Manic: A Dark High School Bully Romance

by Savannah Rose

  Finally home, I dragged my exhausted body out of my car and stepped into the safety of my own garage. My parents were at work. If I moved quickly—which seemed like an impossible feat at that point—I could have my clothes laundered and the gum out of my hair before they got back. Sighing, I pulled the garage door closed and trudged to the front door, hellbent on doing just that. I’d make sure I was all showered up and ready to fake it by the time they got home. My father wasn’t the kind to sit and chill on this type of news. If ever he caught wind of what was happening to me at school, he’d stew and stew until he was angry enough to take the whole building down. Which wasn’t what I wanted. The kids in this town, they weren’t the kinds to bend just because someone’s dad pouted. If anything, my dad trying to have a ‘talk’ with the principal, or telling a kid to knock it off, would be him throwing me even deeper into the lion’s den.

  I shook my head and rolled my eyes at the very imagination of how badly something like that would end. Backpack swung over my shoulder I did my regular one-two step toward the front door, only to be stopped in my tracks as soon as my foot hit the top step.

  “Goddammit, now what?” I glared down at my doorstep, where a white envelope was held in place by a fist-sized stone. I kicked the stone aside and picked up the envelope, ripping it open savagely. Inside was a scrap of paper, just a corner torn off of a lined sheet, with a single word on it.

  “Beautiful,” I read out loud, blinking as I tried to make sense of the message in conjunction with everything else. A spring of hope wanted to well up inside of me. Maybe Blayze left the note and the flowers. Maybe the dead one was an accident. Maybe he wanted to apologize. As soon as those thoughts hit, they were dimmed by the overwhelming reality of the past few hours. Fuck Blayze. Fuck him. FUCK HIM!

  I took the note upstairs and slid it into my desk drawer, slamming it shut like it was the one who had scorned me. And I guess, in a way, it did. For the entire evening, all through dinner and in the midst of my sleep, that damn note in that damn drawer sat on my mind.

  7

  When I left for school the next day, the note was still burning a hole in my mind. Pulling forward all the mental strength I could muster, I decided against retrieving it from the spot in my drawer and pushed myself to get ready and head downstairs in time to grab breakfast from my mom. Last night, she’d moaned about me picking at my food. I’d blamed it on chocking myself full of junk food before dinner. My lack of an appetite, of course, had very different causes. I knew, though, that if I didn’t want my mother to worry, there was no way I could leave breakfast untouched.

  Just as usual, the smell of bacon wafted through the air.

  “All packed up,” mom said, “or do you have enough time to –“

  “I’ll eat on the way,” I told her, jutting a hand out to grab the paper bag filled with food before dropping a kiss on her cheek. “Thanks mom.”

  I was out the door before she could finish telling me that she might not be home when I got back. Errands and errands and so many errands. I might have turned back to engage in at least a little conversation had my eyes not automatically scanned the stoop. There was another rose—this one was beyond dead. It was crushed, its petals scattered all over the place. I glared at the mess, frustration and confusion building in my chest until I just wanted to scream. What the hell was this even supposed to mean? The dead rose, I understood. At least I thought I did. Love was dead, sure, I got that, felt it too. But this…it just seemed like too much effort for an impact that was already had.

  “So glad you cleared that up,” I groaned, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

  I still thought it was Blayze, of course I did. I just didn’t know what the hell it was he was trying to say. I took a picture of the rose and had every intention of sending it to him with an accusatory message, but decided against it at the last second. If he had left it, he wouldn’t admit it. If he hadn’t, he’d be pissed at the accusation. But was there even the slightest chance in the whole damn universe that he wasn’t responsible? I doubted it.

  Leave it alone, I told myself firmly. Just fucking leave it the fuck alone.

  And I did. I went school, trying not to think about it. Moved through the motions of torment that had become my life in this place. As for Blayze - I didn’t even bother trying to corner him into talking to me. Every time I saw him he was surrounded by a cloud of buzzing girls, all hovering around him and giggling. I didn’t want to know who they were. I didn’t want to tempt myself into taking bets on which one of them would replace me in Blayze’s life. I really didn’t need the added torture. Blayze though, he was intent on shoving every single one of them in my face. I’d say I couldn’t blame him if I knew what the fuck his problem was. As things were, I was just royally confused.

  Class moved on, and I had to admit, I was getting at least a little better at dodging the bullying. Outside of a few spitballs to the face, and a few kicks to my morale, I managed to survive the day, ducking into the nurse’s station for lunch and shoving myself into the Janitor’s closet when the hallways got too crowded too quickly.

  When I got home, there was another envelope on my porch. After the message this morning, I almost left it there. But something – fear that one of my parents would find it, or stupid curiosity- had me scooping it into my hands. Holding my breath, I ripped it open.

