Author's Note:Sorry about the extreme delay with my writing. I have some serious projects going on over on another website, and if things go well, I might be a published writer soon! So, keep your fingers crossed, and once again, you all have my deepest apologies! Also... wow.
How the hell did this story manage to land a whopping 86 followers with only ten chapters?
The world never ceases to amaze me.
Chapter Ten: The Struggle Begins
Meg slowly woke up to the sound of quiet snickers, clicking, and the feeling of someone poking her arm.
Shifting a bit, she let out a soft sigh and turned her head to the side so her hair could shield her face. Her whole upper body was hurting like crazy from all of the exertion she'd put herself through the previous day. She weakly buried her face in the crook of her arm in an effort to rid herself of the snickering, but still, it wouldn't go away and she only felt herself being poked further, which made her arm twitch.
Something rustled against her bare back... then her... butt?
Meg nearly had a stroke when something extremely sharp poked bare skin on her upper thigh, and her eyes snapped open wide in alarm: with a terrified flail, she tried to scream with no result whatsoever and rolled off of her bed by accident. In the confusion that ensued, she ended up bashing her temple against the side table.
She saw stars and let out a breathy wheeze, clutching her forehead and flopping around.
"NYAHAHAHAHAHA!" Peter cackled, pointing at her with a triumphant smirk. "Time for school, Meg! Get up! You have a big day ahead of you!"
Holding her aching head, Meg blinked blearily up at her father's silhouette; realizing she'd left her glasses on the nightstand, she weakly tried to push herself upright, but before she could get there, Peter grabbed her clean under the arms and lifted her into the air. She would have kicked and shouted at him for doing it, but... well, neither of those things were possible.
She dangled precariously, clutching down on his hands with her armpits and silently praying he wouldn't drop her.
But her prayers were always ignored.
Almost abruptly, he let go of her and she face-planted on the mattress.
"All right, time to get you dressed. Meg!" Peter cheerfully exclaimed, making her heart freeze; he grabbed her arm and forced her to sit up, and before she realized what was happening, he dragged the hospital gown off. Meg would have screamed at the top of her lungs if she'd been able to.
She would have run away.
But once again...
Her fear skyrocketed and she curled up on herself, clutching her chest with both arms and using as much of her hair as possible to hide herself from view. Her dad walked over to the closet, humming a little tune as he pulled out something that she couldn't see, and with little fanfare he leaned down and jerked her legs out.
Meg fell over on her back, eyes growing wide.
Her whole body locked up since she couldn't feel what he was doing.
Then he stepped back, nodded with a sound of approval, and did something else.
Then he grabbed her arm and jerked her upright.
Why is he doing this? she silently panicked, flailing as he slid what she assumed was a bra over her head. H-he's not going to make a pass at me like that one time he tried going redneck, right?!
The thought very nearly made her pass out, which was something she was utterly terrified of doing around him anyway.
Before she could ponder it any further, however, he roughly jerked a shirt over her head and stepped back.
"There you go, Meg!" Peter chuckled, then turned around and waved. "All dressed! But oh, your glasses!"
Meg blinked when bent down and grabbed something... then he leaned close to her.
And just like that, she could see.
Blinking rapidly at her surroundings, Meg glanced at herself and stiffened, eyes widening when she realized her father had, for whatever reason, dressed her in a pleated black skirt and a mauve, plaid turtleneck sweater that she knew belonged to her mother. She'd seen Lois wear this outfit a few times during the holiday season or for special events.
Feeling confused, she watched as he slid some dark navy socks on her feet and put some...
Wait... Meg muttered, furrowing her brows. Are those new shoes? What's going on?
She finally looked at her Dad, and to her surprise, realized he was actually dressed up nice for a change.
"All right, Meg," Peter chuckled, tying her laces before pulling her wheelchair over with a cardboard cutout smile. "Let's go! Into the chair!"
She stared at him with wary eyes, then looked around for her hat.
To her horror, it was nowhere to be found.
I had it last night, she panicked, eyes flitting around the room. Where is it?!
"Peter, is she up and dressed yet?!" Lois crabbily barked from downstairs. "Hurry up!"
"Coming Lois," he cheerfully called, then roughly grabbed Meg under the arms and dropped her in the rustbucket of a wheelchair. "All right, Meg, let's head downstairs! Daddy's making a change for the better because he loves you!"
Shock flooded through her.
