CHAPTER EIGHT
"Michaela!" Belle shouted, running across the playground as she arrived barely ten minutes before the bell rang.
She'd been having less and less of her early mornings; her dad had clocked on to her sneaking out, and had put a swift, painful stop to it. Now, her mornings were spent much the same as her evenings: being used as a punching bag.
Michaela turned, raising an eyebrow. "What?"
"I need you to punch me."
"What?!"
Belle looked up, allowing the other girl to see the black eye forming on the right hand side of her face. Michaela gasped.
"How'd you get that?"
"It doesn't matter, but if a teacher sees it it'll just be more drama and I really can't be doing with the questions so if I take the blame, will you just punch me so it looks like it came from you?"
Seeing the desperate look in her classmate's eyes, Michaela frowned. "You take full blame."
"One hundred percent!" Belle let out a relieved breath.
"But this is a one-off, yeah? This happens again," she indicated the rapidly forming bruise on Belle's face, "you tell someone. Nobody should get away with that."
"Deal." Belle agreed weakly.
Michaela paused for a moment, before swinging her fist at Belle's face. Within moments the two were fighting, a re-enactment of their previous classroom brawl.
Twenty minutes later, the pair were sat outside the head's office. Belle's black eye had fully developed into a deep purple, and Michaela had a split lip.
"Girls, inside. Now." Rachel held the door open and they trudged into the office.
Before the headmistress could even open her mouth Belle jumped in.
"It was my fault."
Rachel's eyebrows shot up. "Isabelle?"
"I was in a bad mood, winding Michaela up and that. I started it."
Rachel scrutinised her carefully. "Michaela, is this true?"
"Yes, Miss."
Flicking her eyes between the two girls once more, she eventually gave in. "Alright. Michaela, go to registration. Report for detention this lunch, please."
Michaela shuffled from the room, uttering a groan but saying nothing more, undoubtedly thinking of all the ways Belle would owe her one for this.
As the door closed behind her, Belle felt the full weight of her mother's gaze rest upon her.
"To say I'm disappointed is an understatement, Isabelle."
Belle rolled her eyes, forcing the mask of indifference onto her face; in reality, her leg hurt to stand on, her eye was throbbing, and her wrist ached from where she'd fallen on it funny after being thrown across the room by that morning's punch.
Rachel's eyes narrowed, trying to read the girl's face. "Any particular reason you decided to start a fight? You're sure nothing was said-?"
"Like I said, I was in a bad mood." Belle muttered, keeping her gaze on the floor.
Rachel had a mental flick through of all her concerns as she observed the demeanour of the girl before her. Belle was usually so outspoken, so angry towards her- and whilst Rachel had to admit it was a nice change not to face her animosity, it was disconcerting, and only added to her worry. And while it wasn't at all unusual for Belle to be in a fist fight, there was always a provocation. Her daughter was hot-headed, but not antagonistic. She decided to probe further. "Why were you in a bad mood?"
"No reason."
"None at all?"
"There doesn't always have to be a reason."
"There usually is with you." Rachel held her breath, waiting for the insult, the comment about how she wouldn't know, not having been there for ten years.
"Not this time. Just a bad mood." Belle shifted her weight around, trying to ignore the pain.
Now Rachel was truly worried. "Isabelle," she paused, unsure of how to approach this, "will you sit with me?" She indicated the sofas in the corner of her office.
"Why?" Belle was starting to get agitated now. "Can't you just give me my punishment and let me leave?"
"I don't believe you when you say it's 'just a bad mood'. I want to help you."
"Bit late for that." Belle uttered under her breath, so quietly Rachel barely heard her.
"Belle-" she reached out and held her wrist loosely, meaning it as a comforting gesture, but to her surprise Belle gasped (in anger? Shock? Pain? She couldn't tell) and wrenched her arm away, taking several steps back and lifting her arms out somewhat defensively.
"Just...just leave me alone, Rachel. For god's sake, do what you do best and leave me alone!" Belle blinked, trying not to let her mother see her tears, and she dashed from the room, not stopping until she reached the girl's toilets where she locked herself in a cubicle and finally allowed herself to cry.
