It was done I promise. I just realized it needed a little polishing.

Thank you as always to my lovely reviewers!

Marrowsong - 3

Idcam -Yes, peace is the simple word for what Heather wants but can never seem to have. :(

The next morning, Heather did not want to rouse herself to face the world. Heather had stayed in bed from the time she had arrived home yesterday afternoon, through the third snooze on her alarm clock. She had neglected to complete her homework and refused to appear at dinner. She was relieved that her father was currently away on a run. Otherwise, he may have narrowly avoided the impulse to drag her to the dining room via the hair of her head.

Grudgingly, Heather hauled herself out of bed and began preparing for another day of inevitable torment. She fought back her tears and acknowledged that she had no one to blame for this save herself. For reasons unbeknownst to her, Heather apparently felt that she had something to prove. What precisely that thing was and whom exactly she needed to prove anything to was beyond her.

After a hurried shower, Heather dressed in a black skirt, paired with a black short sleeve collared shirt. Eager for cooler weather, she wore her black leggings regardless of the temperature and laced her Chucks. She quickly brushed through her damp hair and left it to be.

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder she didn't bother to ensure that all of the items were there. She had never touched it after placing it in its designated spot next to her bookshelf. Remembering her cardigan, Heather swiftly snatched it up before exiting her bedroom and closing the door behind her.

Of all the classes Heather was dreading that day it goes without saying that her P.E. class filled her with the most anxiety. She made it through her first two periods without issues albeit a bit of nerves. As Heather made her way to the gymnasium, she was stunned to find that she was actually entertaining the idea of forgoing physical education and heading to the library instead. Perhaps Mrs. Carter would permit her to assist with the shelving even if it wasn't her designated period? No, that would not suit. Even if Mrs. Carter desired the help, she would not approve of Heather purposefully skipping a class. Heaving a despondent sigh, Heather continued on her way to the gym.

As she was dressing out for Gym, Heather felt doubly self-conscious about her figure. It was true, her breasts were rather…understated. But she didn't feel that her hips were precisely narrow. Upon further contemplation, she had lost a fair amount of weight in the past few months. Would Kevin still find her reasonably attractive?

Heather shook her head, trying to rid herself of thoughts that would do no service to her, and continued dressing. When she had finished, Heather listened and waited for the chatter to diminish before she made her way out of the stall to deposit her clothes in her locker.

Entering the gymnasium, Heather took her place along the blue line of the court where they were usually instructed to stand. She took note of the plethora of soft, rubber balls aligned in the center of the court.

Heather groaned inwardly. Dodge ball. Another needless staple of America's physical education curriculum. After the roll call, the coach split them into teams and the girls made their way to their respective ends of the court.

Coach Stewart blew her whistle, signaling the start of the game. The more athletic and competitive girls raced towards the center to be the first to claim a ball. Heather was disinterested in such an advantage and merely made a charade of approaching the match-up (albeit at a glacial pace) to garner the participation score.

Ashley Knowles, the captain of the girls' volleyball team pitched a ball straight towards Heather. Heather flinched as the ball was hurling in her direction, but had little reaction beyond that. It caught her on the hip and bounced off before rolling away for someone on her team to snatch up.

Not endeavoring to conceal her relief, Heather scurried off to the bleachers. They had been instructed to take a seat on the lowest bench in the event of elimination. Conversely, Heather climbed twelve or thirteen steps before migrating to the center of the seating.

Coach Stewart glanced up at Heather, which made her reconsider her decision for an instant. Yet the woman did not correct her, instead, she turned back to the action on the floor.

Heather sat, elbows resting on her knees, head in her hands. She closed her eyes. Although she had stayed in bed from the time she had arrived home, she was exhausted from her unending tears and lack of sleep. She was praying for a hasty end to the class as a whole. There was nothing productive about lobbing balls at one another. Heather would much prefer to read another few chapters of Crime and Punishment, especially considering that she had completely neglected her assignments the previous night.

"What's wrong Calaway? Not enough balls flying toward you?" a voice questioned in a sneering tone.

Immersed in her own thoughts, Heather hadn't even noticed the person looming over her until the voice called her attention. Opening her eyes and craning her neck, Heather slowly peered up at the glowering face of Brittany Bedson standing on the bench directly in front of her.

