Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The attack comes from out of nowhere.
One second, I’m walking along the hallway, heading toward the library to meet Lily.
The next, an arm hooks around my throat, and drags me back.
My feet leave the ground for a second before I’m slammed against the lockers.
Hands clamp onto my arms, multiple hands, bruising grips locking me in place.
My heart kicks into overdrive, panic rising before I can shut it down.
A shove sends me stumbling, sneakers skidding against the linoleum floor, before I’m hauled through the doors of the locker room.
The air smells of mildew and cheap soap, and the lights buzz overhead. The door swings shut behind me, muffling the distant hum of the school. And then I see them. Dan Hartman’s offensive line, spreading out in a loose semi-circle, and blocking the exits.
Two by the door. Three more fanned out. Me in the center. Trapped.
Dan takes his time with the tape, wrapping each knuckle slowly and carefully. This is the kind of preparation that says it’s not a spontaneous idea. This was planned. Probably over days.
“Saw you with Lily Gladwin in the library the other day.” His voice carries an ugly edge.
“You were in the library? Didn’t know you could read.” The retort is automatic, buying time my brain needs so I can assess my options. “Moving up in the world.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. Good.
“Think you’re funny, Oliver?”
“Think you needed backup to tell me about your newfound literacy?” I scan for gaps I can break through to get to the exit, but I already know there aren’t any.
His line knows how to contain. It’s what they’re trained for.
These guys can hold back three-hundred-pound defensive tackles. I’m barely one-fifty soaking wet.
His fist moves before I can fully brace for it. It slams into my kidney, and sends lightning shooting through my spine. My legs try to fold, but I lock my knees and force myself to stay upright.
“Getting slow, Danny-boy. All that training not paying off?” I let my gaze drop to his stomach, and arch an eyebrow. “Or maybe too many burgers?”
“Hold him.”
Hands bite down on my arms again in an iron grip that knows exactly where to hold, and how to keep me from moving without wasting effort. One of them twists an arm behind my back, not quite enough to dislocate it, but close. My shoulder screams in protest.
“What’s wrong?” I bare my teeth. “Need help beating up one guy? Coach must be so proud.”
Dan’s fist connects with my ribs and … something cracks. The sound echoes off the lockers. Fire explodes through my chest, spreading outward. I force down the sound trying to escape, swallow the scream building. I’m not going to give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve hurt me.
“Not so mouthy now, are you?” His next hit is targeted. Football players know where bodies break, and where to hit for maximum damage.
“Still mouthier than you.” I force the words out between bursts of agony. Each syllable costs me. “But that’s not hard.”
The beating turns methodical after that.
Dan’s wrapped knuckles find every vulnerable spot—ribs, kidneys, solar plexus.
The linemen hold me up when my legs threaten to give out, their grips tightening when I sag.
Each hit sends fresh waves of fire through my nervous system.
My vision blurs. Clears. Then blurs again.
“She’ll figure out what you are.” Dan’s voice seems distant past the ringing in my ears. “Garbage she picked up off the street.”
Blood fills my mouth while I smile. The copper taste is familiar, almost comforting. “Worried she likes what she found?”
That earns me three rapid hits that leave me gasping. Black spots dance at the edges of my vision. My ribs grind together, something shifting wrong inside my chest. But I don’t stop. Words are the only weapon I have left.
“What’s really eating you, Dan? That she chose a guy like me? Or that she chose anyone but you?”
His fist drives up under my ribs, and something definitely breaks. Multiple somethings. The pain steals my breath. The world goes white, then gray, then black at the edges. When they finally drop me, tile presses against my cheek, just cool enough to keep me conscious.
Footsteps retreat. Voices fade. A door slams, the sound echoing through my skull.
Getting up takes forever. Each movement sends agony through me.
I have to use the lockers for support, leaving bloody fingerprints on metal.
My legs don’t want to hold me. The room spins and tilts with every attempt to stand.
It takes three tries before I can stay upright for more than a few seconds.
Somehow, I make it to the nearest restroom.
The mirror shows what I already know. Bruises are blooming dark across my torso, spreading like ink in water.
Blood trickles from my split lip. When I press fingers against my ribs, my nervous system tries to shut down.
White-hot pain bursts out from the point of contact, doubling me over, and leaving me gasping.
I splash water on my face, trying to wash away the blood. My hands are shaking so badly I struggle to turn the faucet. The cold helps, temporarily anyway. Just enough to clear my mind enough to figure out how to get through the rest of the day.
My hoodie is black, so anyone seeing blood on that is unlikely.
My skin is pale, but that’s not unusual either.
As long as I keep my head down, no one will notice there’s anything wrong.
If I can make it to the end of day without anyone noticing, I can get back to the factory and figure out what I need to do next.
English is the next class. The teacher’s voice drones on while I focus on breathing without passing out. Each inhale feels like swallowing glass. Each exhale grinds broken ribs together. Sweat soaks through my shirt. The words on the page twist and swim, refusing to hold still.
“Ronan, care to share your thoughts on the symbolism of the green light?”
I force my head up. The light sends daggers through my skull. Every student turns to look at me.
“Sorry. Wasn’t paying attention.”
She frowns, lips pursing, but moves on. Relief washes over me. Lily keeps glancing over from two rows ahead. I don’t meet her eyes. I can’t let her know what’s happened.
The bell rings to signal the end of class after an eternity of waiting.
I stay in my seat, waiting for everyone to leave, then move slowly to pack my books away, trying to look casual instead of broken.
Lily glances back at me again, concern clear in her eyes, but Cassidy pulls her through the door and away before she can say anything.
