I suck. I'm a loser. You want to hurt me. I should be chastised.
Yeah, I already know that.
Okay, so I had the hugest case of writer's block (story of my life?) and didn't start to write until a couple of days ago. Then I hit another block, and stopped. And then I just sucked it up and continued writing. But let me tell you, this chapter was by far the most difficult to write. Edit, delete, edit, delete, edit, delete- those two words haunt me in my dreams now.
But anyway, this is the chapter where things really start heating up. Curious to know what I mean? Well READ!
PS: I do not own Degrassi.
PS-PS: I am so smart that I totally remember to always put this disclaimer
Somewhere during our kiss, the rain decided to follow fate on it's path against us, and grew so furious that it hurt our skin and forced us to run to shelter.
It's fifteen minutes later, and we're sitting at a local diner, soaked. My lips are tingly and my stomach is still exploding, and from Eli's constant nervous glances in my direction, I guess he feels the same. We haven't spoken much since the kiss. Everything we needed to say was exchanged through it. So here we are, sitting at the booth, poking at our straws and wishing it could happen again.
"What was your first impression of me?"
I jump at his sudden question. It's been eight minutes and twenty three seconds since we've last said a word to each other, and the way he talks is as though we were never silent to begin with.
I take a quick sip of cookies-n-cream milkshake, never adverting my eyes from his. "I kind of though you were a jerk."
"Oh really," he places his elbows on the table and leans forward, "Why?"
I shrug. "You kind of told my friend off."
"A girl like that needs to be told off every once in a while."
I quickly cover my mouth to suppress my laugh, which ends up coming out as a totally unattractive snort. I feel horrible for laughing at a mean joke that's about my best friend, but the truth in it cut a cord in me.
"Don't say that!" I yell, dabbing my mouth with a napkin, "She is my best friend. How you would feel if I trashed Adam?"
"Oh, come on," he rolls his eyes, "Adam is the easiest guy in the world to make fun of. See? I'm not afraid to insult him. That is the real key to a best friend. You can make fun of each other all you want."
"Oh, wow," I give him, what I hope to be, a flirty smile, "I'll be sure to think of that during my next epiphany."
There's a clock next to our booth. I go against every instinct in my body and refuse to look at it. I know if I do, reality will set in and snap me out of whatever kind of trance I'm in. Eventually I'll have to go back, build up my wall of barriers and secrets, but for this little amount of time I want to enjoy the freedom from it all.
"What was your first impression of me?" I challenge, thinking back to that day in Mrs. Dawe's classroom. Only a couple of weeks ago, the moment feels forever away, like so much time has passed that I can barely hold onto the memory.
"Cute."
My head snaps up in surprise. "Cute?" I echo.
Eli nods and lifts his straw up in the air, sucking whatever liquid was left inside of it. "Cute," he agrees, placing it back into the cup.
"But why?"
"What," his voice is teasing, "You don't find yourself attractive?"
I blush a deep shade of red. Either way I answer it, it comes out badly. "I-no-I mean, I-"
He puts his hands up in surrender. "It's fine. I get it. Awkward question, awkward answer. But yes, I thought the way you made it so obvious that you didn't want to work with me was adorable." He points a finger at me, "At that blush is pretty damn cute, too."
If possible, I blush even harder.
When Eli glances over at the clock, I sigh. He's going to say what time it is. I'm going to remember what time is. Reality will vaccinate into my blood and everything that happened today will suddenly become a dream I slowly watch slip away.
"It's one-forty-five," he sighs, too, the same way I did. A little part of me, the part that's not dreading this to be over, is happy that's he doesn't want to go, either.
"There's no point in going back to Degrassi. What do you say I just drive you home?"
I swallow. Home. The word hits me every time, almost as bad as abuse. Memories come flooding back in tsunamis, knocking me off my feet and drowning me until I can't breathe. Trying to grasp sanity, I push the milkshake away and sink my nails into my palms.
"Sure."
Eli doesn't blast his music this time. The car ride is silent as I watch the trees flash across my eyes and the grass melt into itself. He doesn't speak. I don't speak. Neither of us have anything to say.
I try not to think about the questioning looks my teachers will throw at me tomorrow. I try to shove away the inundated worry forming in my gut. Eli does this all the time. He never gets in trouble. I have nothing to worry about.
I just wish I trust myself enough to actually believe that.
"Hey Eli," I say when we stop at a familiar streetlight.
He looks over at me. "Hm?"
"We're not, gonna," I fiddle with my fingers, looking down at my lap, "Get in trouble for this, are we?"