Heather stared up vacantly as though she couldn't possibly be the one that the girl was speaking to in such a manner. It took a few moments for Heather to comprehend her insinuation in reference to her remark. She surmised Brittany included a vulgar comparison to male testicles, along with all of the foul names that she had referred to Heather as the previous day. Heather bit her bottom lip to prevent it from trembling as her heart began thrumming in her chest. Dropping her head, Heather willed away the tears that threatened to fall.

Brittany's lip curled with a satisfied smirk, knowing she had the demure girl where she wanted her. "Ahh, are you crying again? Too bad you can't drown yourself in all those tears. Must be upsetting to know, no one wants your freaky, whore ass around? Even Jeremiah can't stand your skank ass, but you hang all over him like a leech. That's what he told Tayvion," the blonde stated scornfully, eyes flashing with hatred as she stared down at the other girl.

Heather shook her head, battling all the dreadful slurs this rueful girl was slinging towards her. Then Heather's heart stopped for a moment. As her tears were on the verge of spilling over, she paused astutely. Brittany wouldn't know anything that Jeremiah had told Tayvion. She did not even associate with either one of them. Moreover, Jeremiah was one of her dearest friends in the world. He had trusted Heather enough to reveal his true self to her, before anyone else. There was not even a sliver of probability that he detested her so.

Furthermore, Heather knew she was not all of those repulsive names that Brittany had deemed her. No more than Kevin was all of the despicable things that people claimed him to be. If she would not stand for anyone speaking of him in such a manner, why should she permit it for herself?

Deliberately, Heather rose to her feet in front of the other girl. Heather was still gazing down at her Converses when Brittany asked her with a mocking laugh, "Oh, what? You got something to say, freakazoid?"

Steeling herself, Heather lifted her head to glare daggers at the girl through narrowed eyes. Without uttering a word, Heather drew back her fist and in the next instant, it connected with the center of Brittany's face. The force of the blow, which resulted in a resounding crack, caused Brittany's head to snap back. Losing her footing, she tumbled down the bleachers feet flying over her head several times.

Heather observed her misfortune with a strange satisfaction as she toppled all the way to the gym floor and landed in a heap. After a moment, Heather began languidly making her way down the stairs.

As she pulled herself to her knees, a shrill scream rang out from Brittany's throat. If the clatter of Brittany rolling down the stairs didn't draw the attention of everyone in the vicinity, her shriek certainly did. A hush fell over the entire gymnasium in response to the commotion as everyone stopped to observe what was happening.

"My…" Brittany whimpered as she felt a warm, sticky wetness seeping from her nostrils, "my nose."

"Oh my God, she's bleeding!" one of the girls in the class cried.

"My nose!" Brittany cautiously tried to assess the damage, but the pain was too great. "My nose is – you psycho BITCH!" Brittany screeched as she glowered up at Heather. Blood flowed into the blonde's mouth coating her tongue with a coppery taste. She spit it out as the blood and saliva mixture dribbling down her chin, painted the shiny, waxed floor crimson.

This time, Brittany's insult had little effect on Heather as she stalked toward the prone girl with purpose, like a predator cornering its prey.

It wasn't until Coach Stewart was blowing her whistle excessively and yelling Heather's name that she snapped out of her trance-like state and froze.

"Coach Stewart, Brittany needs help! Oh God!" Jessica cried dramatically.

"Yes. Help her to the nurse," Coach Stewart told her with what appeared to be only minimal concern.

Jessica and Kelly assisted Brittany, taking care not to get blood on themselves. They may be vaguely concerned for their friend, but they were squeamish and that didn't mean they wanted to be covered in blood.

"She really is fucking psycho!" Kelly exclaimed as they left the gym.

"Calaway!" Coach Stewart called her name again as the woman strode towards her scribbling something on her clipboard. "I shouldn't say this," the gym teacher started in a low voice, "but it's about time someone knocked her down a peg. Or twelve." The coach stifled a chuckle. "But I still gotta report this to the office, since you broke the rules about violence and fighting. They'll call your parents. For now, take this to the detention hall," she instructed Heather as she tore off a pink slip of paper from a notepad attached to her clipboard and handed it to her.

