Anyone But Me
One
Somehow, right before it even happens, I know it’s my fault.
I’m not focused, not paying attention like I should be. My body is in the school hallway, busily rooting through my locker for my biology book, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Usually, I’m on high-alert. I can sense his presence from a mile away, can prepare myself for the impending strike. But, not today.
I had another long night last night. Half of it was spent cradling a trembling April in my arms, every bang and crash coming from the floor below us sending violent tremors through her. The other half, when she finally let sleep take her under, was spent with my eyes fixed firmly on our bedroom door, my ears strained and muscles coiled, waiting for the sound of our uncle’s heavy boots thundering up the staircase, ready to take his drunken rage out on us instead of the furniture.
Luckily for me, he passed out on the couch before he had the chance. Unluckily for me, my lack of sleep has severely affected my reflexes, rendering the guard I normally have up virtually nonexistent.
I hear thudding footsteps, the collective hush of the crowd milling about in the hall, then my name being called in that gruff, fear-inducing voice. Instead of ducking or throwing my arms up, I turn, completely defenseless. The football thrown my way hits me square in the face, the force of it so hard that it knocks me back a few steps.
My nose screams in pain and I lift a weak hand to it, my fingertips coming back red. Motherfucker.
It’s always the same with him. Cheap shots, childish pranks. And if he can make me bleed, that’s just a bonus. It’s been that way since I first set foot in this school just shy of a year ago. Asher Brooks, Leighton Bay’s most popular citizen and resident asshole, set his sights on me and made me his personal punching bag. And there isn’t a damn thing I can do to stop it.
Laughter rings out around me, the majority of it coming from his bonehead football buddies that are all standing around, enjoying the show. My hands clench and release at my sides, the sound of their amusement grating on me. My eyes burn, the throbbing pain in my nose getting worse with each passing second. Asher comes closer and I duck my head, not wanting to see the smug look on his face, choosing instead to watch as my blood drips onto the linoleum floor beneath my feet.
He stops right in front of me. So close that the tips of his designer sneakers enter my peripheral, so close that I can smell the expensive cologne he wears, though it’s tainted by the putrid metallic scent of my blood.
He’s silent for a minute before huffing out a laugh, the sound cruel and condescending. Then, he bends and retrieves the ball at my feet. “My bad, Farrow. I didn’t see you there.”
I want to roll my eyes, smack the ball out of his hands, call him out on his shit. I don’t do any of those things, though. I just stand there, eyes squeezed shut, fighting to keep the anger rising within me in check. Getting mad won’t solve anything. I tried it in the beginning, thought that maybe fighting back was the key to getting him to leave me alone. Turns out, that only makes it worse.
You see, people like Asher - spoiled, carefree, born with a silver spoon in their mouth - they don’t like being told they can’t have something. Can’t do something. They like to make their own rules, fuck everyone else. I don’t think he’s ever heard the word ‘no’ a day in his life. It doesn’t help that his daddy’s richer than God and everyone in this town - including the police department and faculty of our school - is either afraid of him or on his payroll, meaning Asher could get away with murder. I mean, he tortures me everyday in front of an audience and nobody ever bats an eye. I have no choice but to just suck it up and take it.
He rolls the ball between his palms, inspecting it, before tossing it in the air a few times and catching it with ease. “You got blood on this,” he muses, sounding almost… happy about that. He edges even closer, until I can feel the heat of his body against mine. “Look at me, Farrow.”
My body wars with itself, part of me wanting to defy him and keep my eyes planted to the floor, the other ready to obey, afraid of what he might do if I don’t. The latter wins out and I lift my head.
He’s watching me intently, moss-green eyes bright and teasing, like he’s permanently laughing at me, even when he’s not. His lips are lifted in a smirk and my fingers twitch, itching to wipe the cocky expression off of his face.
His gaze sweeps over me slowly, taking me in, all the way from my busted-up nose to the ratty sneakers on my feet. Whatever he sees, it makes his smirk grow wider. “You know, you should try out for the team. You’d make a pretty good blocker.” He tilts his head. “As long as you don’t mind using your face, of course.”
That gets him a hoot of laughter, his friends all chuckling and slapping each other on the shoulders like it’s the best damn thing they’ve heard all year. I can’t decide if they’re so far up his ass that they’re forced to find everything he says hilarious, or if their IQ’s have significantly lowered from one too many hits on the field.
Asher looks back down at the ball again, swiping his thumb reverently over the crimson stain on the leather. “I was gonna wash this. But, you know what? I think I’ll leave it. It’s a nice reminder. A symbol of my ownership.”
I swallow, stomach knotting. His ownership… of me. No matter what I do, I’m his. His to mess with, his to torture, his to hurt. I made peace with that long ago, resigned myself to the fact that while I’m in this town, there’s no getting away from Asher Brooks.
That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it, though.
“I hate you,” I seethe, pinning him with a murderous glare.
He doesn’t even flinch. “Good. This’d be way less fun if you didn’t.” His eye bore into mine for a few more seconds, before he steps back and jerks his chin at his friends. “See you around, Farrow.”
They follow him down the hall, each one shoulder-checking me as they pass, their matching Letterman jackets painting the hall in a sea of blue and red. As soon as they disappear out of sight, normal order resumes. Conversation starts up again, locker doors slam shut, people haul ass to their next class. Nobody pays me another lick of attention. They just move around me, ignoring me and my injury and the pool of blood at my feet. Now Asher’s gone, it’s like I don’t exist. I’m completely invisible.
Huffing out a breath, I grab my things and book it to the nearest bathroom, not caring that I’m leaving a trail of red behind me. It’s empty, thank God, so I spin the lock on the door and turn on the faucet, wetting some paper towels. I wince from the sting as I gently dab at my nose. It takes a few minutes to get the blood off, some of it has dried in places and requires a bit more elbow grease. As soon as my face is clean, I ball up the damp towels and toss them in the trash.
Stepping closer to the mirror, I inspect the damage. My nose is swollen, sore as hell, but I don’t think it’s broken. I’ll probably just be sporting a nasty bruise for a while, maybe even a black eye or two. Perfect.
How did this happen to me? How is this my life?
A year ago, I was happy. I had the perfect life. Loving parents, great friends, not a single care in the world. My biggest worry was trying to decide which college to go to after I graduate. Now, I’m a shell of a person, barely staying afloat. I’m trying my hardest to take care of April, doing everything I can to keep her safe from our uncle but, at the same time, trying to give her as normal a childhood as possible. Working my ass off every chance I get, saving every cent just in case we need to get the hell out of dodge quicker than I planned. All the while trying to keep up with school, so I can graduate and have access to the trust fund my parents set up for me when I was a kid. The trust fund that will shape mine and April’s futures, that will help us escape. And, as if all that wasn’t enough, I have Asher to deal with too.
I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t worrying about something. The last time I didn’t feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. The last time I actually had fun or even gave a genuine smile. My life before, it feels like a distant memory now. Like it all happened to somebody else.
It would be so easy to give up. To just throw in the towel and let the shitty reality of my life pull me under. To let it win. But… I can’t. I refuse. I have to keep going. I have to get out of this town and away from my uncle and Asher and anyone else that’s out to get me. If not for me, then for April. She deserves better than the hand life has dealt her, and I’ll die before I stop trying to give her that.
There’s only a few more months until graduation. I can make it.
I hope.