[A/N: A month? That's not that bad. I'm picking up, aren't I? Well, Merry Christmas to you all. I hope this chapter was enough to suffice until the New Year. But who knows? Maybe Santa will come again, sooner than anticipated. I find myself oddly retracted to this story and I did enjoy writing this chapter; lots of hints and tidbits of what's to come. Thanks for reading and keeping up with me! I hope your Christmas is wonderful.]
Imogen Moreno was tired. She was tired of her classes. She was tired of her work load. She was tired of the whispers in the hallways that she was forced to pretend not to hear, tired of the looks she continuously got that she was forced to ignore, tired of the teasing, the taunting, the words shot her way. Her life had become some kind of sick war and every day was a battle. Some days, she won. She successfully got through without feeling down on herself, without wanting to run into the bathroom and hide in a stall until she could breathe again. Other days, she lost. And today was one of those days that she'd severely lost.
It seemed no one wanted to give her a break. After her argument with Jake, the spiral down was long and harsh. She spent her next class pretending she couldn't hear the judgments a group of girls were making directly behind her. She kept asking herself, 'So what if they don't like my fishnets?' She kept reminding herself, 'I like my pigtails, so what does it matter if they don't?' She kept repeating, 'I might not have any friends, but at least I'm content with myself.' Then she'd wonder, 'If I have to console myself over who I am, does that really make me content with it?' And the cycle would continue, until the class was dismissed and she was pushed back into the hallways of Degrassi.
Usually, her escape in the middle of the day was Drama class. As Miss Dawes enthusiastically proceeded on, lecturing a great deal over the works of Shakespeare versus modern day scripts, Imogen felt a little at peace. At least in the room of theatre, she was free to be as she pleased. But not even Drama was on Imogen's side the day of the lost battle. Eli Goldsworthy was someone Imogen wanted to ignore at all costs. After series of unfortunate events and a weak apology tied in with a promise to a coffee date he never went through with, it seemed the boy was just bad news. She remembered the days when she liked that about him; the misery in his eyes and the way he seemed to toy with her emotions was something she thought more of like a game than a reason to flee. Now she understood how painfully wrong she had been. Eli was once the only boy at Degrassi she deemed worthy of her time. Now she wanted nothing more than for his face to become a stranger's within the crowd. But he wouldn't allow it. Some days, she noted that his medication would render him unable to carry out any redeemable conversation, and he'd scamper away from the spotlight or most contact. But other days, he would thrust himself into it and force himself upon Imogen. She could tell he was still trying for her forgiveness. And the more he pushed, the closer Imogen fell to the brink. Those days were hard. Those days were just like today.
By the time the day had ended, Imogen was thankful to be greeted by her locker. She just wanted to grab her books and rush off campus. Something about Degrassi just didn't sit right with her. Probably because every corner held an unpleasant memory. But either way, the last bell had rung and she was nearly free. She had just put in her combination and was pondering on whether or not she wanted to bring her copy of the Scarlet Letter home when she heard someone call for her from behind.
"Hey, Moreno, look out!"
But it was too late. Just as she had turned around, she was greeted by a red dodgeball. Her small body hadn't been expecting it and the force put into the throw was so excessive, as the ball met her face, she was tossed back into the lockers behind her, the back of her head hitting the cold metal as the glasses on her face shattered and newly broken frames scratched just beneath her eye. She gasped at the collision, letting out a small whimper as the pain hit her all at once. But the tears were threatening to spill over the laughter that erupted from everyone around.
Owen Milligan jogged up to her, wide eyed but still chuckling. He leaned down, picking up the ball and gave a light shrug. His words were sarcastic, the look in his eye malicious as he smirked, "Whoops. My bad." With that, he turned to move back to his friends, all wearing blue and yellow colored tees, probably heading off to the gym for Dodgeball Club's practice. They were all laughing. Other students around her were laughing. But it was all a blur. Imogen's head was aching, a thin line of blood trickling down her cheek. She was usually fine without her glasses; she was near-sighted, after all. But with the bump that was forming on her skull and the tears threatening to spill, she couldn't seem to see a thing.
A hand caught hers in her desperate attempt to feel around the dirty hallway floor and instead of guiding her to the broken frames, it lifted her up. Behind her welling tears, Imogen couldn't see who was aiding her or potentially setting her up for another fall. But when she heard the deep voice, her paranoia was put to rest and she slipped into a familiar ease. "You're okay, c'mon. Dust it off. Don't let those jerks know it got to you."
Jake Martin slipped the broken frames into Imogen's hand, but it was hard to follow his words. She turned to her locker, pretending as if she was just going to go on and grab her books. But she could feel the tears spilling just as she avoided his gaze. Over a mixture of the pain and the horrible day she had, Imogen could feel the salty tears sting against her wound and fall down her cheek rapidly, soaking in with her collar. But she quickly brushed them away, grabbed the Scarlet Letter and slammed her locker shut. With her eyes on her combat boots, she held her books against her chest as she rushed down the hallway, towards the exit. She just needed to leave campus. Once she was on the streets of Toronto, she'd be safe.