Heather gaped at the brightly colored slip of paper. It was the first demerit she had ever received in her life. It was then that the consequences of her actions fell over Heather like a crumbling building. Mechanically, Heather's feet began carrying her out of the gym.

What on earth would happen now? Would this go on her permanent record? Would she be expelled? Would this prevent her from graduating? All of these thoughts whirled around Heather's brain as her anxiety threatened to spill over. Her heart clenched at the fear of the unknown as tears streamed down her cheeks and she felt herself beginning to tremble.

Heather lingered in front of the door to the girl's locker room for a moment. She didn't believe she would be permitted to change into her school uniform and thought it best to make her way straight to the detention hall without delay.

Pausing, Heather attempted to recall the location of the detention hall. She had never had the need to visit it prior to today. Once she remembered that it was located in the east wing of the school she headed in that direction. It was housed in the older section of the building and rightfully so, she supposed. It was where they would banish all the degenerates.

Before entering the room, Heather took a deep breath to steady her nerves, she never dreamed that she would be walking into this class as a punishment. Heather pulled open the heavy door. It creaked obnoxiously and then slammed shut behind her with a thunderous bang that caused Heather to jump. It reminded Heather of the clang of prison bars slamming shut.

The ruckus pulled the attention of a few students towards her. A couple of them started whispering to one another or tapped the person next to them so they could get a gander at goody-two-shoes, Heather Calaway standing in detention.

"Settle down, everyone," the firm voice of Mr. Nelson commanded.

The students returned to silence as Heather approached the desk at the front of the room where the teacher sat. He looked up at her with his hand out. It took Heather a moment to realize he was expecting her demerit slip from her. "Never thought I'd see you here. What did you do?" he asked skeptically. Reading the slip he gave a slightly amused hmph.

Mr. Nelson looked Heather up and down as if searching for something on her person. "You don't have anything with you?" he said in a tone that was both a question and a statement.

Heather shook her head. "N-no. I'm sorry. I left my belongings in the gymnasium locker," she replied in a barely audible voice.

The man looked put out by Heather's answer. "Here. You can work on this packet in the meantime," he told her, thrusting a stack of stapled papers at her. "There's a pencil," he nodded at a pencil holder on the corner of his desk.

Silently Heather retrieved a pencil and then claimed the first available desk. Sinking down into her seat, she struggled not to begin weeping all over again as anxiety set in.

Struggling to occupy her mind, she took in the packet in front of her. The packet contained various exercises from several subjects. She was sure this was Freshman coursework, an insult to say the least.

Heather chided herself. That was certainly a trivial matter in lieu of what she would face next.

Raising her head slightly, Heather surveyed the room and its students.

In the far right corner at the back of the room sat a boy with green hair. It was considerably faded, but at one point the tone was probably neon in appearance. Heather recognized that he was in her Literature class. He did not speak much and rarely participated. And there were times when he wouldn't be in attendance at all. She supposed he may be here in detention perhaps? If she recalled correctly, his first name was Adam.

There was another aspect about him that would consistently needle Heather on the few occasions that she would pay him any mind, but for the life of her, she couldn't discern why.

He was busy drawing on his hand with an ink pen when Heather's gaze caught his attention, he fixed her with a cool yet attentive stare, his mouth slightly ticking upwards in one corner.

A small gasp slipped from Heather as they made eye contact and her heart stopped for a moment. She was utterly mortified that he had caught her gawking at him.

"Eyes forward, Miss Calaway," Mr. Nelson chastised her.

Her countenance suffusing with red, Heather quickly whipped around to face the front of the classroom. Her head bent down to her paperwork once more.

Now Heather recollected why he seemed so familiar to her. He was the boy she had seen in the secluded corner of the library the day she had attempted to take her life. When their eyes had met just a moment ago, he had fixed her with the same curious gaze which he had that day. How Heather had not come to the realization sooner baffled her. Yet to be fair, she was particularly lodged inside of her own head space the majority of the time.

Shoving the memories from that day out of her head before they got the better of her, Heather endeavored again to concentrate on the work packet. Focus, however, eluded her, and in the end, she was forming random doodles in the margins of the pages until the assistant to the office secretary arrived to fetch her.

Reluctantly, Heather followed the young woman who couldn't be more than five years older than herself towards the main office, each step compounded the sense of dread that had embedded itself in the pit of her stomach. Heather was led down the hall to where Principal Willard's office was, When she was ushered inside she found her mother seated in a chair across from the principal while the man was perched behind his gargantuan wooden desk.