As she was passing the nightstand, she saw the sketch pad and snatched it just as her father wheeled her towards the stairs. She felt her heart fly up her throat, since she assumed he was going to dump her down them or something similarly heinous... but to her disbelief, the moment she cringed, he simply lifted the wheelchair and carried her down the stairs one step at a time until she was safely on the the living room carpet.
"Good morning, Meg," Lois called, forcing a grin that twitched and writhed; her eyelid jerked for several seconds before she looked away and walked back into the kitchen; two seconds later, she walked out with some toast and jam, which she handed to her stunned daughter. "Here's some breakfast. Chris has already gone ahead. Have a good day at school."
Meg took the toast with shaky hands, then looked at her mother in sheer confusion.
This was the first time in her whole life that her parents had ever been thoughtful towards her.
It was so shocking that she could hardly believe it, but... was it really possible?
Was it possible that the accident had made them realize that they actually cared for her?
Had they decided to try and change?
These thoughts were so overwhelming that her eyes filled with tears and she smiled at Lois.
For real.
To the point that it touched her eyes and she felt it light her heart up from the inside out.
Her mother's eyes narrowed a little and she turned to walk away, plastering another chalky smile on her face. Then Peter was wheeling her towards the front door. Looking down at her toast, Meg's hazel-green eyes shimmered and she took a big bite, savoring the possible dreams behind it.
Savoring the flavor of possible acceptance.
But then the door opened, and that flavor turned to ash on her tongue.
Meg slowly lowered her hands and stared when she saw the crowd of reporters standing on her property. Cameras began flashing in her eyes as she looked at them, not understanding what was going on... but then, she looked up at her father.
The smile he'd given her earlier, his behavior, the clothes...
Suddenly, it all made sense.
The pieces of Meg's already-busted heart cracked even further and she lowered her head, staring at the toast that she'd been given. To have gotten her hopes up like that had been the biggest mistake of her entire life. She should have known that her parents would never do anything nice for her unless there were ulterior motives involved.
She didn't look up at the people taking photos at her. She didn't respond to the questions people were throwing at her.
She didn't even notice the microphones being thrust in her face. She heard nothing, felt nothing, saw nothing but that strawberry jam toast resting in her small, white hands. In that moment, when all she could taste was grit and dry ash, she closed her eyes and let it drop to the ground.
She didn't even raise her eyes when Peter lifted the wheelchair and set it into the back of their red family-sized SUV. All she knew was that her heart hurt, and the start of living hell was about to begin. She watched as the scenery passed by, not even noticing the way Peter was watching her in the rear-view mirror.
"Hey, Meeeeeg," he drawled, making her turn and look at him with glazed eyes. "BRACE YOURSELF!"
Without warning, the car swerved and she went flying to the right, smacking her already-throbbing head on the window so hard that the safety glass actually cracked. Her father's eyes widened when she clutched her temple in agony and he stomped on the brakes, throwing her forward. The red car came to a screeching halt in the middle of the road.
Meg couldn't even open her eyes, but she heard her father getting out past her ringing ears.
Involuntary tears were streaming out of her eyes, so when she opened them, her vision was exceedingly blurry.
"Lois is gonna kill me!" Peter cried, clutching his hair. "Look at what you've done now, Meg! You cracked the window!"
Frankly, she didn't really care. She was hurting too much, in more ways than one, to really give a shit.
Swallowing, she hunched down and cupped the side of her head, ignoring Peter's grumbling as he got back in and started driving. The rest of the trip to school was thankfully uneventful, aside from her dad's fake smile and his half-assed attempts at trying to look like a good parent in front of everyone. When she was finally on solid ground, Peter walked close to her.
"Have a good day, Meeeg," he drawled, then inconspicuously stood behind her and farted near her head. "Be a good girl."
Feeling a spark of rage, she smacked the writing pad on her lap, gripped the rusted wheels on her chair, and heaved, forcing the ugly metal beast to roll across the sidewalk towards the front entrance. Students all over the place stopped and turned to stare at her as she fought to make it to the front doors.
But nobody came over to offer any help.
Not even Chris, who inconspicuously slid into the building, looking like he was about to cry.
Meg was so tired and sweaty by the time that she made it to the school's front doors that she felt like she'd run a marathon... she was relieved when she managed to grab the door handle. That relief, unfortunately, came to an abrupt end when the door crashed open and swung right into the chair. Meg flailed her arms, eyes widening as she lost her balance.
Then the world tilted and she was lying flat on the ground, blinking up at the sky.
