Chapter 15 BETH
BETH
To use and discard.
Just like toilet paper.
It had been five days. I should stop checking for a possible reply. But my fingers still moved on their own accord, and before I could curb the urge, I was staring at the last drunken-like messages Callan sent to me, just like I had done a million times already.
I scrolled down to the ones I sent over the last few days that still hadn’t gotten a reply.
I was already aware of this lack of replies, but still, the hot coil of pain and embarrassment wrapped around my ribs again, making it hard to breathe.
How could I have been so carried away, forgetting I was always meant to dream only? How deeply did I sleep that I dreamt of a man like Callan Raskov being mine?
The corners of my eyes itched, and my nose flared gently as something heavy suddenly lodged into my throat.
I wanted to cry. For the first time, I felt like shedding a tear because someone I liked may not have felt the same.
But my fingers clenched around the railing of the terrace instead, nails digging into the cool metal.
“Don’t cry,” I murmured to myself. “Big girls don’t cry.”
Big girls don’t cry.
I looked down at the football field, watching the players go in and out of their locker room, preparing for another game. Lochborne’s Vanguard was listed for the Nationals. So they had been training non-stop, even skipping classes.
They would rather die than to lose to The Red Comets–the very competitive team from our rival school.
The captain of Red Comets, Ivan McCormick, was signed by Cetlic, one of Scotland’s popular football clubs last year.
The co-captain was also rumoured to be playing for Tottenham Hotspur soon.
Yes, in the real sense, Vanguard had no reason going head to head with them.
But if there was one quality Vanguard had, it was resilience.
‘Professionalism doesn’t equal victory,’ was what Kenzo told me the last time I asked if they were sure of this win.
Soft laughter and chatter drifted across the field, invading my thoughts. I stared at them, all vibrant and energetic. They looked so happy and free.
But here I was, a canvas of despair. I didn’t even know what freedom looked like even if it was painted for me.
I was so jealous of them, frustrated, even. I felt like I wanted to…die.
Callan wasn’t there. He would have replied to the countless “Are you there?” that I had sent. He wouldn’t have switched off the only one out of all his phones whose number I had.
Maybe he realised I was just a nuisance. Mother did say no man would ever pick me, not when I was broken and carried this darkness inside me. He said they would run the moment they caught a glimpse of my black blood. Maybe Callan found out and ran.
I looked down at the field again. It was at least 25 feet tall. If I jumped now, made sure I angled myself in a way where my head would make the biggest impact, my skull would crack, blood would flow to my brain…I would die.
I didn’t know much about physics. How do I jump in a way that my head would hit the ground first? I wanted to die, but I didn’t want my last memory to be a prolonged, excruciating pain. I wanted to die a quick, fleeting, in-a-blink-of-an-eye, death
I clenched the railing tighter. Felt the pressure building on my arm. I could swear I felt my legs lifting off the floor. But the sudden shouts across the field distracted me.
It was a normal thing to hear football players shouting. So I wanted to ignore it at first, but the movement below me felt off.
The boys that were littered across the field just now–with some doing warm ups and a few passing balls to while away time–were suddenly all rushing to the locker room in numbers. The current of the noise rose, and anxiety wove into my body.
I hadn’t spotted Kenzo since I came up. I had thought he was taking his sweet time to change into his jersey.
Thinking of Kenzo being in the middle of whatever was happening there made my stomach sink. I leaned off the railing immediately, my feet flying off the ground as I headed for the exit of the terrace. I took the stairs two at a time, three if I wasn’t miscalculating.
The bell for the first period after lunch break went off, but it echoed like it was coming from inside a glass. I ignored it, dashing straight for the locker room.
And there, I found that crowds were gathering. And they were either just too amused to intervene on what was happening, or too scared to make a move.
I didn’t care. All I could think about was that my friend could be stuck helplessly in the middle of what could be happening there. So I pushed through them, muttering, ‘excuse me,’ to anyone on my path.