Heather's mother turned towards her with an unpleasant expression on her visage, which caused Heather to recoil. The woman certainly looked to be in a rather sour mood. On the one hand, Heather was grateful that her father was still on the road at this present time, although she dreaded the reprimand once he returned home. Nevertheless, her mother albeit less cantankerous than her father on average, was doubtfully not one to be contented with if her ire should be roused. Heather's gaze dropped to her sneakers as she walked a few paces into the room and took a seat in the empty chair beside her.

"What happened?" her mother demanded.

"Well Ma'am, as I explained over the ph-"

"I already got your, or rather that little-" Sara had to bite her tongue to prevent the next word from flying out, "the other girl's side. I was asking Heather," Sara snapped.

Principal Willard opened his mouth to respond, but upon seeing the glare that the girl's mother was shooting at him, immediately closed it.

Heather sat squirming in silence. Her head was bent while she twisted the hem of her t-shirt around her finger in apprehension. She was on the verge of tears again. She had never actually been disciplined before - not beyond some imagined offense from her father. She didn't know how her actions would be received and her mother appeared to be livid.

"Heather?" Sara pressed her daughter sternly.

Heather didn't hear that tone from her mother often but when she did, she knew well enough that it meant business. Therefore she released a shaky breath, attempting to gather the courage to confess to her mother the reasoning behind her actions.

"Y-yesterday, while I was changing back to my school uniform," Heather began in a trembling voice, "I overheard, Br-brittany and her friends, speaking…about me..."

Sara's eyebrows furrowed. "What did they say?"

"They said..." Heather was hesitant at first, but then she found that she couldn't contain herself, as though she needed to divulge all of what happened. "They said, all manner of dreadful things a-and made several false accusations against me!" Heather confessed.

"Like what? Tell me what they said," Sara urged her sternly.

"They c-called me s-several derogatory terms and claimed that I was..." Heather paused and hung her head, mulling over how to express the horrible things they had said. Her voice dropped to a nearly inaudible whisper as she continued "e-engaging in…explicit acts with several members of the student body," she managed to finish. Heather prayed she wouldn't be asked to elaborate. She was already mortified as it were.

"Miss Calaway," Principal Willard addressed her, "I spoke with Miss Bedson briefly once her injuries were under control before she went to the hospital. She claims that you attacked her unprovoked and insists that it was you who was spouting derogatory terms."

Heather's head shot up and she glowered at the man. "That is a lie!" Heather shrieked surprising even herself.

"My daughter does not name-call and bully, Mr. Willard," Sara insisted vehemently.

"Miss Flynn and Miss Smith corroborated Miss Bedson's story," Principal Willard told them as if that would prove his point.

"Certainly they would. They are her friends after all!" Heather retorted as tears of frustration sprang from her eyes. She was white-knuckling the arms of the chair to prevent herself from bolting out of it and screaming like a savage banshee worse than she already was.

"Are you kidding me right now?" Sara growled indignantly.

"Heather has always been an exemplary student and I know things have been tough the last year or so but regardless of what may have been said that doesn't excuse the fact that Miss Calaway blatantly and violently attacked another student," the man responded. He looked at both mother and daughter before continuing, "Therefore since this is her first offense, I am placing her on a two-week suspension."

"Sir, you can not be adamant about that!" Heather cried.

"I am extremely adamant, Miss Calaway. We have zero tolerance when it comes to bullying, harassment, and violence here. I know you've never found yourself in such a position until now, but we intend to punish offenders to the fullest extent," he said in an icy tone.

"The fuck you do!" Sara bellowed, alarming the other two people in the room. "Listen, that girl has had it out for my daughter for the past six years - four of them being under your authority. She has bullied and harassed my daughter to no end. Made her life a living hell for no good reason. And then when my daughter actually defends herself against the little twit-"

"Mrs. Calaway there's no need for name-calling," the man cut in, but Sara was beyond reasoning at this point.

"You choose to punish the victim because you refused to do anything about it in the first place. Tell me, Mr. Willard, what did your staff do when my daughter was stripped naked and thrown into the boys' locker room like she was part of some hazing ritual?" Sara's voice faltered as a lump rose in her throat, just the same as Heather's at the mention of the horrid memory.