And to her horror, the skirt she was wearing flipped and landed on her face. With the speed of a snake, she smacked the skirt back down to cover the underwear she prayed she was wearing, hoping that nobody had seen. After all, her father had been the one who'd dressed her. Knowing him, he could have put a diaper on her or something.
"Wow," a familiar voice sneered, making Meg wince. "You're wearing panties with pink teddy bears on them? What are you, like, five?"
Connie DiMico.
Of course.
Out of everyone who could have seen such an embarrassing thing, it had to have been her mortal enemy.
Meg's legs dangled uselessly over the edge of the chair when she twisted her upper torso, struggling to pull herself out of such a precarious position. And as she did so, Connie walked into her line of sight with folded arms, looking down her nose at her. Those arctic blue eyes glimmered with grim pleasure when Meg glanced up at her.
"Well, looks like you're finally where you belong," she crooned, stepping forward and leaning down with her hands neatly folded behind her back. "Lying in the dirt like the trash you are."
Meg didn't respond to the jab.
Merely blinked and let out a sigh, then resumed her struggle to get out of the toppled wheelchair.
Connie's eyes narrowed and she abruptly stomped on her stomach.
"Don't ignore me, bitch," she said in that honey-coated tone of sheer venom. "Say something, come on."
Meg gasped for breath, then weakly gestured at her throat and shook her head, pleading with her eyes.
Connie apparently didn't understand, if the narrowing of those ice blue eyes was any indication.
When the blonde girl pressed down harder on her stomach, spots flitted in front of Meg's vision.
So she did the only thing she could do: Meg grabbed her leg and held it gently, almost tenderly, without breaking eye contact. For several seconds, the pressure became unbearable, to the point where she thought she would pass out.
Then, someone grabbed Connie's shoulder and roughly pulled her away.
"HEY!" Connie barked, whirling around. "Get your filthy... oh..."
To her shock, she found herself staring straight into the stormy eyes of Principle Sheppard.
"My office," he growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder with a flinty expression, "now, DiMico."
"But sir!" she gasped, eyes widening in feigned innocence. "Whatever for?! I was simply helping Meg! She fell over!"
"Is that so?" he asked, quirking a brow when she gave him an angelic smile and nodded, clasping her hands together with a cute quirk of her head. "Then please, explain to me how knocking a wounded girl out of her wheelchair and then stomping on her stomach classifies as helping her? I'm afraid that I find myself rather confused!"
"I didn't mean to knock her out of the chair," Connie chirped, lowering her eyes and looking at Meg with an expression that made her feel sick all the way down to her core. That smile was the most fake thing she'd ever seen. "I didn't mean to step on her, either! Really! She grabbed my ankle after I did it, so I wasn't able to move my foot!"
"Uh huh," the principle droned, then gestured again. "Feel free to tell your parents that."
When she realized that her innocent act wasn't going to work, Connie's face darkened and turned snide.
"My parents will take my side no matter what you do or say, you old fatass," she snipped, tossing her hair. "After all, this is Meg we're talking about. Nobody gives a shit about her anyway, so who cares if I stomp on her? She's garbage anyway."
"Good to know," the Principle confirmed, turning and pointing at the doors. "Now, since you seem so set on having a debate, why don't you head to my office and think of a good one to present to your parents this afternoon again, hmm? After all, I'm sure they're already SO thrilled about the classroom window you and your friends broke."
Connie twitched and she stared at him, mouth hanging open.
"That was Meg, not me!" she exclaimed, stomping her foot. "The nerve you have! Hmph!"
Tossing her hair a second time, she swept off and headed into the building with her pretty little nose in the air.
Once she was gone, the principle looked down at Meg, who was still struggling to free herself... and sighed. With a very solemn expression, he leaned down and forcibly righted the wheelchair with her still sitting in it. Blinking rapidly, Meg nervously patted the skirt down and raised her eyes just as her notepad was dropped back onto her lap.
She glanced at her principle.
"Come see me after school today," he said softly, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We need to have a talk."
Meg blinked and nodded, watching in confusion as he walked behind her.
She stretched, trying to see what he was doing, but then the wheelchair jolted.
Mr. Sheppard's breath audibly caught, and the chair jerked a few more times.
"The nerve of those..." he suddenly hissed. "How could they...?"
Meg didn't know what he was talking about, but she assumed it was about the state her wheelchair was in. With little fanfare, he literally walked around to the side of the chair and picked the whole thing up. Meg flinched when he hastily carried it inside with her still sitting in it. She shrank down in shock and peered up at him through her glasses.