But that wasn't so easy. Was anything as easy as she remembered with Jake Martin around? He called after her, moving towards her and drawing more attention to them. And normally, she'd pretend to relish in the fact that all eyes were cast on her. But without her glasses, with all the events of the day, she just wanted to slip into oblivion. She ignored the boy behind her and rushed down the steps of the school before he was able to catch up to her, his longer legs again coming to benefit.
His hand touched her shoulder but she immediately pulled away from his gentle grasp. She'd give him what he wanted, just at a distance. Her bloodshot brown eyes met his concerned green orbs, but the wall she had built was still standing tall and strong as she snapped, "What, Jake? What could you possibly want now?"
He seemed a little taken back, but he didn't let it linger for long. He explained himself, his voice warm and nonchalant as he reminded her, "Our rough draft is due tomorrow."
Of course it was. Imogen closed her eyes; how could she have forgotten? She had made plans to work with Jake on that rough draft at the Dot after school. It wouldn't take long; she had a series of ideas and she figured she'd be doing most of the work anyway. But that was before the battle of today was lost. She just wanted to go home. She just wanted to curl up with her cat in bed and sleep the rest of the day away. She was tired. She was sad. She was wounded. She couldn't handle being in a Degrassi student hot spot for another minute.
And Jake seemed to catch onto that. Taking her books from her grasp, when her eyes shot open, he was quick to make it clear that she was in safe hands. He took hold of her shaking, cold and much smaller hand and softly pulled her towards his red truck. "Let's go," he instructed. And maybe it was the way he sounded so sure, maybe it was the worry over the assignment at hand or maybe it was just that Jake had a quick getaway with his license and car. But no matter what the reason, Imogen found herself listening to Jake Martin, the boy she hadn't trusted at eight this morning, and slipping into the passenger side of the red vehicle.
Jake Martin was fine. He was always fine. School days went easy on him. The most he had to worry about was any academic twists and turns. A bad day usually entailed a Civics pop quiz and a lack of substantial food in the cafeteria. But those were easily brushed off. When it came to the other things that high school shot at teenagers, for the new kid from Muskoka, Jake was well off. Sure, he had drama. Clare Edwards had found her way into his life again and even after their break up, she still found it necessary to inform him that the bags under his eyes were easily preventable by the right amount of sleep. And yeah, it wasn't so easy to watch the girl who he'd been convinced had opened a pathway to the bullshit titled 'love' into his heart talk to her ex so freely. But beyond that, he was completely fine. He had friends. He had acquaintances. He walked through the hallways of Degrassi without much worry or care.
And that was why he didn't get what Imogen was going through. She had always seemed so strong, nose in the air as her combat boots made her footsteps sound harsh against the floors of their school. It seemed like she always knew what people were saying, but didn't care. Maybe the vulnerable side she was showing to Jake now was just an effect of the physical pain she'd gone through within the last five minutes on campus, but it was still a shock for the teenage boy to see. And though he wasn't so sure he understood what the girl was feeling, he found himself extending his hand to help and whisking her away from the school in a flash; an extended apology for hurting her the way the kids at school had as well. The cover up was laid out between them; their project had a rough draft due the very next day. But in reality, Jake just wanted to get Imogen away, as much as she wanted to get away, before she broke down in front of everyone.
So he did. And though it surprised him even further that she didn't fight against him, it wasn't long before he found himself in the kitchen of him and his dad's small, temporary home with Imogen standing timidly behind him. He was shuffling through drawers and cabinets, muttering, "Just wait, I know it's here. Mom used to keep it..." But he knew she didn't really care about what he was looking for. Her eyes meandered over the plain, brown furniture, the woodsy design being an extension of Muskoka within the tiny space. For the girl who studied human behavior and took in every little detail as something more, this was probably a gold mine.
Eventually, though, Jake interrupted her analyzing as he pulled a small first aid kit from underneath the sink and smiled at her, "Got it."
Her brow furrowed. It was a measly cut; she didn't think it needed any care. But when the boy patted the countertop, motioning for her to hop onto it, she sighed. If it kept him at bay, she was willing to play the role of the harmed patient. She pulled herself onto the counter and placed her hands in her lap as she watched him open the kit and rustle about within it. They sat in a busy silence, one that suggested upcoming conversation. But for now, Imogen was just glad he hadn't spoken a word about her minor breakdown.
"Alright. This might sting a little," he sighed as he soaked a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol. Imogen didn't bother bracing herself; the sting of rubbing alcohol never really bothered her. But as Jake softly dabbed at her cut, she flinched away from his touch, seizing slightly in pain. He frowned, "It's deeper than I thought, sorry."
"It's fine," Imogen muttered as Jake came a little closer, the cotton ball moving towards her cheek again. She avoided eye contact, but when the alcohol seeped into her cut again, she couldn't help but move away and look up at him with a frown. She felt like a child again, jerking her cut knee away from her mom in hopes the woman would eventually give up and let it scab without proper care. Jake had been in similar situations with his own mom and caught onto the parallel. He tried to make her feel a little better about it, smirking slightly as he slipped his free hand into hers.