Willard opened his mouth to speak, but Sara didn't give him the opportunity. "You did absolutely nothing. As I'm sure you recall."

"Mrs. Calaway, I assure you, if we had known-"

"You knew! You knew and you didn't do a damn thing! You're lucky I don't sue the ass off this school for the shit you've allowed to happen here," Sara cut him off again, her voice dripping with venom.

"Ma'am, please. The language. This is a learning institution after all."

"Precisely. And I see that they are led by example here," Sara shot back. "They behave like savage animals with no moral backbone."

Hands wringing in her lap, Heather sat there in a stupor as she witnessed the exchange between her mother and her principal. Her mother could be equally as terrifying as her father if the mood struck her, although it was rare.

The principal seemed to be having a time of it as he appeared just as apprehensive under her mother's rueful glower as she continued to lay into him.

"Maybe if you had addressed this a long time ago, she would not feel the need to take matters into her own hands. Have you ever thought about that, Sir?" the honorific came out of Sara's mouth in a mocking tone.

The man's shoulders sagged as he slumped in his high-backed chair. "Perhaps we had dropped the ball here. And for that I'm sorry. But the rules are the rules and that doesn't negate the fact that Miss Calaway put her hands on Miss Bedson first," Willard stated firmly. "I'm sorry Mrs. Calaway, but I can't just let this slide without some form of repercussion here. One week, in-school suspension," Principal Willard looked apologetically at Heather as he spoke.

Sara was incensed. "No!" she argued. "Again, why are you not punishing the one who instigated all of this?"

Resigned, Principal Willard sighed as he shook his head in defeat. "Alright…Three days. And three days for Miss Bedson and any other girl involved in the gossiping and harassment."

Sara glowered at him with her arms folded over her chest. That was a crock, but she knew it was the best they were going to get from this little weasel of a man. "Fine," she forced out through gritted teeth as though she was the one made to serve punishment for the crime. Sara stood abruptly from her chair and began moving towards the door. "I'm taking my daughter home now," the woman announced and then instructed her Heather to follow her.

Wordlessly, but expelling a tiny squeak, Heather bolted up from her seat.

Sara turned back towards Principal Willard. "Oh, and you will be hearing from Mr. Calaway. If you thought I was intimidating to speak with, I hope you bring a change of underwear the day he gets back into town."

The man looked scandalized at first. Then his expression shifted in response to the threat. "You know, I could have the resource officer take her in if I saw fit. I'm being lenient because this is her first infraction. Bare that in mind," Principal Willard replied with a threat of his own.

"Oh, I'm sure," Sara shot back seemingly unfazed.

Heather wished she could share the sentiment as her mother placed a hand on her shoulder and guided her back down the short hallway. Heather misliked Principal Willard's words. Yet, thinking of the horrible treatment that she had received at the hands of her former best friend, Heather could not summon more than a sliver of remorse regarding her actions.

"Mom," Heather ventured timidly, "Am I to be p-punished?" Her mother had just signed her out and they were leaving the office.

"No. Of course not. Why?" her mother said as if she hadn't just delivered a horrific blow to another student and deviated her septum.

"I-it's simply that. I violated a school rule by behaving violently," Heather's words came out as though she had an acrid distaste for what she had done. In a way, she did.

"I'm not upset with you for defending yourself, Heather," Sara affirmed as they headed towards the truck.

"Would Daddy be upset with me?" Heather posed the question, but for some bizarre reason, it wasn't her father's stern and foreboding visage that came to her mind, but rather the glint of mischievous hazel eyes and a luxurious mane of blonde hair.

Mortified, Heather flushed and shook off her own thoughts. At the moment, she was too emotionally charged to entertain thoughts of the man whom she still yearned for. Moreover, she was baffled as to why she would refer to him in such a term. Her mantle deepened when her mother spoke, as though she feared that the other woman could read her thoughts.

"Don't worry about your dad," Sara told her. "I'll take care of him if he has any problems."

Yeah right, Heather wanted to retort but remained silent.

She then remembered the items in her locker. "Mom?"

"Hmm?"

"What of my effects?"

Sara turned to her with a puzzled expression.