Finally exiting the crowd, I found two figures tangled, one throwing punches, the other trying to escape the punches but failing miserably.
It took me all of a heartbeat to finally recognise the one throwing punches and the one receiving the punches.
My breath punched out of me.
“K-kenzo?” My voice vanished under the sound of fist cracking someone’s jaw. I tried to move, but my legs suddenly felt too heavy.
Why was Kenzo beating up Banks Awolowo?
No, the right question should be, why was Kenzo, a boy who rarely got angry, let alone raise his voice, now raising a fist?
Kenzo was furious. I had seen him pissed before…many times. And it was always after speaking to his father on the phone. But I had never seen him this furious, this lethal…uncontrollable.
This feral rage his face was twisted in didn’t belong to him. Not to my Kenzo. His knuckles were bruised, blood slick at the edges.
What in the world happened?
“Kenzo–”
“–Say it again!” he growled, throwing another punch, his fist tangled in Banks collar that was now smeared with blood. “I said fucking say what you said just now. I dare you!”
“I–” Banks opened his bloodied mouth but couldn’t seem to form the words. “I didn’t mean–”
“You idiot, you said you liked her.” Kenzo shook him violently. “You fucking told her you liked her. How dare you go ahead and act like a fucking douchebag?”
My pulse stumbled. And now my legs moved. But instead of forward, it was a step backward.
Her.
The her was me, right?
Another punch startled me, jolting me out of my temporary state of shock.
“Kenzo, stop!” I forced out, my voice cracking at the edges.
He didn’t hear me. Or didn’t want to. He threw another punch and gasps rippled through the crowd.
My ear buzzed, the chaos around me blurring. My heartbeat thundered so loudly I felt it in my eyes.
What was going on?
What did Banks say to awaken this rage-filled side of Kenzo?
“Kenzo, stop!”
This time, he heard me. His head jerked up, eyes searching until they landed on me amongst the crowd. His wild eyes sharpened, shock flickering in it then…guilt.
He released his hold on Banks, letting him stagger backward and hit the nearest locker, a coughing, trembling mess as he wiped blood from his face.
Bank’s dark brown eyes fell on me, guilt flashing across them, but it didn’t last. His gaze shifted to Kenzo, then swept across the room, jaws clenching in reaction to having so many eyes on him.
Wiping blood from his face again, he stumbled away, slightly bent, as he clutched his stomach.
I knew Kenzo was strong, but I didn’t know he could actually beat up someone and escape a punch. I had never seen him fight. Kenzo wasn’t a violent person.
What must Banks have said to bring out this side of him?
The crowd that was gathered just now suddenly scattered as if someone yelled fire.
Kenzo stood there still, chest heaving, his body trembling from the remnant of rage flowing within him. His fists were clenched, eyes tightly shut as he tried to rein himself in.
“Are you okay?” I asked softly, stepping closer to him. I placed my hand gently on his shoulder, and he tensed under my touch, before he suddenly began to relax.
“Let’s go to the infirmary.” I slipped my hand into his bloodied one, dragging him away. “We should clean the blood.”
Kenzo had never had any record of violence since he started here. None that I had been told about. And this right here was violence. That too in the school premises. ‘No Violence’ was one of the rules watched with scrutiny. There was no way he wasn’t getting summoned by the disciplinary committee.
They would call his mom. And that scared me. I knew the her that started this brawl was me. His mother would be disappointed. I hated that when all was said and done, it was all because of me. He did what his mother hated most because of me.
And I was probably the most selfish person out there. Because now, the only thing I could think of was our friendship going to ruins. What if his mom told him to finally stay away from me?
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” I whispered. We were now at the infirmary. I was trying to clean the open cracks in his knuckles with a mentholated spirit.
“He shouldn’t have said what he said,” he mumbled, his fist clenching again, jaws hard as if reliving that moment.
“It doesn’t matter what he said–”
“–It matters,” he cut me off, yanking his hand from my hold and abruptly rising to his feet.