He smirks, and it takes all my will power not to jump on his lap and kiss him again. "Clare, do you honestly think I would do something that would get you in trouble?"
Holy crap.
He laughs at my horrified face. I go from needing to press my lips against his one second to wanting to connect my fist with his face the next. Are relationships always supposed to be this complicated?
Whoa. Where did relationship come from? Just because we flirt, and go out, and have deep, meaningful conversations, and he orders me a milkshake, and we kiss in the rain, doesn't mean…
Holy crap.
"No, no," he pants, still laughing, "We won't. I am sorry, but your face was just priceless! Way to make me feel good."
I reach out my hand to slap him. He grabs it the moment I touches his shoulder, and presses his lips against my wrist. For the millionth time today, I blush, and I do so even harder when his lips travel up to my elbow.
With barely any sensible thought in mind, I impress myself with the ability to gasp out, "Eyes on the road."
Eli chuckles and releases my arm.
My good mood is diminished the moment my house comes into view. Somewhere along the drive, when I finally realized where we were, I gave Eli directions.
My house doesn't look any different than the rest. It fits in with all of them. Brick walls, heavy front door, four steps leading up to the front porch. They're all the same, apart of one little, united community.
But sitting here, strapped in a hearse on a rainy day, it makes me feel sick to my core with the knowledge of all the hidden secrets pressed in between each brick, the sounds of slapping that never escape through the windows. I shudder, peering down at the rest of the houses and wondering what lurks inside them.
I unbuckle my seatbelt. "Thanks," I mumble, running a hand through my frizzy, out of control hair. "I had a really good time."
"Same here."
I drop my phone under the seat. Groaning in frustration and embarrassment, I bend over to pick it up.
"What the hell is that?"
My shirt rose up.
Everything in my body starts trembling. I can't make out a full sentence, or even a word. The world starts spinning in the opposite direction I'm running and I can feel the ground pulling me down with it.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Breathe.
I keep telling myself to breathe, but I can't. My throats clogged up and the air grows denser and denser each time I struggle. If I speak, I'll choke even more. If I don't speak, it'll be obvious.
I speak.
"Nasty fall down the stairs. Don't ever go down for a midnight snack in the dark."
I can't believe it. That actually came out…truthful. Whatever fear and worry I feel right now is stuck inside the cage of my mind.
Eli stares at me for a moment. I can feel him searching for something, and again, I don't even know if it's there. "When?"
He's challenging me. He's questioning my answer. How is it that I can practically believe my own words but he can't?
"Tuesday."
It's Thursday. That's believable.
Eli shakes his body, as though he's got a chill, and when he looks at me again his pupils are dilated. "You should get that checked out by a doctor," he tells me.
"Okay."
"Now," he leans forward, slipping a cool, damp hand behind my neck, "Come here."
Our second kiss is not nearly as desperate, or passionate, as our first. But still, that does not mean it's any less mind blowing. He's tender and sweet, soft and careful, like he's putting the last puzzle piece in its place. I let my eyes seize shut, enlightening the way he makes me feel.
Bliss is the only thing I can feel when I walk into my house. I forget the fear I felt before, or the apprehensiveness for tomorrow. All I can think about is the feeling of Eli's lips against mine. I touch my lips for a moment. They're dry and chapped. I don't understand why anyone would want to kiss them so much.
I contemplate with myself on whether or not I should do my homework.. History test tomorrow, Social Studies essay, biology project, math quiz.
I'll do it later.
My phone begins vibrating in my back pocket. I'm too giddy to even bother checking the caller I.D.
"Hello," I sigh, walking along the line of creases on the tile floor.
"Where were you?" Alli demands. I can hear shuffling and the slight sound of guitar in the background. She must be with her brother, Sav, who gives more love to his guitar than he does to his girlfriend.
"I felt like I was gonna throw up during English, so I headed to the nurse. Turns out I have a fever or something and she sent me home."
I didn't lie because I'm a bad friend, or because I don't trust Alli. I'm just not up for the sharp points of her daggering questions and the assumptions she makes pervading along the surface of the situation until she finally figures it out. It's not important. And when the time comes, I will tell her. Maybe.
Alli groans. "Urghhhh!" I can hear the stomping of her feet. "Does that mean you're not gonna be in school tomorrow?
"No, no, I will be."
She squeals. "Yay! Good, because I cannot live through the sweaty locker rooms without you by my side. Wait, hold on." The phone makes a crinkling noise, probably because she put her hand over it. Her voice is faint, but she's speaking to someone in the room and I can just make out enough to know that she's annoyed.