"The items in my locker such as my textbooks and my homework assignments," Heather mumbled.

Sara openly rolled her eyes at her daughter's trivial concern. "I don't care about that right now," she stated bluntly. "It's passed lunchtime. What do you want to eat?" She asked as they reached the truck.

Heather blushed again when her stomach chose that moment to grumble. Of course, she hadn't eaten lunch yesterday as she was in the library. Then once she arrived home, she immediately retreated to her room. She had never been much enthusiastic over breakfast either. Heather wished to respond with nothing and simply go home, but she had it on good authority that her mother wouldn't have it. Silently Heather climbed into the truck.

Sara had taken them to a Tex-Mex restaurant, where Heather nibbled morosely at a simple cheese quesadilla and a few tortilla chips. It was more for her mother's sake than her own, although she certainly didn't wish to be chided for her lack of food consumption either.

On the way home, Sara's cell phone began to ring. She answered it without looking at the screen. "Hello?" she said in an agitated tone, thinking maybe it was the school calling her for some other ridiculous reason. Truth be told it wasn't as if she wasn't still fuming.

"What's going on, woman? Those kids giving you hell?" her husband barked his usual words but they had little bite.

Sara sighed, "No more than usual."

"What now?"

Heather could hear her father's gruff southern drawl. He was reserving his ire for now, but she was sure she was going to incur his wrath as soon as he made his way home. Certainly, her mother was going to throw her under the bus once more! Heather observed that she seemed to have a growing penchant for exposing her.

Sara's laugh was almost sardonic. "For starters, your daughter socked the Bedson girl right in the face," his wife revealed.

"Aww, hell!" Mark groused. "Jesus Christ. Welp, tell Reves I'll deal with her ass when I get home."

Heather blanched at his words. This did not bode well for her. She was suddenly thrust into contrition if for no other reason than the dire consequences from her father.

Sara chuckled. "Oh, it wasn't Reves," his wife informed him with an air of amusement as she glanced over at her daughter.

"Heather?" Mark questioned in astonishment. There was a prolonged pause. "Well, I guess the little witch musta really had shit coming to rile our girl like that," Mark chortled.

The manner in which he spoke the words, our girl, caused Heather's heart to clench. For an instant, she felt safe and understood even though she knew it was an illusion.

"Apparently, broke her nose," Sara added. "Got a call from Amelia before I got to the school. Their little angel needs plastic surgery now," Sara scoffed, "and they want us to pay for it, or they say they'll sue."

A tiny gasp slipped from Heather. She was not aware of this rather large portion of information.

"Fuck that!" Mark roared. "I ain't paying for shit. I hope you told her if her little brat didn't go around acting like an entitled cunt she wouldn't be getting her face smashed in."

"That's exactly what I told her. Maybe not in those words, but I wanted to. I am getting so tired of this shit Mark. It's been since sixth grade. It's about time someone taught her a lesson, damn it!"

"Hell, I agree." Mark released an audible huff, "Guess I gotta talk with the girl when I get back," Mark stated as if it would be a chore he didn't want to take on.

"Oh, you'll never believe how Willard tried to handle it!" Sara informed him before launching into a full-on tirade about the man that lasted at least ten minutes.

"Well, shit. That bastard has it coming then too," Mark growled. Then he said gruffly, "I gotta get off here. Just called to check on ya. Lemme know if anything else happens."

"I hope nothing," Sara breathed. "Okay. I love you. You'll be home in three days, right?"

"Yep. Three days. Love you, and the kids."

Sara ended the call and placed the phone in the center console.

Heather had been silently observing their conversation, however, she didn't attempt to speak on the hypocrisy of their ill treatment towards her that continued to persist in some facets. She also found herself flummoxed by how they seemed to be almost delighted by her erratic and unruly behavior, yet she would often be severely rebuked for the slightest infraction. Heather had to admit that her parents' method of child-rearing was littered with the demand for reproach.

Despite all of that, Heather felt herself on the verge of tears once more as her heart clenched inside her chest. Her father had said it! The man had stated that he loved her in his own indirect and flippant manner.

For a fleeting moment, that little sliver of acknowledgment and quasi-affection eclipsed all of Heather's apprehension.

Hopefully, we all feel a little vindicated by this chapter. Next, it's time to check in with Kev.