She could tell by the look on his face that it wasn't easy.
In fact, hauling her like this was probably exhausting.
She was relieved when he set her down in front of nurse Anna's office.
"Wait here," he commanded, then walked inside the room and closed the door.
Not like I have a choice, Meg mentally sighed, hooking a disheveled strand of hair behind her ear. Still, why did he carry me all the way down the hall? I could have gotten here myself, even if it did take forever.
Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when he came out with Nurse Anna in tow.
"Oh, my God..." the blonde woman gasped, eyes widening in shock. "You weren't kidding..."
"And that is precisely why I came to you," the principle growled, folding his arms. "I never make requests like this unless it's absolutely necessary."
"Necessary is right," Anna muttered, kneeling down beside the chair and smiling at Meg with sorrow swimming in her bright blue eyes. "Hi, sweetheart... how are you holding up?"
Meg returned her smile with a faint one of her own and shrugged with one arm, hiding her eyes with her hair.
She felt naked without her Beanie on... she didn't like the feeling of her hair freely moving around.
"So, can you?" Principle Sheppard asked, tapping his foot. "Or not?"
"Well," Anna sighed, leaning forward and jerking on the wheels; her brows wrinkled when they didn't budge. "Okay, yeah, I guess I'll have to. Even a powerhouse like officer Swanson would have trouble with a chair like this. Wait here."
When she stood up, heading into her office again, Meg opened her sketch pad and looked around for a pencil. Her eyes landed on a pen sticking out of Mr. Sheppard's pocket, so she tapped his side to get his attention and gestured at it. Looking confused, he pulled it out and handed it to her, watching as she popped the cap off and started writing. He tilted his head to see better when she held the pad up.
'What are you doing?'
"You'll see," he said simply, then gave her a loaded look. "I take it the news about your voice was true, then."
Meg nodded, then put the cap on the pen and tried to hand it back, but he made no move to take it.
"Keep it. It doesn't look like you have your backpack with you today."
When she glanced around, she realized that he was right and blinked, shoulders slumping.
Then Anna came out of the office, holding a... a...
Meg's eyes widened in shock.
She was holding a wheelchair.
A real one, with big, shiny stainless steel wheels, a padded leather seat, and actual armrests. She felt a lump forming in her throat when nurse Anna set the chair up and patted it. Then, moving forward, the woman gently slid an arm around her waist and lifted her off the rust bucket she'd been given.
Her eyes drifted closed when she was set down on the new chair, wondering if she was dreaming.
Having a wheelchair like this was so much of an improvement that it almost gave her the urge to hope.
But she couldn't, because there was no real hope to be had.
"Much better," Anna sighed, smiling at her; then she glared at the chair Meg had originally been sitting in and gripped the handles. "I'll take this to the garbage. It looks more like a Tetanus hazard than a wheelchair."
When she shuffled away, muttering something about incompetent people, Mr. Sheppard set a hand on her head.
"Get to class," he murmured softly. "I have a certain troublemaker to deal with. But remember, come to my office after school today. I have something important I wish to discuss with you."
Meg nodded, looking at her new wheelchair with dazed eyes.
Lifting a trembling hand, she pushed on the wheels... and to her absolute shock, they glided across the floor with such ease that she almost broke down and started crying. Instead, she choked back her feelings and gave Principle Sheppard her biggest smile and headed down the hall towards her first class.
After all, she still had some pride, damn it!
Her first day back at school after having such an awful accident... it wouldn't be that bad, would it?
She was sure her luck might have been changing.
She was sure that perhaps this new chair was a sign of better things to come.
A sign of hope.
But as luck would have it, the moment she rounded the first corner, she bumped into none other than Michael Pulaski. Furious amber eyes shot down at her, making Meg freeze and swallow nervously. She suddenly felt as if she was taking up too much of the hallways with this suddenly huge new wheelchair.
His eyes darted to her head, then narrowed and flicked down to her clothes.
"The hell are you wearing?" he demanded. "You look like a prissy catholic girl."
Meg's hands jumped to the armrests of her chair, leaning back in it to get as far away from him as possible.
Even though they had a deal, and even though he'd come to visit, he was still so fucking scary it hurt.