"I got to go in a minute," she says when the crinkling is over, "Stupid Sav can't find his cell phone and needs to use mine to call Anya. But before I go, I just have to let you know that Drew and I are doing great!"
I roll my eyes. They were doing great yesterday, they're doing great today, and odds are they'll be doing great tomorrow. I chuckle at my own humor when I imagine Alli running up to me and saying, in the same over exaggerated voice, "Drew shot someone! But it's all good, because we're doing great!"
"What's so funny, Edwards?"
I didn't realize I was laughing out loud. Blushing (I really need to let that habit go) I quickly think of something suitable to say.
"Sorry, I'm just so happy you and Drew are going along so well."
It's a dumb answer, but Alli will give into anything when she's in one of her melt for boy modes.
"I know! Okay, Sav's practically ripping the phone out of my hands, and I don't want to die. Bye!"
I'm about to say bye back, but she's already gone.
It's a good day. When my dad walks up to my room and knocks on my door before letting himself him, I do my regular observations. He's not holding his briefcase, but that's alright because he's been home for quite some time, and his shoes are off. My heartbeat slows down to its regular pace, but I can't fight off the constant twitch of panic I feel every time I'm around him.
"How was school, sweetie?"
All my worries come rushing back. What if he does know and is just testing me? He'll kill me if he knows I'm lying. First he'll beat me for skipping school, and then kill me. But either way, it doesn't end well.
I try to calm myself down. Closing my eyes for the quickest moment, I allow Eli to take over my mind. His moist hair in the rain, his soft arms clutching my back, his steady breathing against my neck.
"Fine."
"Fine?" My dad strides over to my bed, sitting down next to my feet. My shoulders begin to shake, and the bruises along my body grow so intense I don't have the power to move. "You always say fine."
"Yeah. But school is always the same."
"You're right. I used to always say that as a kid, too." He pats my foot and I jerk my legs up to my chest, allowing a soft whimper to escape. Covering my mouth and praying he didn't hear it, I do everything I can to make it seem like I'm not dying inside.
My sudden act of terror was obvious to any naked eye. But my dad doesn't acknowledge it. He just stands up, turning around to give me one last look of innocence, and walks away.
I hate him when he does that. More than when he hits me. I hate how he acts like it never happened. I hate how, in his mind, he's the perfect parent and I'm the perfect daughter. I hate how he doesn't have to feel the urge to throw up every time he comes home.
I hate how he pretends like the bruises covering my body aren't from him.
Whenever I'm with him, it's like I'm driving head on towards another car. The lights are coming closer and closer, aiming directly into my eyes, blinding me. I have no power. I can't move, or scream, or call for help. There's no shelter to cover me or arms to fall into. All I can do is sit there and hope, desperately, pleadingly, that the other driver has enough control to swerve away.
My dad swerved away this time. But the road is dark and my steering wheel is locked in place. It's only a matter of time before the next collision.
No, I scream at myself. Don't think that way. Those thoughts will ruin me. Release them. Let them go.
But at ten o'clock, when I'm climbing in bed to go to sleep, they're still heavy in my arms.
I can't focus all throughout the day. My stomach has been doing continuous gymnastics routines. The only thing I'm capable of thinking about is a certain boy with olive colored eyes and kissable lips. English has never seemed so far away. The clock has never moved so slow.
I don't know what this feeling is exactly. It's foreign and terrifies me beyond my understanding, but at the same time I never want it to go away.
During study hall, I see Adam sitting at an empty table. Maybe it's my good mood, or maybe I just feel sympathy for seeing someone sitting alone, but either way I find myself sliding up a chair across from him.
"Hey."
I'm surprised at the intense gaze he gives me when he finally does looks up. "Hi," his voice is flat.
"Something wrong?"
He sighs and shuts the book he was reading. I automatically straighten up, feeling the tension in the air increasing. "Not really."
"Then what it is?"
Again, he sighs, and scoots his chair over so we're so close our shoulders are touching. "You remember the whole tampons thing?" he whispers in my ear.
Confused, I barely make out a nod.
"Well, um.." he puts his head in his hands and releases a long, agonized groan. "Damn it! I don't know how to say it."
I place a hand on his arm. "Just say it, quick and easy."
"You make it sound so simple."
"Maybe it is."
He shakes his head violently. "Believe me, it's not."
I can't think of any possibility for what he's trying to say. I feel bad for prying into his business so sharply, but the anxiousness is eating at my skin.
"Just tell me," the words come out more demanding than I expected. I quickly mumble a quiet sorry.
