Sierra
Chapter eight
Waking up, my head is pounding and my stomach’s revolting in violent spasms. Fucking great! Thank you, mother nature. Sitting up slowly, I swing my legs off the bed and walk toward my dresser, pulling out a pair of panties and a bra, and head to the bathroom.
My first glimpse in the mirror shows my worst fears are true.
A bruise formed where my aunt hit me. I swear I thought Mrs. Butler was going to flip her lid last night when she saw me.
Not wanting to upset Sam, I gently took Mrs. Butler by the arm and pulled her into the kitchen, explaining what happened and that I didn’t want Sam to know.
It was my mission in life to keep the brutality of Sarah away from her.
As long as Sarah took her rage out on me and spared Sam, I was fine being her punching bag.
I shower quickly, brush my teeth, and pull on my underwear. Once I’m dressed, I’ll come back and try to cover the bruise as best I can with some concealer. I stop at Sam’s door to wake her up, but when I poke my head in, she’s already up and at her dresser, pulling out clothes.
“Oh, you’re up.”
“Yep, set my alarm last night,” she says proudly in a cute, cheeky voice.
“Okay, well, get dressed, then go make some cereal,” I tell her before taking off down the hallway to my bedroom, stepping inside.
Sighing deeply, I go to the closet and pull out some jeans, then walk over to the dresser for a t-shirt.
It only takes a minute to get dressed. I take a seat on the bed and pull on my black Converse.
They’re my favorite shoes. I refuse to get rid of them, but they’ve seen better days.
I’ve had to glue the sole of the shoe back on one of them, and there’s a hole in the top of it, allowing my big toe to peek out and breathe.
Looking up, I see Sam standing in the doorway, staring at me intently. “How are you gonna cover it up?”
“Makeup.” It won’t be the first time I’ve used it to cover bruises and probably won’t be the last.
“What if someone notices and wants to come here?” Her face turns pale, and her eyes drop to the floor. She’s wringing her fingers together, showing how nervous she is. I know she’s scared of CPS showing up and taking her from me.
Standing, I make my way over to her, pulling her into a hug. “No one is going to find out. I’ll lie if I need to.” Then, making sure she understands, I pull away from her and look her dead in the eyes. “We’re always going to be together. I promise.” God, I hope I never break that promise.
“Pinky promise?” she asks as she holds her pinky out to me.
“Pinky promise.” I interlock my pinky with hers and shake. “Now go eat, so I can finish getting ready.” Pulling my hand back and smacking her playfully on her behind.
Makeup used to be something I couldn’t wait to wear.
I bugged my mom until she finally gave in and let me wear just the bare minimum: blush, mascara, and lip gloss.
Now I loathe wearing it, the result of having to cake my face in it every night I dance.
But here I am applying concealer and a light dusting of powder foundation to keep the bruise from showing.
I want nothing more than to wear my hair in a messy bun today, but leaving it down is just an added way to hide my face.
Taking one more look in the mirror, I call it a day as I pull the brush through my wavy locks.
Reaching under the sink, I pull some tampons from the box and carry them to the living room.
Grabbing the Tylenol off the dining room table on my way, I place them both in my bookbag.
I’m going to need them to make it through the day.
Walking into the kitchen, Sam is shoveling the last of her cereal into her mouth.
I don’t have time to eat, so I head to the cabinet, open the door, and pull out a granola bar to eat later.
Turning the electric kettle on, I take my travel mug from the drain, pouring some coffee grounds into it as I wait for the water to heat.
“You know it won’t heat any faster staring at it.” My smarty-pants sister repeats the words I’ve told her so many times before, from behind me.
“Ha ha, smart aleck.” I roll my eyes and she bursts out into a fit of giggles. She stands from the table, bringing her bowl to the sink and washing it. “Ready to head out? Your bus should be here soon.”
“Yep! Let me go get my backpack.” She skips out of the room just as the kettle steams. I quickly set about making my coffee to take with me, eager to drink it on my walk to school.
We make it downstairs, barely stepping onto the sidewalk before the bus is pulling up, brakes screeching as it stops. I give her a quick kiss goodbye just before she climbs on, sliding into the seat beside her friend Felicia and waving at me.