During her maths class, she was informed by Eddie that she had detention every lunch that week. She said nothing, only nodding. Bolton was nudging her, asking what had happened, but she wouldn't give him anything other than "fight with Michaela".
Eddie didn't miss the concerned glances Bolton was sending her way- evidently it wasn't just the staff noticing something was amiss with the girl.
It was only at break, when the pair were sitting on the steps outside and her sleeve rode up that Bolton actually confronted her about it.
"Yo Belle, 'sup with your wrist?"
The wrist in question was red and swollen, and looked a lot worse than it had before. She supposed her fight plus writing with it all morning hadn't done it any favours.
Belle pulled her sleeve down hurriedly. "Nothing."
"That ain't nothing. Did that happen with Michaela this morning?"
Belle jumped on the excuse being offered. "Probably, yeah. But it's fine, it looks worse than it is."
Bolton narrowed his eyes. "How d'you know that if you've only just noticed it?"
"'Cos it feels alright. If it was anything to worry about, it'd hurt more." She shot him an unconvincing smile.
"You should probably still go to the nurse though. Looks well swollen, you might've sprained it or somethin'."
"If it starts to hurt, I will, okay?" She said, more to appease him than anything else.
"You promise?" He prompted, making the unexpected move to grab her uninjured hand in his.
Belle stared at their now-conjoined hands in surprise before giving him a soft smile. "Promise."
Before either of them could say any more, they were interrupted.
"Belle Munroe, could I have a word?" Tom Clarkson called across the courtyard.
Belle frowned and let a groan slip past her lips. "Coming!"
"What's that about?" Bolton asked as she stood up, allowing her hand to pull away from his.
"Probably the fight this morning, me losing my temper and all that. I'll see you later."
She followed Tom inside and down the now familiar route to the pastoral care office, arriving just as the bell went for third period.
"It was nothing, I swear," she said as she threw herself onto the armchair next to his desk, pulling her feet up and hugging them to her. "It was just a stupid scrap, not the first time, won't be the last."
Tom moved his chair closer to hers so he was directly opposite before sitting. "While I appreciate your assurance that it'll definitely happen again, Belle, this isn't about you fighting with Michaela White."
This threw her. "What is it about then? Because I still don't want to talk to my mother."
"Not that either." Tom chose his words carefully, aware that it would be entirely too easy to set her off. "Belle, you know the teachers at this school are always looking out for you, and want the best for you."
Her eyes narrowed and she hugged her knees tighter but she said nothing.
He took this as a cue to continue. "Some…concerns have been raised recently, about your home life."
"They're wrong! You're wrong! Everything's fine!" She jumped it, eyes wide and panicked.
"Belle, you can talk to me, I'm here to help-"
"No, you're here to make me talk! You think that just because I opened up to you that one time I'll suddenly get all touchy-feely and want to share everything!" Belle had uncurled, her hands now gripping the arms of the chair as she sat right on the edge, preparing to launch herself out of it if need be.
"That's not it at all! There is something to share though, isn't there?" Tom tried to keep his voice calm and understanding.
"No!" She was shouting now, and breathing heavily. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about! All of you just need to leave me alone!" She threw herself out of her seat and bolted for the door, not even stopping to pick up her bag from the floor.
Tom ran after her, calling her name, but she was through the front doors and out the gate long before he got there.
He watched her sprint down the road and wondered how he was going to break it to Rachel that he'd let her daughter run away.
"Bugger." He muttered, before turning and heading towards the head's office.
Belle was running. She didn't know where, she just knew that if she stopped then her whole world might just collapse. Everything was closing in, and she couldn't stop it; she couldn't control it any longer. It was all her fault, and he was going to kill her.
She made a turn, realising she was near the park. Focussing on the feel of her feet thudding against the concrete one after the other, she followed the route that would take her there.
So sorry for the wait between chapters, guys! As we all know, the apocalypse is here, bringing with it a myriad of problems. I finally got round to posting this chapter, but I'm not really happy with it, it's more of a function than anything, just trying to get the characters where I want them to be.
I hope you're all coping as best you can, and remember- stay safe, stay inside, and wash your hands!
Much love 3