"It's okay."
He doesn't speak at all for what feels like days. The possibilities and questions are hanging in the air, tickling every bone in my body.
"Please, Adam," I'm practically begging him now, "Just tell me."
He slams his hand down on the table, hard, and I lurch backwards. Not even noticing my reaction, he begins letting out painful gasps of anger. "Fine," his voice is barely audible, but the rage and frustration are practically screaming at me. "You want to hear it? I'm an FTM. Female to male transgender. I have a freakin chick's body with the brain of a guy. Freaky, right? But look, if you're gonna ignore me and think I'm a total wacko, just walk away now and get it over with."
Silence is all I hear. There really is nothing to say after being exposed to information like that. I've vaguely heard about FTMs, and I never really thought much of them. I'm not the kind of person to judge. The idea never appealed to me or pushed me away.
"I don't think you're a total wacko," That seems like a decent thing to say.
Adam looks up at me, surprised. "You don't?" He sounds like he looks.
"No. I mean, I'm not gonna lie and say I'm totally used to it, or anything, but it doesn't bother me that much. Just might take some time to get used to."
He starts smiling, wide and pride with white teeth sparkling in the light. "Really?" If possible, his smile grows even bigger when I grin back and nod. "Wow, you're great, you know that? Eli was right."
My jaw drops to the floor. "Wait-what?"
Adam laughs. The way he does makes me feel stupid. "Please, the guy adores you. I know he may come off as a complete ass, but that's just because he likes you so much. Whenever your name comes up in a conversation, he automatically looks totally distant. And it was his idea in the first place for me to tell you."
I know I shouldn't be astonished to hear this, considering we kissed and all, but still, the idea of someone acknowledging me, speaking about me like that when I'm not even around, makes me feel like getting up and twirling around in circles.
"So, you're really cool with it?"
"Huh?" For a moment, I completely forget everything Adam told me.
By the time I do remember, he's already rolling his eyes and speaking. "With, you know…" he nudges my arm.
Only a little bit of soreness occurs, but it's enough to make me flinch and lean away. "Oh, yeah," Distracted from the bruise, I can't insinuate a coherent sentence, "It's fine."
Adam pats my hand and stands up. "Great," he cheers, "Well, I told Drew I'd meet him at the gym to help him with his training so-"
Alli's face pops into my mind. "Drew? How do you know Drew?"
"He's my brother. Well, step-brother, technically. But it's all the same. How do you know him?"
"He's dating my best friend," I say. "Alli…?"
Adam thinks for a moment before snapping his fingers. "Oooh, the really loud one."
I laugh. "Yep, sounds like her."
"Yeah, well, a 'total stud' like him needs to maintain his image by working out," he ruffles my hair, "See you later, Clare. I'm so glad we have no more secrets."
A pang of guild hits me in the chest. "Yeah," I say, refusing to meet his gaze, "Me too."
While sitting during last period, biting my pen for the bell to ring so I can see Eli, Mr. Carter's phone rings. He waddles over towards his overly organized desk and holds it up to his ear. "Hello?"
Ignoring him, I continue back to my study guide. But my attention is quickly strangled when he says my name.
"Clare Edwards, Principal Simpson wants you."
My blood runs cold.
I look straight ahead as I cut through the questioning stares from the other students.
I hold my breath while walking down the empty hallway.
I don't hear myself speak when I tell the secretary my name.
I've been in the Principal's office before, whenever a substitute would ask me to bring the attendance down. It smells like Windex. There are glass bookshelves along the left wall that are only half full. Pictures line up on his desk, one of him at his wedding, another of a pretty blonde teenager holding a baby boy.
But during this moment, all the bright colors and happy pictures don't make me feel the least bit content.
Principal Simpson finally turns his chair around so he's facing me. His eyes are kind, but I can't digest the warmth. The only thing going through my mind at the moment is the devastating wish to just disappear.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Uselessly hopeful that there may be some other reason I was pulled into the Principal's Office for a one-on-one conversation, I shake my head idiotically.
He sighs, "Yes you do. Mrs. Dawe's caught you sneaking out of her class with Eli Goldsworthy yesterday."
I frown; all hope that everything might be okay forgotten. "Oh."
"Now," he shuffles with a couple of papers on his desk, looking uncomfortable by my presence. "You're a good student Clare, and we've never had any trouble with you before. So I'm just letting you go with a warning."
Sighing in utter relief, the tension I had been feeling is gone, replaced by a strong frenzy of gratitude.
"Thank you so much."
