Six
We stayed at Mrs Sanderson’s house for three days.
She wanted us to stay longer, at least until I could walk without wanting to keel over in pain, but I refused. She’d done enough, risked enough, already. I didn’t want to endanger her anymore than I already had.
If it weren’t for that, I would’ve taken her up on her offer in a heartbeat. It was nice being away from my uncle. Peaceful. He didn’t try looking for us, didn’t try calling or texting. For three whole days, it was radio silent. I heard him come home a couple of times, saw him stumbling through the front door. Honestly, he was probably so drunk that he didn’t even realize we were gone.
And April seemed so happy there. She watched cartoons after school, bartered with Mrs Sanderson for extra dessert after dinner and spent hours in the tub every night causing mayhem with the bubble bath. For the first time in almost a year, she seemed like a real kid again.
When we came home, it was like all the life had been sucked out of us. Miserable isn’t strong enough a word to describe how we felt opening that door, being greeted by the stench of liquor and the two-day old takeout left on the kitchen counter. The trash can was overflowing, empty bottles littered every surface and there was still knocked-over furniture from the other night. I didn’t want to deal with any of it. I just ushered April upstairs and locked us in our bedroom, using the remaining strength I had left to push the dresser in front of the door.
* * *
The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Mrs Welsh keeps harping on about a homework assignment, raising her voice to be heard over the noise, but everyone ignores her, bolting for the door as fast as they can.
It’s lunch hour, turning the halls into a war-zone as everyone hauls ass to the cafeteria. Every man for themselves. I hang back a few minutes, not wanting to get caught in the rush. My ribs are still hurting like a bitch and I don’t want to chance injuring them further. I should’ve gave myself longer to recover, carried on taking the pain pills for a few more days, but I can’t do either of those things. I can’t spend any more days in bed. I have April to take care of, school to worry about. And I can’t risk being knocked out on the pills in case my uncle comes home expecting another round. I need to be alert, ready for anything.
As soon as the noise has died down, I exit the classroom and head up the closest set of stairs. I keep my head down the whole way, gaze trained on my feet. I’ve been lucky all morning, not running into Asher once. In a few short steps, I’ll be in the library, a place where I’m sure neither him nor his meathead buddies would dare venture. I’ll be safe.
Almost there.
Three more steps.
Two.
“Farrow!”
My feet falter, blood turning ice cold. Does anyone else in the world have luck as bad as mine, or is it just me?
“Hey, Farrow. I know you can hear me.”
His rumbly voice makes my insides shake, has my fight or flight response kicking in. And I choose the latter. I keep walking, so close to the door I can just reach out and touch the—
He shoves me, sending me flying into the wall. Pain lances down my side, so hot and agonizing that I fall to my knees, bile rushing up my throat. My eyes fill with tears and I have to bite down on the inside of my cheek until I taste copper to stop the guttural cry from getting out.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Where d’you think you’re going, huh?” Asher teases, completely oblivious to the sheer agony I’m in. “First you ditch school for three days and then you just ignore me. I’ve gotta say, you’re really hurting my feelings here.”
I don’t answer him, couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m too busy trying not to collapse or projectile vomit all over his expensive sneakers.
There’s a beat of silence, then he steps closer, his voice lowering to an almost… genuine tone. “Hey, Farrow. What’s going on, man? You look a little… green.”
Asher’s… concerned about me? I’m sure I’d be a little more freaked out by this dramatic turn of events if I wasn’t so sure I’m about to die any second.
“Did I hurt you?” he asks. “Are you—”
Another voice enters the conversation, one I recognize as Mr Phillips, the librarian. “Mr Brooks. What is all the commotion about out here? Did you do something to this young man?”
“No, sir. I—”
I don’t listen to whatever bullshit excuse he comes up with. I know he’ll charm his way out of it, he always does. Instead, I summon every ounce of strength I have, both physical and mental, to pick myself up off of the floor. Using their distraction to my advantage, I hobble past them and into the library, skirting past tables and couches until I reach the very back, where I collapse against a bookshelf.
It’s quiet back here, completely empty. It always is. It’s the perfect place to hide, where I spend every lunch hour, safely tucked away from the rest of the world.
I swipe my arm across my forehead, wiping away the sweat beading along my brow. With a trembling hand, I lift my t-shirt and stare down at the angry black, red and purple welts decorating my skin. A pained hiss escapes my lips, my vision blurring for a second before I plant my free hand on the shelf behind me, keeping me steady.
“Now, I know those didn’t come from me. What the hell happened to you?”
I’m so disoriented, I didn’t even hear Asher come in. He’s staring at me with wide eyes, mouth agape, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I hurry to tug my shirt down, mind working overtime to come up with some kind of an excuse or a way to get him to leave, but he snatches the fabric out of my hands before I can. He pulls it back up, exposing the skin again. I grunt and jerk as his fingertips lightly trace over the marks.
