Monday 3rd June, 2019
Day 1.
I woke up earlier than my alarm.
Dark eyes were already hovering in my mind, and I rolled out of bed, stretching despite the pain licking through my body like fire.
I avoided my reflection in the mirror; I wasn't prepared to see even more dark bruises, late-bloomers, on my skin.
Shoving on jeans and a yellow jumper, I packed my bag and lurched downstairs.
Mum winced when she saw me. "Is it still too sore to put make-up on?"
"It hurts to touch, Mother."
"Come get some breakfast." Dad called from behind the paper. Usually I'd refuse, but I was early and actually needed something from them (always a tricky thing to approach).
So I sat, pushing my glasses onto my head. "Wow," Mum muttered. "She sat."
"I'm early," I said, buttering some toast and biting into it slowly, careful not to re-open the cut on my lip. "This toast is good."
Mum turned her beady eyes on me. "What do you want?"
I closed my eyes. Busted. "Nothing."
"Come on. Who compliments toast, of all things? Go on and ask."
"It's nothing!"
Dad peeked around the newspaper. "Darling, what is it?" He demanded.
"Fine." I put the toast down. "I need $18."
Mum crossed her arms, sitting down. "What for?"
Dad was watching me now. I sighed, "do you remember Friday night?"
Both faces tightened; clearly a sensitive subject, but there was no other way to explain.
"I was already cleaned up - I had plasters on! A friend bought them for me, and I need to pay them back."
"$18 for plasters?" Her voice was suspicious, as always.
"I put on cream and had a pack of frozen peas."
Dad dug in his pocket, tossed the money over; I smiled at him gratefully. "There you are, honey. Tell them thank you from us. God bless them."
I nodded, knowing I wasn't going to include the last part. Well, I could have included it, if I wanted Julian to snigger - or slap me. Pocketing the money, I was out in ten minutes.
There was a nervous buzz in my stomach on the way to school; I put it down to the injury and people seeing my face in school. What else could it be? After all, if I saw somebody as messed-up as me, I'd run a mile too.
Getting out, I locked my yellow Beetle and spied the person I was after in the corner of the lot, lounging on a black classic. His friends surrounded him, and I ignored painful flashbacks of Friday night as I walked over.
Julian was smoking, taking long drags. A thick cloud floated around him; a halo of grey. Strangely, though, he wasn't looking at me.
I stopped in front of him, ignoring the stares I got. "Hey."
He didn't spare me a glance.
"Hey," I repeated, and his friends turned to smirk at me. I was careful not to look at Bleu, the ginger-haired one - the beast.
Julian took another drag. "Julian," I said, inching closer. This was weird.
He turned his head, blew smoke in my face. I coughed on it, bitter in my nose. "What are you doing?" I sputtered. "Passive smoking is as bad as if you smoked yourself!"
When the smoke cleared, I froze. Julian was looking at me, but there was no recognition in his eyes. They were flat, dark, cold as ice.
His mouth twisted in disgust. "What makes you think you can talk to me?"
I stared. "What?"
"Get out of my face," he looked me in the eye, like he would a fly before swatting it away. "Ugly dork."
The words sounded hideous coming from him, more hideous than it would coming from any of his friends. I gaped for a moment, not hearing the others laugh, or the car horn behind me. Only hearing his words in my head.
"What did you just say?"
He leaned back. "Get the fuck out of my face. Dork."
"No one uses that word anymore, asshole." I dug in my pocket, cheeks flaming. Flinging the money in his pretty face, I mutter, "thanks for nothing."
I looked at him once more, carelessly smoking, not even wicked amusement in his eyes. Nothing.
Turning, I started to walk away, faster than normal. His voice followed me, mocking, "you deserved that beating! Annoying bitches have it coming."
Before I could stop myself, I turned and gave him the finger, only to speed away with roaring laughter behind me.
Not one of the laughs belonged to him.