Pulling my bag up higher on my arm, I take a large drink of my coffee, burning my tongue in the process. I take a deep breath and head down the street, straight to hell.
Please let me make it through the day.
Walking up to the school, I steel my nerves, getting ready to take whatever abuse the wolves have planned for the day. No doubt they will try something even more heinous today, wanting Wes’ seal of approval.
The catcalls begin as soon as I take my first step onto school grounds. I hold my head high and keep moving forward. None of these people deserve the pleasure of seeing how much they affect me. Nope, not a single tear will shed in front of them if I have anything to do with it.
As I’m walking up the steps, someone thinks it’s hilarious to flick wads of wet paper into my hair, so I have to make a pit stop in the bathroom to pick them out.
I don’t show any emotion on the way there.
Once my hair is clean, I run out of the door and rush into first period just as the bell rings, much to the annoyance of Mr. Blake.
“So nice of you to join us, Sierra. Please, in the future, plan your time better so that you make it to class on time. If you’d been here earlier, you would have heard my announcement.
Once again, until the end of our project, you will sit with your partner.
Any free time in class is to be devoted to working on it.
Please note this will require additional time out of class to work on.
” His annoyance is clear in his tone. “Now, Sierra, if you could hurry and take a seat beside your partner.”
Embarrassed and pissed at the way he not only called me out for barely making it to class in time but the snarky way he spoke to me, I quickly make my way to my desk. I watch closely as I walk, avoiding being tripped by one of Savannah’s little minions when she sticks her leg out into the aisle.
Turning to the left, I see my partner, Zander, looking at me. He flashes a smile, showing off his straight white teeth. I’m guessing he had to wear braces. On both sides of his cheeks, there are two twin dimples peeking at me, and I wonder how I missed them yesterday.
I give him a goofy grin before quickly sliding into my seat, scolding myself. Why did I smile? He’s going to be like all the others. Taking advantage of my weakness, exploiting it for his own amusement or that of others.
“Thought you weren’t coming today, but I’m glad you did.” He leans over his desk, getting as close to me as he can.
His words catch me off guard, and I scan the room, looking for the camera, ready to catch whatever cruel joke is about to happen.
But there’s not one. “Have you thought about a writer? We also need to plan some time out of class to meet,” he continues, not harshly, or with disgust, but as a friend speaking to another friend.
“Huh?” I’m so confused by how he’s talking to me. This has to be a joke.
“I need your number so we can plan a time to meet up. I can come to your house, or you can come to mine.” He turns, angling his body toward me.
“Sierra, please save all conversations until after class,” Mr. Blake announces, pissing me off more, especially since it wasn’t even me talking. Yet, I get the shit end of the deal.
But what do I do? You got it, accept the blame. “Yes, sir.”
“Good, now that I have everyone’s attention…” he goes on as I stare down at my desk, I pull out my notebook from my bag and take notes.
A folded piece of paper flies onto my desk, catching my attention. Picking it up, I open it, fully expecting to see some vile drawing. Much to my surprise, that’s not what it was. He’d drawn a sad face with the words ‘I’m sorry’ written below it and a phone number.
Shocked, I frown and turn my eyes toward him. It’s been years since someone at this school said those words to me. Hell, it didn’t even happen when my mother died.
Mr. Blake’s raised voice and his irritated throat clearing pull my attention back to the front.
No more random notes make their way to my desk, but I can feel his heated gaze on me, along with the rest of the class’ nasty stares.
Nervously, I brush strands of hair that have fallen into my face behind my ear but quickly shake it back out, remembering why I wore it down today.
The bell finally rings, and I yank my bookbag from the floor, shoving my notebook inside.
“So, when can we get together? How’s Saturday?” He rakes his hands through his silky, dark brown hair, pulling back the long strands that have fallen in his face. Fuck if it didn’t seem as if he was nervous to ask me.
“Umm… I’ll let you know,” I mumble, quickly standing and rushing from the classroom, catching profanities from the remaining few people in the class.
Before I know it, lunchtime has rolled around, and, much to my dismay, I’d forgotten to pack anything. I dread going to the cafeteria, knowing the moment I step foot in there, I’m a walking target. But I’m starving. The breakfast bar I ate this morning is no longer curbing my hunger.