“Oakley…” His throat bobs on a hard swallow. When he finally tears his gaze away from my ribs, his expression is completely different. His eyes are hard, his jaw clenched. And when he speaks, his voice is angrier than I’ve ever heard it. “Who did this to you?”
My entire body erupts in a violent shudder, from… the pain, I guess. “Does it matter?”
Asher looks at me like I’m crazy. “Of course it fucking matters. Somebody hurt you, Oakley. Really hurt you. You have to tell me who did this.”
I grit my teeth, try to ignore the heat rising on my face, all the way to the tips of my ears, but it’s no use. This whole situation is mortifying. This is Asher, the guy who tortures me on a daily basis. He doesn’t know the ins and outs of my life, doesn’t know the sacrifices I make. He doesn’t know I choose not to fight back in order to keep my sister safe. But to him, this looks like I’m just a pussy who can’t defend himself.
I shove his hands away and take a step back, spinning around so I’m not facing him anymore. My heart’s still pounding too hard, my breath coming too quick. I take a second to compose myself, try to make sense of what’s going on here.
“Did you get mugged?” he asks. “Burgled? Did you catch a name or see what they look like?”
Anger surges through me so thick and fast, it makes my head spin. Is he serious right now? I whirl on him, pinning him with a glare. “Are you kidding me? You mess with me every day, steal my shit, call me names, make me bleed… and now, all of a sudden, you care about someone hurting me?”
He shifts on his feet, mouth opening and closing a couple of times before he manages to find his voice. “I— I don’t care. I just… I’m trying to do the right thing here.”
“The right thing?” I scoff. “Since when do you care about doing the right thing?”
“At least tell me you went to a hospital,” he says, ignoring my question completely. “You need to get them checked out. They could be broken.”
Okay, what? First he tells me he doesn’t care and now he’s insisting I need to get checked over at a hospital? There’s no way in hell I’m ever gonna make sense of whatever’s going on right now. I don’t know what’s gotten into him or why he’s suddenly trying to play hero. It’s freaking me out a little. And honestly, his twenty questions are starting to give me a headache. Maybe if I leave, we can reset and tomorrow things will be… normal again.
Not answering him, I pick up my backpack, unable to hide my grimace as the action sends a jolt of pain through my ribs. Asher rushes forward, as if coming to my aid, and I just frown at him, backing away on instinct. He lifts his hands in surrender, face the picture of indifference.
I go to step around him and he lets me, but grabs my arm right at the last second.
“Fine. You don’t wanna tell me? I get it. But, at least tell your uncle. He’s the Chief, right? Surely he’ll be able to do something.”
God, I’ve never wanted to laugh so much in my life. And not the good kind of laugh. The bitter, dark kind that only happens when you’re right on the verge of losing your shit. And I am. On the verge, I mean. Everything that’s happened in the last few days, the thousand different emotions coursing through me because of it all, I can’t make sense of any of it. And the suggestion that I should go to my uncle for help, when he’s the one who did this to me in the first place? It’s too much. I can’t help it, I just… explode.
I shake his hand off of me, staring at him through narrowed eyes. “Stop acting like you give a shit! Stop pretending like even one part of your tiny, egotistical brain actually cares what happens to me. I hate you, Asher, and you hate me. So enough with the savior act already, because you aren’t fooling anybody.”
For a minute, he seems shocked by my outburst. Speechless. I am, too. I’m shaking, my chest heaving. I’ve never gone off on anybody like that before. But then, his expression morphs into one I’m more familiar with, one I like to call his asshole face.
“You’re right,” he hisses, spitting venom with every word. “I don’t give a shit about you. Guess I’m just pissed I’m not the one who got to hurt you like that.”
Then, he barges past me and storms out of the library, knocking over a chair and a stack of fliers on his way.
As soon as he’s out of sight, I fall back onto the nearest couch and scrub a hand down my face.
I knew I was right. I didn’t believe him or his facade for even a second. He was probably lapping it up, enjoying every minute of me being vulnerable and in pain. It’ll be halfway around the school by the end of the day and him and his buddies will spend their entire practice laughing about how much of a wimp I am. I can just imagine it now.
I’m not surprised in the slightest - it’s Asher, of course - but I am kind of shocked by how badly the thought stings.
Except, by the end of the day, there’s no gossip. No stares in the halls and no whispering as I walk by.
And when I open up my locker, there’s no threatening notes or taunts about my injury. Instead, there’s a stack of compression wraps and ice packs, and a list of instructions on how to care for fractured ribs.
Now, I’m even more confused than I was before.