For god's sake, he was wearing a varsity jacket with their school logo on it over a tank top, and a pair of tattered blue jeans. A look that had given him the popularity he presently had. Hell, he even had a 'Save The Whales' sticker on his binder, which was the definition of irony since she had frequently been compared to one over the years... but his eyes made him chilling.
Those fierce irises the color of burning honey were too piercing for her to handle.
They made him seem like he could see through anybody.
And for someone as emotionally fragile and insecure as Meg, that was a big no-no.
Hands shaking, she lifted the pad and jerkily wrote a response, which he squinted at.
'My dad picked this outfit out, since there were reporters camped outside my house.'
"Seriously?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "So, just because of a few reporters, your old man forced you to dress up like a nun? I think this is actually the first time I've ever seen you without that hat of yours, Beanie Girl... I've never even seen you wear anything but the same old jeans and varying shades of pink."
Meg frowned, then wrote a lengthy response and reluctantly held the pad up.
'Pink happens to be my favorite color, so why wouldn't I wear it? The only control I had over my life back then was what I wore each day, so I wore what I felt like. And pink stuff always cheers me up a little.'
Mike's other brow rose and he stared at the response, looking mildly surprised.
"Huh, that's actually a bit surprising," he snorted, giving her an askance look. "I never would have pinned you as a girly girl."
Meg actually cracked an amused smirk as she wrote her reply and held the pad up.
'If you think me wearing pink is girly, you should see my bedroom. I have the girliest room ever, full of posters, stuffed animals, and everything pink.'
To her immense surprise, a slow smirk spread across Mike's face.
"Maybe I'll take you up on that offer," he retorted, making her blink; then he jerked a thumb over his shoulder and tilted his head back with a cocky expression. "Anyway, bell's about to ring and I don't want Fielding to ride my ass about being late again, so I'll catch ya later. Good to see that the bet's still on."
Meg rolled her eyes and wrote down her response.
'I'll survive the bullying headed my way. I can last two months.'
He was silent for a few seconds after reading that, and for a moment his eyes narrowed.
Meg suddenly found her skirt very interesting. It was a nice shade of black. The next thing she knew, she was being pushed down the hall. Giving a small gasp of surprise, Meg jolted. She quickly realized that this was what she would probably hate the most about being in a wheelchair. Feeling as if she were at the mercy of anyone. If they so wished, they could just give her wheelchair a light shove and send her rolling down the hallway.
And speaking of hallways…
The hallways, which had previously held about maybe seven students, now seemed to contain about fifty. People pressed in from all sides, and Meg suddenly realized everyone's eyes were on her, and those girls muttering across the hall were talking about her, and everyone was snickering that she was a total loser.
"Come on," Mike muttered, pressing a hand on the back of her wheelchair and pushing her to the side of the hallway, as everyone seemed to be walking in the middle of it. Meg felt a little better now that she knew he wasn't going to pummel her. In fact, he was being surprisingly helpful.
The walls were painted a rather pleasant, periwinkle blue color, while the floor was a beige.
Concentrating on the colors was rather comforting.
Colors, in general, were comforting to Meg since she liked to associate them with things.
"Don't get used to this," Mike suddenly muttered. "I'm only doing this because I'll look bad if I don't."
Meg craned her head to the right to look up at him, but he was staring down the hall.
All eyes seemed to be on them.
Meg nervously picked at the hem of her plaid sweater. She would be the only one in a wheelchair, the one person in school who couldn't use her legs. The one who was a weirdo without any friends. And, all too suddenly, they were at the door to her first period of the day.
"Here you go," Mike grumbled, "last stop."
Meg wrote something down in her pad and held it up, peeking at him from above the edge of the paper.
'Thank you for helping me.'
He blinked, before letting go of her wheelchair, and walking away.
"Like I said, don't get used to it," he sneered, waving once without looking back. "Catch ya later, Girly Girl. I can't call you Beanie Girl without the damn beanie, so make sure you wear your regular clothes next time you show up. I really don't like that outfit you've got on. It makes you look like an old hag from the sixties."
Meg winced at the insult and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
Then she glanced down at her clothes through her lashes.
The skirt wasn't really all that bad, and the navy socks with the black loafers she could handle.
They actually looked rather cute and girly together, and it probably would have been her style if she'd been thin enough to wear them and still look good. But the turtleneck sweater was out of style, and rather unpleasant-looking on her. It really did look like something the sixties had spit out at her.
Meg lifted her eyes and watched Mike disappear around the corner, before turning her head back to the classroom. It seemed almost full.
Now, to face the true horror.
Class.