.

Casey screamed in pain. The jock had managed to press him so hard against the brick that his wrists had unwillingly supported his weight, including his broken one. Tears sprang into his eyes and he moaned, struggling desperately. The pain was so intense – it was as if all the muscles had snapped.

"Get off," he ordered weakly, through their laughter.

"Cryin', huh?" they chortled, mockingly ruffling his hair. "Didn't like the service, huh?"

"My wrist..." he tried to explain through clenched teeth, but whatever he had said was immediately cut short by a jock deliberately tossing a basketball into his gut, winding him. The force caused him to double over. He was sent wheezing and groaning to the hard floor, struggling to get his breath back, but ended up sounding like a sick seal.

They stood over him now – he could tell. He was suddenly clouded in shadow, and they blocked out the little light that the sun was offering. His wrist pounded, feeling numb. He wondered with despair if it had been broken all over again.

"Please..." He wasn't sure if they heard him or not. His lungs felt bruised all over – it hurt to breathe.

"C'mon, get up, then, you little pussy!" one of them retorted, showering him with fresh spittle. "We gotta use this court for practise, pillow-biter!"

Practise? Casey thought bitterly. I feel as if I've just been used for practise. Hopefully...they've gotten bored of me...

He struggled to rise to his knees, but the intensifying pain vibrating through his body caused him to stop. He made a low, whimpering sound in his throat that only brought humour to his tormentors.

"Jesus Christ! Get up!"

Get up, you little wuss! Do as they say! Fuck's sake – don't just lie there! Run away!

He blinked through his tears. "I..."

Smack! The blow came so quickly he didn't even have time to dodge it. He cried out as a foot flew into his nose, with such force he was aware of a bright, white light enveloping his eyes. A crushing pain vibrated in his nose and he felt blood run down his lips. He could taste it, and tears burned behind his lids.

"S-stop it...!"

All he heard was laughter. At the harshness of it, he felt no better than something that they had just found underneath the bottom of their trainers, and he cringed into himself, wanting to evaporate into dust, dried up by the sun.

He groaned, attempting to sit up squint through his pulsing lids. His whole body ached. Although he didn't want to, he made a brave effort to peer upwards at his torturers, to check to see if they hadn't scampered off before it got too ugly.

However, he didn't see them.

He saw her.

Grace...?

-oOo-

"Casey...? Casey? Oh, God, are you okay...?"

Okay...? his mind repeated, angered by the redundant question. Okay...? Am I okay? Do I fucking look okay?

"W...what?" he asked in a groggy voice, clogged by how heavy that his nosebleed was flowing. His head was pounding so hard he could have sworn that his eardrums were replaced by clanging cymbals. His cheeks were damp and grazed. Looking up at her, he vaguely saw her hiss through her teeth, just by the mere sight of him.

Do I look that bad...?

"Jesus..." she almost whispered, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. "What the fuck did they do to you...?"

"I..." he wanted to reply, but found no words wishing to come out and explain. They were trapped in his closing throat. What had happened? What had he done to cause this to happen? All he had wanted to do was take a walk!

One little shitty walk, and they can't even leave me alone for that! he thought crossly. Why do they always have to make my life a living hell?

"Here," the boy heard her murmur, sounding a little frightened. "Here...let me help you up."

But, as soon as he felt her slip her hands around his trembling arm, a sharp ember of hot rage shot through his whole body, furnace flames blazing in his lungs, ceasing his breathing into short, raggedy pants of fury. Why was she here now? Why didn't she help him before?

She was there...he realised, grinding his teeth. She was here again, and something bad happened...but...what was even worse was the fact that she was...there...she was standing right there...and she didn't do anything to fucking stop it!

"Oh, now you want to help!" he croaked out, his voice breaking miserably. "You want to help me now that the fucking show's over..."

Grace felt her mouth drop open in surprise, but she never let go of her hold. "W-what...?" she stammered. She was staring at him strangely, as if he was a new person entirely, and by the intensity of it, Casey could tell that she wasn't impressed.

But then again, neither was he.

"You," he growled, managing to gather himself to his feet – with her help, of course – and trembled unstably on them. He repeated the accusation again, fiercer this time; colder: "You..."

Grace glanced away, unable to avoid noticing the droplets of dark blood scattered across the gravel ground. She didn't say anything.