Lily will be expecting me to meet her in the library once she’s finished lunch with her friends. She’ll look for me in our usual spot between the reference stacks where no one looks. Missing it will raise questions that I don’t want to answer.
She’s already there when I finally make it, tucked into the corner with a book open on her lap.
Her face lights up when she sees me, that smile that makes everything hurt in a different way.
But I stay back, near the end of the aisle, keeping to the shadows they form.
If I get too close to her, she’ll see and know something is wrong.
“I brought you something to eat.” She holds up a wrapped sandwich. “You didn’t go to the cafeteria.”
“I can’t stay.” The words come out rough. Moving hurts. Breathing hurts. Everything fucking hurts. “Got stuff I need to do.”
She stands, and takes a step toward me. “Ronan? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” But the room is spinning, black spots dancing in front of my eyes. I grip the shelf beside me, hoping it’ll keep me upright. “I just … need to go. Don’t come tonight. I won’t be there.”
“Why not? Did something—”
I’m gone before she can finish, moving faster than my body wants. The hallway tilts. I make it to the bathroom just in time to throw up. The heaving sends more agony through my chest.
I can’t stay here. I won’t make it through the afternoon. History is next, and Edwards will notice there’s a problem.
The walk back to the factory nearly kills me. I have to stop twice, leaning against buildings while the world spins. My vision narrows to a tunnel. My lungs can’t pull in enough air. By the time I reach the door, I can barely stand.
But then, when I do get there, I think about Lily.
She won’t listen to me. She’ll show up. I need to be somewhere else tonight, so if she does turn up, she won’t find me here.
I turn away from the entrance and make a slow trek across the parking lot.
There’s a smaller building nearby, not as easy to hide inside as the factory, but it’s sheltered and she won’t find me there.
I make it just inside the entrance before I collapse. No position helps. I can’t lie on my back, my stomach crushes my chest, my side causes shockwaves along my ribs. I can’t get enough air. The world tilts and spins even with my eyes closed.
But I have to stay here long enough to make sure Lily doesn’t see me.
Fever sets in as night falls. My skin burns while the rest of me shivers uncontrollably.
At some point I find my way back to the factory, while pain becomes a living thing, clawing through my chest with each breath.
The walls waver and dance in the darkness.
Shadows move where nothing should be. Time loses meaning.
Morning brings worse pain. The bruises have spread, turning my torso into a map of black and purple and yellow.
Each breath comes shorter than the last. I try using snow that fell last night, packing it into a torn shirt and pressing it against my ribs.
The cold helps for a few minutes, then the pain returns doubled.
I don’t make it to school.
By noon, I can’t get enough air. My lungs won’t expand properly. Each attempt sends daggers through my ribs. The fever burns higher, turning the world hazy and strange.
I know the signs. I’ve seen them before when Rick worked Mom over. Broken ribs are bad enough. But that wet feeling, that shortness of breath, the bubbling sensation with each exhale? That’s a punctured lung, maybe internal bleeding.
I can’t go to the hospital. I have no insurance, and I can’t risk anyone finding out where I’ve been living.
They’ll call CPS, and I’m not going into the system.
But I know Lily will be wondering why I’m not at school, and even though I told her not to come last night, nothing will stop her from coming to check on me today.
A memory teases the edges of my mind through the fever haze. Mom’s hands shaking as she counted pills. The prescription pad she stole from a clinic. Teaching me how to forge the details just in case, her voice slurred but insistent.
Sometimes you need help, baby. Sometimes the pain is too much to handle alone. I’m teaching you this so you can survive. You understand? You have to survive.
I push the thought away, but an hour later, when breathing feels like drowning and black spots dance in my vision with every heartbeat, it comes back.
All I can think about is the nurse’s office at school.
The unlocked cabinet. The prescription pads I know how to use.
The signatures I memorized. The DEA numbers Mom made me repeat until I knew them by heart.
It takes three attempts to stand. Five minutes to make it to the door. The factory spins around me as I force myself to move. Just getting to school feels like it might be impossible. But the alternative will be worse.
I can’t let Lily find me dead on the floor.
The halls are empty when I finally reach the school and creep toward the nurse’s office.
Classes are in session, and no one is around to see me.
The nurse is not here, thankfully, and the cabinet sits there, door slightly ajar.
My fingers shake when I reach for it, trembling so much I can barely grip the handle, while Mom’s voice issues instructions in my head.
Watch the format. The doctor’s name goes here. DEA number here. It has to be right or they’ll know.
I sit at the desk, pen held awkwardly in fingers that won’t quite cooperate, and I force my hand steady through sheer will. It has to look real. One mistake and it all falls apart.
Hydrocodone. Two tablets every six hours.
The lowest dose that might help. Thirty pills in total. Not enough to raise flags.
This is wrong. I know it’s wrong. I shouldn’t be forging prescriptions and stealing medication. These are all the things Mom did that led her down the path she couldn’t climb back from.
But I’m dying. And I can’t let Lily find me like this.
It takes me an hour to get to the pharmacy across town. They don’t know me here, and the pharmacist barely glances at the prescription before filling it and handing it to me.
The pills rattle in the bottle as I walk back through the town, making it back to the factory before I collapse.
The first one dissolves on my tongue, leaving a chalky aftertaste. I close my eyes and wait for relief. I’ll take just enough to think past the pain, enough to survive while my body heals itself.
Enough to make sure Lily doesn’t know what happened.
The pills help. A little. Enough to help me breathe.
And that’s how easily it starts.