+ + +
In English, Brendan asked me for the fifth time what was wrong.
"Nothing," I mumbled.
"Come on," he poked my arm. "What's wrong? I can't decide if you're about to throw the table over or start crying."
"Neither can I."
"Can you do neither?"
"Working on it." I wasn't going to cry - I was determined not to. I only cried when it was over something, something real - this was nothing. Some too-good-looking-punk I was tutoring for English.
Beautiful bastard.
My mouth tasted like acid just thinking about this morning - the humiliation! As if walking around looking like someone used me as a punching bag wasn't bad enough.
I told Brendan I walked into a lamppost. He swallowed it, but barely. Tripping over my own two feet ten times a day had served me well, in this case.
"Julian Jones is a dick." I said suddenly.
Brendan made a startled noise. "I know he is. But what did he do?"
"Nothing," I lied. "He's a dick."
"Yes," Brendan agreed quickly. "If him staring is getting weird, I'll come with you to the principle's--"
"No." I sighed, smiling at him with some effort. "It's not that. I don't feel very well, that's all."
"Did he poison your food?"
"He poisoned my mood." I said sourly, and made a conscious effort to immerse myself in the lesson, to get emotionless dark eyes out of my head.
+ + +
I sat down at lunch, to a reception of "ooh"s and "ouch"es.
Amy spoke first; the bravest of the few. "Damn, Brooke. I thought Brendan was exaggerating."
Jordan eyed me carefully. "How'd you not see it?"
I shrugged. "There was a cool car going down the road."
"A cool black classic car?" Holly waggled her red eyebrows.
My mouth twisted. Thinking about him, I realised for the first time, I couldn't feel the heavy pressure of his eyes on my back. When I turned to see him behind me, he was laughing with his friends - not eye-stalking me for once.
As if he felt me watching, Julian's curly head turned to me. A second later, his middle finger was up at me, an idiotic smirk on his face.
I looked away, cheeks flaming. "Dickhead."
Holly chewed her lip. "Maybe not, then."
"Ugh," Brendan rubbed my shoulder. "He's a retard. Ignore him."
"Can we talk about something else?" I asked, desperate for a subject change.
They were all quick to help, and it was easy to keep up with, but every now and then I'd feel like I was missing something.
Missing the feeling of his eyes on me.
+ + +
I was considerably less enthusiastic walking to my car at the end of the day.
My head was a foggy mess; I was slowly coming to terms with the fact that Julian, evidently, loathed me. And I didn't even know why.
Scanning the lot, I wanted to be safe before I walked out and exposed myself. But he was nowhere to be found. Sighing, I was a couple of feet away from the Beetle when I noticed it.
Jogging closer, I stared at the wad of bills stuck under my windshield wipers. It was a second before I registered that all of them were half-gone, blackened edges showing they'd been burned.
Fury surged inside me; I stormed forward, ripping them out. If he didn't want them, he could have just given them back. I could have given it back to my parents.
They were low on money as it was.
And to think Dad wanted to thank him, bless him. No God was blessing Julian Jones. Ever. He was further away from Heaven than even me.
I threw the bills on the floor as a voice came from behind me.
"I don't want your filthy money." It hissed, and I turned just in time to get spat in the face. The ball of saliva landed in my eye, hot and wet. "Your house is small enough," he mused as he walked away. "Buy porridge with it: don't want to starve this week. Not that you don't need to."
I wiped the spit away with the sleeve of my jumper. I couldn't believe he'd just done that - said that.
I knew I should chase after him, spit in his stupid curly hair and call him a cruel bastard, but my body still hurt. The thought of bending over in agony just as I started shouting at him propelled me away from the idea.
And more than that, there was an ache in my chest that I wanted to go away, and the only way I could think to make it happen was to leave him. To put a lot of distance between me and Julian Jones.
So I jumped into my car, slammed the door and sped away. Like a coward. Like a bat out of hell.