He holds up a hand to shush me. "I will have to call your father, however."
Everything stops then. Mr. Simpson's face freezes. Time no longer exists. I can't move, claustrophobic by the sudden jolt that sent my world spinning into a spiral of stillness.
Just breathe. Just breathe.
But I can't breathe. Closing my eyes and counting to ten won't get me out of here. It doesn't matter what I say, or what I do, or how much I try to pretend it isn't happening, because it is. The future never goes away, only lurks upon our view to haunt us and torture our every move.
And I know what's going to happen to me.
"What?" I barely manage to choke out.
"I have to call your dad," he repeats, and the words make me feel I just burnt my hand on a hot stove, "He is entitled to know."
I'm about to beg, until I realize it won't do any good. So many kids probably plead for secrecy, promising that it's the first and only time it will ever happen. I shouldn't be any different. Nothing but a new rejection, another no, the same consequences.
But the consequences for me aren't the same. They're worse.
After a deafening silence of Principal Simpson probably expecting a reaction, he clears his throat. "That's all. You may go now."
Standing up was a bad idea. The horror grew into something much more than mental anguish. It took a new form of sickening churnings in my stomach.
I wait until I'm out of the office to cover my mouth. Running and running what feels like a marathon, I finally reach the bathroom. I dash into the nearest stall.
The only sound in the world was that of everything I had been holding in plummeting out of my mouth at a rapid speed.
When I'm finished, I flush the toilet and lean against the stall door. My entire body is shaking so violently I can't hold myself up. The optimistic part of me expected that I would feel better after throwing up; less heavy and dense.
Once again, the positive part is proven wrong. Sure, my peanut butter and jelly sandwich is gone, but the panic I felt before, the awful, bone-shattering dread, is still there. Even worse, it's all that's left. Happiness is just a memory now, one I wish I could just grab and hold close. I'm hollow and empty. Trapped in my own sorrow.
No one is in the bathroom when I turn on the sink and splash my face. No one is in the hallway when I walk through it, dragging my feet lifelessly against the floor.
After a moment, I notice someone standing near the lockers. And as I get closer and make out the dark coat and brown hair, I realize who it is.
I want to throw up all over again. This time, all over him.
Eli looks shocked when I latch my hand onto his shoulder and slam him against the lockers.
"What the hell is wrong with you, you dumb bastard!" I don't even bother to control my voice. Like controlling the searing rage I'm feeling right now, it would be absolutely impossible.'
Eli doesn't speak, which only pisses me off more.
"You said we wouldn't get caught! You said you do it all the time! Well guess what, we got caught! So either you're an idiot or you're a liar!" I bark out a despicable laugh. "Hell, you're probably both!"
He still stays silent. The shock in his olive eyes is gone. All that lays now is a heavy amount of empty.
I can care less. The only thing I have on my mind is the hunger to push him on the floor and kick him in the stomach until he coughs up blood.
Just like me.
"And you think you're all cool, don't you? Flirting with me and taking me out to skip school in your shitty little hearse. God, no one even likes you, okay? Don't you get it? Everyone hates you!"
I crave to slap him in the face and thrust his head against the tile so hard I hear it crack.
Just like me.
I just want to watch him drown in pain and agony and lonesome and fear and torture.
Just like me.
Everything in the hallway becomes blurry. I push it away. I push it all away. Bending my knees and pressing my hands against my ears to block out my own voice, I scream again. "Say something!"
The look in his eyes blocks out my ability to speak. There's no word to describe what's inside of them. But whatever it may be makes me want to close my eyes and never wake up. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and saying it hurts is the only possible way to express how it makes me feel.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry."
When he walks away, I want to call after him. I want to hurt him. I want to apologize. I want to beat him. I want to kiss him. I want to break his heart.
These emotions are tearing me apart. I slump down against a locker and cradle my face in my knees, gasping for air that just won't seem to come.
Congratulations, I say to the girl who gets beaten by her father.
You win.
Woah! Intense! You guys really didn't think I'd let things stay happy, did you? If you did, you should notice the hurt/comfort genre at the top of the page =)
OKay, I sound like a broken record, but at least I'm a happy one. Your reviews = my happiness. Really, I brag about all of you to my friends. At lunch, I'll just be like, "And yeah, all those also people who left me with 128 reviews are totally better than you." =) I'm not even kidding, I say that.
So I'm not gonna promise a new chapter soon. Huge project for school and I need time to get inspiration for how to start it. Sorry!
PS-PS-PS: The last line of this chapter was my favorite line out of this entire story to write.