  “Princess,” I read. My heart leapt even though it shouldn’t have. But it was Blayze, it had to be. Beautiful princess. A love note, one word at a time. Maybe that was wishful thinking, triggered by the part of me that desperately wanted this to be nothing but a fucking nightmare. Or a stupid prank that would lead to the biggest, most beautiful damn gesture known to man. Something akin to those proposals where the girl is left shocked six ways to Sunday before her pursuer spits out a bright and shiny diamond ring. Not that I wanted a proposal. Eighteen years old was no age to be married off at. But hoping for the best – even in a nightmare - was better than trying to find the bad in something that didn’t really feel all that bad right now. Hell, I’d had one heck of a day, one heck of a week, who could blame me for being stupidly hopeful. Somewhere in the depths of my need for happiness, I felt that Blayze was urging me to be patient and wait for the payoff. I can do that, I thought. Maybe there’s a blazing light at the end of this tunnel, I just have to make it through.

  Clutching the envelope tight to my chest, I went upstairs to bed. This time, I allowed myself to pull the other piece from its hiding place in the drawer. Beautiful Princess. I sure as shit didn’t feel like one. Not with my unkempt hair and the rings of stress and anger and exhaustion around my eyes. With the two notes clutched to my chest, I rested my head against my pillow, closed my eyes and tried to dream of better times.

  8

  In the days that followed, I lived for those envelopes. They were the only things keeping me hanging on. I’d taken to pinning the single words to the message board in my room in order, waiting breathlessly for the full message. I would read and re-read the sentence every day, trying to finish it in my head.

  Beautiful princess, how can I—

  How can I tell you how I feel? How can I get you to forgive me? How can I come to your rescue when you’re covered in lunchroom spaghetti? How can I be this much of an asshole? Who knew where the messages would lead?

  I hung upside down off of my bed, popping my bubblegum as I read the words. A part of me was happy for the mystery, as it kept my mind from obsessing over an even bigger mystery—the mystery of why Blayze was suddenly going everywhere with his pink-skunk-streaked sticky plastic ex-girlfriend. I hadn’t seen them kiss or anything, but the cloud of buzzing girls had thinned, leaving only Sam and a couple of her besties. There was a part of my brain – perhaps the logical one – screaming, ‘Fuck Blayze’. It had a point, of course. Any guy who could treat me the way he did, who could watch as his friends teased and taunted me, he wasn’t worth my time of day. The problem was, logic was only one part. A very small part, as it would turn out. Al
l the feelings he’d invoked in me, all the times he’d held me close and promised things that guys his age shouldn’t be able to promise. All the times I’d felt safe and loved and ready to take on life, just because he was by my side. All the deep conversations we had and the kisses that tingled from my very tip all the way down, squeezing my heart in a vice-like grip on the way…those things made it impossible to forget or to push away that what we had was special.

  How can I ditch these chicks and get back with you without losing face? Yep, that’s definitely where this note is going, I decided light-headedly. I whipped myself upright fast enough to make my room spin, and toppled over onto the bed. The feeling brought me back to Eddie’s party, that hot moment in the truck. We’d been so close. If we’d gone for it, would this have happened?

  A horrible thought struck me and I sprang up off the bed. “This all started the Monday after the party,” I recalled aloud. “The Monday after I blue-balled him in front of his friends.” I bit my lip, evaluating and re-evaluating everything I knew about men in general and Blayze specifically.

  Back at my last school, guys could be positively vicious if they thought they were being teased or led on. Even if the girl flatly stated that she wasn’t interested and never gave any indication otherwise, those entitled pricks would make her life hell if they thought they could get away with it.

  Blayze was always patient with me. We’d kiss and things would get so fucking heated that I would be seconds away from ripping both of our clothes off, but Blayze…Blayze would always ask if I was sure. If I was ready. And even though in the heat of the moment, I’d always think I was, Blayze would remind me that losing my virginity under the bleachers, in the back of my car or in the deep end of some dingy alley wasn’t right. Not for me. Not for his little princess.

  I dragged my hands through my hair, frustrated with myself. Not just for falling for Blayze as hard and as fast as I did. But trying to defend him, even now. Just because someone did something nice in the past, doesn’t mean you should make excuses for their present and future assholeness. So, what if I’d been charmed by his heroism, by his sex appeal, by the way he could make people jump to do his bidding with nothing more than a word and a look. The novelty of him had clouded my head, lulled me into the belief that he was everything I ever wanted in a man.

  “But what if he isn’t. What if he’s no better than the jerks back home?” I whispered the words, feeling the brunt of each and every single one of them. “What if this is Blayze’s vengeance for not getting to sink himself seven inches deep inside of me? What if he’s trashing my reputation because I embarrassed him and left him wanting?”

