Chapter 21 Aria #2
I thought I could do this without Clara, but suddenly everything feels too much to bear, suffocating. How much longer will this last?
With clammy fingers and weak arms, I extend them forward, pushing the bathroom door aside and hoping for an empty stall to camp out in.
“Wait, don’t,” comes a voice I’d recognize anywhere. Her hand clamps over my own to stop me.
Her voice hitches slightly as I turn to face her, Clara’s brows pinched together like it physically hurts to speak. “Can we talk?”
My jaw slackens. I’m too stunned to speak. And for just a moment, I wonder if maybe we can finally put the hurt feelings behind us.
But then I remember who she’s been surrounding herself with since I’ve been gone. I stiffen right back up again. “Now you want to talk?”
Her teeth grind like she’s considering her next words very carefully. I try to shake her off, but her grip is firm, refusing to let go.
“What’s your problem?” she snaps, then immediately softens, like she didn’t mean it to come out that harsh.
I manage to yank myself away from her before responding. “What is my problem? You’re the one who’s been giving me the cold shoulder, not the other way around.”
“That’s not fair. I’ve been nothing but a good friend to you, despite how hard you’ve been trying to push me away.
God, Aria, I thought you’d died, or something really bad had happened to you.
Then you just show up and act like nothing happened…
expecting me to just go along with it. Don’t you even care how that’s affected me? ”
My hand balls into a fist at my side. “Must’ve been real hard on you since you replaced me the second I was gone.”
She flinches, eyes glazing over as she parts her lips. “You’re being unfair,” she says, her voice quieter now, the sharpness gone. “Everyone was worried. You have no idea what it was like after that night.”
“Yeah, well, neither do you,” I bite out, despising the faint quiver that comes through in my voice.
She winces, a small, subtle movement, but it’s enough to send guilt coursing through me again. We both know whose fault that was.
Licking her lips, she says, “Because you don’t tell me anything.”
Her voice carries a twinge of sadness I can’t bear, so I quickly avert my eyes back to the bathroom door, pressing into it so I can slip inside and avoid the discomfort of the conversation.
I try to rein in my emotion when a cold, thick bucket of fluid splatters across my face. It shocks a garbled scream from my throat as my mouth pops open, filling the inside of my mouth with a foreign substance.
“Oh, my God!” I shout, panicked.
Laughter erupts around me as I frantically wipe at my eyes, trying not to gag in the process. My eyes burn from the intrusion. I can’t see anything.
“What is this?” I gasp between each wipe, but it clings to my skin.
The scent is pungent, invasive, like the cruelty in the laughs echoing around me.
More of it slips into my mouth. The taste is sharp, thick, and plasticky on my tongue, like rusted pennies morphed with a syrupy latex.
“Hey!” Clara shouts over the click of phone cameras and sharp, scattered laughter. “All of you, get the hell out before Principal Allen gets here.”
My lashes clump together, slick with paint—or, at least, that’s what I think it is, based on the scent and consistency.
I feel bodies brush past me, each one snickering as they exit. A metal bucket clunks at my feet before the air falls silent.
I swallow thickly, trying to figure out how to reach one of the sinks to wash this stuff off of me before I go blind.
“Aria, are you okay?” Clara’s voice is closer now, tight with worry. “Hold on, let me help you.”
Her hand presses to my lower back, guiding me toward the sink. I hear her turn the faucet on, grab wads of paper towels, and wet them under the running water. I just stand there, quietly. My throat clenched shut.
She starts on my face, gently wiping. Eventually I push through the tightness in my throat and murmur, “I’m sorry about earlier. I was a bitch to you. I probably deserved this.”
“No. Nobody deserves this,” she says softly, swiping my eyelids with another wet towel.
“I never wanted to start a fight with you.” The stubborn lump in my throat lingers, growing. Her hand moves away from my face.
“Me neither,” she admits. “I don’t know why things snowballed like they did, but I never wanted to fight, either. Go ahead, try opening your eyes now.”
I hesitate, then slowly flutter my eyes open. My vision is still hazy and irritated. Extending an arm into the running stream of water, I rinse out my eyes a couple more times before the burn begins to fade and my vision clears.
Thankfully, I’m not blind, but my face is a mess. Some spots are blotchy and stained. Others still caked with partially dried paint. “I can’t go back out there looking like this.” It’s in my hairline, sweatshirt, and my new leggings. The ivory top will stain for sure.
“Do you wanna get out of here?” she asks, worrying her bottom lip as she peers at me. “If you want to, with me, I mean.”
I can’t help the small stretch of smile that lifts my face as I nod. “Yeah,” I say, my voice slightly above a whisper. The lump in my throat sinks into my chest, where it grows wings and flutters. “Let’s get out of here.”
It’s not like my attendance matters much to me anymore. That ship sailed a while ago. Nothing else matters more than this, because having my best friend speak to me again adds the smallest sliver of light into the sea of despair I’ve been drifting in for the past few weeks.
I just don’t know if it’s enough to keep me from sinking.