Stopping by the bathroom on the bottom floor by the janitor's office, I take care of my personal needs.
I learned long ago that if I had time, this was the bathroom to go to; it was always the least used.
The few moments of silence there was pure heaven, and exactly what I needed to mentally prepare for the cafeteria.
Finishing up in the stalls, I step out and head to the sink to wash my hands and splash some water on my face.
As soon as I do, I realize my fuck-up, immediately reaching for some paper towels, blotting dry my face. Praying I can keep on as much makeup as possible to cover the bruising. As luck would have it, and of which I have absolutely none, an area of the bruising right by my ear has been exposed.
I immediately dig through my bag. Damn it! I never put the concealer in there. Dropping the bag, I grip the sink, trying to take deep, calming breaths.
“The day is halfway over. You've made it this far, Sierra, you can make it the rest of the way. No one will even notice or fucking care. You could be on fire, choking, or bleeding out on the floor and no one would care or help you. YOU’VE GOT THIS!” I mentally give myself a pep talk.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I open the bathroom door and trudge toward the cafeteria, starving and nervous.
The sounds of students laughing with each other echo down the hallway the closer I get. Sweat beads up all over my body and I unconsciously start clenching my fist the closer I get. Even though at this point I’m used to the abuse, it doesn’t make it any easier. I don’t think it ever will.
Stepping up to the door, I grip the handle, swing it open, and step inside.
It’s like a vacuum has sucked all the air out of the room.
The chattering of students stops, and as if in unison, everyone snaps their heads to the door, with malice in their eyes.
My muscles freeze and it’s hard to breathe as I’m scrutinized by each student.
It’s like everything slows down before the noise resumes.
Did I imagine that, or did it really happen?
Slowly, I make my way toward the lunch line, taking a tray and silverware before moving down the line to choose something to eat.
I take a bowl of spaghetti, a slice of bread, and some milk.
Reaching the lunch lady, I unzip the small pocket on the side of my bag, pull out my lunch card, and hand it to her.
Just another thing to shame me in front of everyone, free lunch.
I’m thankful for it and don’t see it as anything to be ashamed of, but the assholes at this school just use it as another way to humiliate me.
She hands it back to me quickly, offering a soft smile.
Sliding it back into the pocket, I turn, scanning the cafeteria for a spot to sit.
There in the back, in a lone corner near the trash cans, I see an empty table. That’s my spot.
I hold my shoulders high and step out into the openness of the cafeteria, the table in the corner my destination. With my focus on the table, I make my way toward it, not allowing my eyes to meet anyones.
That was my first mistake.
Because of my failure to pay attention to my surroundings, I gave the fucking witch the perfect time to sneak up behind me. Her hands come down heavily on my shoulders as she shoves me forward, sending me in a downward spiral to the floor.
My knees smack onto the cold, hard floor and pain ricochets up my body.
Making my wrists ache from where they hit, trying to break my fall.
My food, once on my plate, has now splattered on and around me.
I go to stand when I feel the first kick against my back, knocking me back down.
I manage to move my arms in enough time to prevent my face from colliding with the floor.
The sound of the students laughing in the cafeteria assaults my ears.
I try once again, crawling like an animal towards my book bag that went flying off my arm when I fell.
“Oh, my god. She has her period blood all over her. How disgusting,” Savannah calls out loudly as she kicks my bag, just as I reach for it, sending the contents inside of it across the floor, including my tampons.
“Ewww, how nasty, but what do we expect from a whore?” Her crony Jasmine encourages her nastiness.
Tears well in my eyes, begging to be set free.
I refuse to cry in front of them, though.
It takes all I have to hold them in. I move closer to my bag and scattered belongings, quickly shoving everything I can find of mine back into my book bag.
Only when I go to stand do I catch a glimpse of Wes, seated at his table, a smile of approval on his face.
Beside him are two identical versions of the boy I met in the shoe store and Zander.
But only one looks sad, yet he does nothing.
He just watches, not once offering any type of help.
I was right. The tiny slither of kindness he showed earlier in the day was too good to be true.
Slowly standing, my body screams in pain.
Not even taking the time to knock any of the food off my body, I turn and leave as quickly as possible. Never once looking back.