"H...how could you?" and this time, Casey's words were quieter; more injured. His voice twisted and snapped into disbelief. Silence was around them both. It swallowed everything that they were thinking, and everything that had happened in the past week, scooping it all up and throwing it all back in their faces, as sharp as razor blades.

"Casey..."

"Why'd you just stand there?" His throat croaked, and Grace wondered if he was on the verge of tears. She could already see the faint stains of previous grief shed, carved into the dirt that shrouded his cheeks. "Why did you let those jerks do that to me?"

Silence. She looked away.

"How?"

The question seemed to hit her like a hard, cold slap across the face. For a second, she wondered if he had. How? It somehow sounded worse than that of the simple, feeble "why". It sounded more personal; deepening. Almost as if you had done the most God-awful, unthinkable act in the world. It left her feeling deeply ashamed.

Was that his intention?

"How?" she repeated, twisting her features into confusion, as if it would soften her punishment.

"You were just standing there, Grace!" Casey burst, his shouts sounding mega-phonic in his ears. His bruised hands were clenched at his sides, the blood dripping through them and gathering in his fingers; the knuckles turning white. The expression on his face was calm and neutral at first glance, but when one looked closer, the fire from his chest was now gleaming in his eyes.

Grace blinked. "I...Casey, I..."

"You just stood there, watching them! Watching!" He stiffly wiped some blood away that was running down his lips. "You just watched them smash the shit out of me! How could you do that – why didn't you help me?"

She sighed again, shaking her head slowly. "Casey, you still don't understand..."

"Understand what?" He took a step back from her – almost cautious of her – as if he was expecting her to tackle him next. "The only thing I understood was how it felt to be half killed!"

"Casey, I'm sorry it happened, but –"

"I didn't even do anything," he mumbled, casting his eyes to his filthy sneakers. His tone vibrated in Grace's ears, and her heart twanged with pity for the boy. "I never do."

"Exactly."

The word caught him off guard, and he gazed up at her indignantly for an answer. She noticed glimmers of shining, crystal tears reflecting in his eyes, and for a moment she felt almost glad. Those eyes always seemed to send something across to her, for some reason. She was pleased that something – even misery – was shielding it from her.

"What does that mean?" he asked coldly.

"You never do anything, silly," she said, in a surprisingly calm voice. "You just let them beat you to a pulp. You don't fight back –"

"Fight back?" he asked incredulously, almost laughing at her suggestion. "How the fuck could I fight back? They were so much bigger and stronger than me! There were three of them– what the fuck could I do?"

"Well, you could have done something!" she spat now, her fists beginning to clench again, the angelic glow gradually becoming present. "Instead of just lying there, taking it – making them hit you more – "

Casey's face burned with shame. "Who are you to talk?" he growled, fighting back tears. "You could have done something! What kind of a psycho watches something like that and doesn't help?" His voice broke at the end and he looked away, shaking all over.

There was silence for a rather long time. Grace could only hear the pounding of her own heart, beating with pity for Casey and his pain. She knew that he wouldn't like that – she knew that he wouldn't want her to feel sorry for him. But how could she help it? He looked so helpless...

A spark of anger burned inside of her as she reflected on what he had just said. "I'm not a psycho," she whispered, in a small, croaked voice.

He glanced at her. Why did it feel that so much history was behind that?

She's probably been called that before, he thought. Crazy bitch.

"Yes, you are," he murmured. Blood dripped from his lip.

He saw the heat blazing in her eyes even before she was directly in front of him.

Smack!

He blinked against the slap in shock, reeling and wondering for a moment what had just happened. It didn't seem real until he felt the burning sting strike him and he placed his hand over it.

"What was that for?"

"FUCK YOU!" she screamed, directly into his face. Her shouts rang in his ears and he winced against the volume, backing off a little. He stared back into her smouldering, dark eyes. She almost looked murderous.

He wasn't even sure if it was humanly possible for a girl to be as angry as this. Since when did girls like Grace ever get this angry? He had never even seen Delilah this mad before in public – she always liked to keep her cool; keep her reputation as perfect and clean as she was.

But Grace...she was different. She didn't care what people thought if she screamed her lungs out. She didn't care. She didn't mind if people gave her dirty looks on the street, or turn their noses up at her as she bellowed her beliefs. She was fiery and feisty; never anyone's first impression.

Casey was surprised to find that he liked that.