"When it starts to hurt, squeeze my hand as hard as you can," he told her. She wasn't so sure. But she knew he just wanted to help for whatever reason, so she listened to him. And as the cotton ball brushed against her battle wound again, she found her fingers lacing with Jake's as she squeezed with all her might. Her eyes shut and her nose crinkled, but it wasn't long before Jake shifted slightly and threw the cotton ball away in the nearby trashcan. His voice was soft and he let his thumb run over the hand tangled in his as he let her know, "You're fine."
Imogen's eyes slowly reopened, but Jake wasn't looking at her any longer. He pulled back his hand as he lifted a bottle of Neosporin from the first aid kit. His mind wandered back to all the times he'd hurt himself within the woods at the cabin when he was younger, before his parents' divorce. His mother would see him limp in, tears in his eyes, and she'd pick him up and place him on the countertop. She'd sing a lullaby from his earlier childhood years, to keep him calm during the process. 'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.' Rubbing alcohol. 'You make me happy when skies are gray.' Neosporin. 'You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.' A Band-Aid. 'Please don't take my sunshine away.' A kiss on the cheek.
As Jake opened up the bottle of Neosporin and dabbed some on his finger, though, he was pulled out of the memories by Imogen's voice. His eyes met hers, his finger gently smearing the substance against her cut as she asked, "Why are you doing this?"
He didn't mean to stand there without a word. But she had caught him so off-guard. His mind was just pulling out of sweet memories while she stared him down, his hand slowly retracting back to his side. His lack of response was probably the reason that prompted her to speak up and fill in the gap. She glanced away from him as she explained, "I mean, just the other day, you were putting me down in a coffee shop. And now you're trying to clean up the injuries that other people who have the same thoughts about me that you do have made."
The words she spoke hit home. His eyes closed as he cringed a bit. If only he knew what had been going on behind this wall of hers, he wouldn't have ever let the moment get the best of him. He wouldn't have lost her trust, wouldn't have carelessly yelled at her. To be fair, the girl wasn't the easiest to deal with and that's probably how the other kids at school felt about her as well. But it was no excuse. He wasn't sure what else to say as his eyes moved to the first aid kit while he grumbled, "I apologized for that."
"Doesn't mean you don't still think it."
"You know, I really don't get it, Imogen," Jake finally broke, a little frustrated. Okay, yeah, he'd been an asshole and said some pretty mean things. But at the end of the day, that was the person Imogen was. With her quirky hair styles, her heavy boots, her odd behavior, that was the type of person she let Degrassi students see. But if she was tormented, if she constantly didn't feel so comfortable in her own skin, why did she continue on with it? "You seem so strong as you walk through the hallways in your tights and weird hair styles. But if you're not happy with it, why don't you change it?"
She seemed a little taken back herself this time, but Jake resorted back to feeling like an ass again when the tears welled up in her eyes. Why did he do that? Why did he constantly find himself hurting her feelings? He didn't mean to half the time. It seemed the girl couldn't take what she dished out. She was more sensitive than she lead on. But still, it caused Jake to listen to her words when she sniffled and wiped her eyes.
"Why is it my fault the kids at school can't take something a little different?"
"It's not," Jake sighed. He didn't mean for it to come off that way. He didn't mean to get so worked up. Imogen was hard to deal with though. The more he spoke in hopes to extend a helping hand, the more she seemed to take it as a threat against her. He could never find a happy medium; the right words were always beyond him. But he wasn't going to just give up. After all, he was going to be spending a lot of time with the girl within the next week, all due to his brilliant plan at a shot for forgiveness. "But if you're not happy, is it worth it?"
"I'm happy when I'm by myself. Isn't that what ultimately matters?"
Jake's eyes met Imogen's. She was no longer crying and it seemed the question wasn't a rhetorical one. But as Jake gazed at her, he found himself wondering the same thing. Did other peoples' ideas matter if you were content when you were on your own? Was all Imogen's pain worth it, to go through all the torment and cruel words and actions from others, just to stay her? It seemed like the lesson from all the movies he had watched as a kid were coming back to him. Of course. Of course she should be true to herself and not conform to what Degrassi students wanted from her. But as she glanced away and the glimmer of her cut caught underneath his kitchen lights, Jake wasn't so sure. Maybe it was because he hated seeing her in pain, maybe it was just doubt. But he didn't know if it was worth it. He didn't understand it, because he didn't have to deal with it.
He was still without an answer as he grabbed a Band-Aid from the kit. His voice was low and soft as he placed it against her cheek, "There. All patched up."
"Not even slightly. But thanks," She whispered in response, before hopping off the counter and moving towards her books. Jake's mind whirled around her words. There was even more to Imogen than met the eye, which was saying a lot. And if he had thought he was caught up in her before, there was no backing out now. But as he closed the first aid kit, he noticed her brush off the moment as she pulled a paper from her binder and said, "Now about this rough draft."