“Kenzo.” I rose after him.
“It shouldn’t have been him.” His eyes glazed over, voice cracking. “I thought he was better than the rest. I‐” He raised his hand, diving it into his hair, clenching the strands. “I thought he really liked you. I thought he was better than those arseholes.”
“It’s okay.”
“But he was just like them, Beth.” His eyes grew teary, and the sight made me feel like shedding the tears I had been fighting too.
I didn’t want to know before, too scared to. But if it made Kenzo want to cry, then I needed to know. I needed a reason to hate Banks who made Kenzo cry.
What did Banks say about me?
“What did he say?” I asked, fiddling with the thread from the bandage in my hand.
“You don’t have to know,” he said quickly, way too sharply, like I uttered a forbidden word. “There’s no point.”
“It’s about me, Kenzo.” I almost snapped, and I could feel my eyes burning, tears threatening to spill. “I deserve to know what he said about me that is so unheard of.”
“It’s not necessarily about what he said.” He crossed the room to me. “It’s about who said it. That’s why I’m this upset.”
“You’re not a violent person, Kenzo,” I pointed out. “You barely even raise your voice. But you beat him, left him bloodied and bruised.”
“Please, don’t push it.” He shook his head, then proceeded to wrap his arms around my shoulders, pressing me against his chest. “Just forget about it.”
But I only wanted to know now more than anything. Whatever it was he said, shouldn’t be the worst thing anyone had ever said about me.
And later that day, as I occupied my usual position by the drum set in music class, waiting for the teacher to come in, whispers about the event found their way to me.
“Am I the only one that thought Kenzo was suddenly so hot beating up Banks like that?” A girl said, giggling. I didn’t look. I had worn my headphones, so in true sense, I wasn’t supposed to be able to hear a thing.
“Right?” Another joined in, her voice louder. “I mean, I knew he was good looking, but that bad boy vibe that came out of nowhere was such a shocking twist. How disappointing that he isn’t for the girls.”
“I heard it was because of…” The person’s voice reduced to a whisper. “Her, right?”
I played with the drumsticks, subsequently hitting the drum but not loud enough to make a sound. And I could see them gesturing at me.
“Yes.”
“Banks made a stupid comment about her to the other guys and Kenzo overhead.”
“But he was all over her.” Another added. “I thought he liked her.”
“So we thought.”
“Do you know what he said?”
“According to what I heard, I don’t think what he said was out of spite or maliciousness, just immaturity of boys. They tend to spew nonsense when they want to belong so badly.” Then the person laughed playfully.
My ears perked up, heart racing, stomach in knots.
“But what exactly did he say?” One pressed desperately. “Banks always seemed like the charming type.”
“Some of his teammates were making fun of him during warm-up, saying he had unrequited love for her. So he told them he wasn’t into her like everyone thought.”
I had an inkling before. But still hearing it made my heart sink.
“He said.” The girl continued. “I just wanted to taste her. See if what the other guys said about her pussy was true. She was supposed to be easy, but with me, it’s been hard luck. Maybe she doesn’t like my skin.”
My grip on the drumsticks tightened, then I felt the deep and sharp slice across my heart. This one hurt indeed. It shouldn’t have been Banks.
I already knew I was disposable, not worth a lifetime of thought. I was only a moment of appetite, something to be tasted but never stayed with. I already made peace with that.
But it hurt more coming from Banks.
He had been better. Kinder. He always said nice things. Bought me chocolate milk sometimes. Trailed after me like I was interesting, like I mattered.
At least other guys never wore a mask. They walked up to me and told me what they wanted. I was the one that kept hoping they could somehow see that I might be something more.
They didn’t deceive me like Banks did. They didn’t paint me a picture that wasn’t true.
Banks lied to me. He didn’t want me. He wanted the proof of me. Something to boast about. Something he could say he’d had, too.
Was this really what I would ever be? Something to whet the appetite for a moment? To use and discard.
Just like toilet paper.