It was only when he came back down to earth again that he realised she had been screaming full-on at him for at least two minutes straight. He shook his head a little, clearing away all of the empty thoughts, and focused his attention on her once again.

Her soft, brown locks stuck to the cold tears on her face. "You're not even listening to me," she growled. "Why would you say something so horrible to me, Casey?"

Horrible? Casey thought, taken aback. She can talk some shit!

"You're the one that left me here to die!" he protested, still holding his cheek.

She choked on a laugh and rolled her eyes, glancing away. "I'm not your babysitter, Casey," she replied, shaking her head. "I can't help you all the time! You're going to have to learn to fight back yourself!"

"But I can't!" he whined, becoming and sounding desperate. "You could have helped me – you were standing right there!"

"Casey –"

"I don't know what to think about you!" he blurted out; his heart saying 'yes' and his head saying 'no' to his choice of words. "You say that you want to be my friend, but then you leave me lying there to get beaten up by some jerks I didn't even do anything to!"

She blinked patiently, listening.

"I mean...didn't you care? Did you want me to get hurt?"

"Of course not," she murmured quietly.

"Maybe it's just because you've forgotten all about me," he whispered coldly, wincing as his wrist gave off another throb of burning pain.

She stared very hard at him, as if she could see directly though him and was trying to analyse what he meant. The fire in her irises died a little and her mouth opened a little. Casey could see her fists relaxing.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "Forgotten...all about –?"

"I mean, my wrist is..." he glanced at it feebly, bruised and battered from the ambush of thugs, and sighed. "...was, getting better...now there's no reason to feel guilty about what you did anymore. I mean...like just now...trying to make me stronger so you don't have to protect –"

"What are you talking about?" she cried, animating wildly with her hands and gaping with maddened eyes. "Casey, I don't even understand what you're saying!"

"I mean I saw you, yesterday!" he shot back, a pained chime ringing in his words. "After school by the lockers...with that guy!" He wiped another trail of crimson fluid that was trickling out of his left nostril.

She blinked and went rigid, paling a little. She chewed on her lip, embarrassment showing on her cheeks as they glowed a radiant pink. "You...you saw that?" she whispered, twiddling her fingers and staring at her shoes.

Casey didn't answer. Only a tiny nod was his reply, and he sniffed. "I suppose...you would rather spend time with him," he mumbled, some words incoherent. "I mean...he didn't look as if he needed taking care of...perhaps you are tired of playing the babysitter...and you want someone stronger to take care of you for a change..."

Grace's heart soaked up the misery in Casey's like a sponge. No wonder the boy was always traipsing around with a sullen look on his face. Not only was he unable to fight back and to simply give up – because he was so used to it now – but inside, deep inside, he perhaps knew that because of this, he could never have the chance to show anyone that he could take care of them. He could never have the chance to protect someone.

No wonder he thought himself useless. He had always told himself that he was weak, but now he believed it so much that he just didn't want to try anymore. He didn't want to fight back, because he believed that he couldn't. She could see it now.

"Casey..." she whispered, tears dancing in her eyes.

All she heard from him with a hollow sigh. He numbly rubbed softly at the scarlet mark on his face, where she had slapped him. It was then that she gazed at him, and noticed just how hurt that he was. The cuts, bruises and bloody gashes were nothing compared to what he must be feeling inside...how lonely he must always be...

Before Casey could even breathe he felt the girl's warm arms fling around his shoulders and squeeze him tight into an embrace. There was no need for words. Surprise engulfed him and he swallowed, trying to find his voice. Nothing came out.

"Everyone's a little weak sometimes," she said gently, into his ear.

Casey made a small choked noise in the back of his throat, still amazed that Grace was actually hugging him. After everything he had said...and he was getting this. It didn't make sense.

Unable what to say, he nodded, feeling a cold sensation creep over him as all of the heat rushed to his face.

"Come on," she said kindly, kissing him softly on the cheek. "Let's talk somewhere."

Again, with no words to say, he followed her, feeling dazed. It was almost as if he were being led there by some invisible force, wrapped around him like a piece of string.

Stumbling after her clumsily, he briefly touched the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him. It had taken place of the slap, covering it up like a sugar-coated blanket. His head hurt a little. It almost seemed like a dream.

She's so complicated...he thought, wanting to shake himself of the addictive confusion. I don't know what to think of her sometimes...she's like a drug...

He was still wondering what had happened when Grace slipped her hand into his, and led the way to her house.