  I drove myself crazy with questions and scenarios all night. When there was no flower at all in the morning, I took it as confirmation. He was punishing me for not giving it up at the party.

  Time ticked on and soon enough I was behind the wheel of my car and heading in the direction of the school building. I didn’t intend on making a show of the BMW and dared myself to park just a tiny bit closer than the farthest end of the parking lot. I had the good sense to wait until all the students had filed into the building, until the bell at least rang out for a few seconds, before I exited the car.

  Truth be told, I was getting good at this avoiding people shit. It was a lonely life, but it was still a heck of a lot better than the full on torture I’d been privy to.

  Ms. March scolded me with a sharp look as I pushed my way into her classroom. All the other kids had their heads down and the same stapled pile of paper on their desks. If I had paid attention, I might have remembered that today was testing day. Not that it mattered. I did my homework and for the most part, focused in class. Even if I wasn’t going to sweep through this thing with a big bright A, I wasn’t bound to outright fail.

  I mouthed a silent apology to Ms. March and took the only free seat smack in the front of the class. The test turned out to be my saving grace. With everyone wanting to graduate this year, they kept their eyes glued on their papers and their chewing gum out of my hair. At least for that, I was thankful.

  My mind was clear as I filed through the questions. Only one out of the eight sheets of paper was multiple choice. I scanned the questions, flipping from page to page, my heart settling a little when my confidence kicked in. Easy as Pie. Maybe I would come out with an A after all. I guess sometimes the universe really does throw a win at people when they need it the most.

  That was the thought I left the room with after I turned in my test to Ms. March and managed to leave the class before anyone else was done. As soon as the door clicked shut behind me the universe practically laughed in my face. Apparently, the only reason I needed this win was to be able to take another rougher and more intolerable loss.

  Right across from the classroom was a little cut out area with two worn out arm chairs, a small table and bookshelf of unused books. It was as though they’d planned this whole fucking thing, wanting to make sure I didn’t miss the action. Pressed to pleats in the armchair, Sam sat on Blayze’s lap, wiggling like a stripper in heat. Immediately, I felt the crash of something vile against my chest and snapped my head in the opposite direction. I might have stomped like a damn child as I bit back the tears and locked myself away in the girl’s bathroom.

  I had a good fifteen minutes to kill before my next class started. Every single one of those minutes was spent fighting the anger and telling the tears to fuck all the way off. I wasn’t going to cry over Blayze. Not anymore. Not ever again. In fact, he and Sam deserved each other.

  The bathroom door creaked open and I pulled my feet up onto the seat, trying to remain as still and as invisible as possible. Chatter filled the air, and surprisingly enough they weren’t talking about me. Not at first, at least. Not until the word ‘snitch’ came into play. Just like all the other times, no one elaborated, like clarifying whatever the hell it was they thought I did was some sort of taboo. I focused hard, trying to pinpoint the voices, coming up short every single time. Leaning forward just a little, I caught a glimpse of ordinary brown hair which certainly didn’t help to narrow things down.

  “Anyway, Sam and Blayze are back on, now. So I guess things kinda worked themselves out in the end.” The girl furthest away from the door said. She wasn’t wrong. They worked themselves out so much that even after the bell rang, Blayze and Sam were still stuck in that damn armchair, glued together.

  By the time school ended and I’d made my way home, I was so mad I basically tripped over the envelope on my way up the steps. Desperate for validation, even if it was anonymous, I ripped it open. Once again, my heart sank like a stone in a sinkhole.

  Hurt.

  “Hurt. Beautiful princess, how do I hurt?”

  I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. This wasn’t romance. This was just more punishment. A passive-aggressive letter to tell me how badly I’d hurt him. I shook my head, hot tears pricking the corners of my eyes. It didn’t make any goddamn sense. I still had the last text he sent me. Sweet Princess. Beautiful girl. Those didn’t sound like the words of a scorned man intent on vengeance. There had to be something else, something I was missing. Damn it, why couldn’t he just come out and say it?

  I stormed inside and tossed the envelope and its contents into a drawer in my room, then got cleaned up. I was close, so very close, to saying fuck it all and dropping out. I could finish out the year online, to hell with the graduation ceremony. I could even get a variance to a different school. It wasn’t like I was tied to the bus system. But the thought of learning the ropes at yet another alien school filled me with a shuddering dread, and the idea of leaving without answers left me cold. I wrapped my arms around myself and squeezed until the shaking stopped.

  “No, damn it,” I told myself. “It’s not fucking fair. I like that school. I like the teachers. I even like some of the people, and goddammit, Blayze can’t get away with this. If he’s dead set on ruining my life, he can damn well tell me why.”

  Over the course of the next few
days, I held onto that defiant attitude like my life depended on it. Honestly, it probably did. The glares and sneers lost some of their power when I met the offending faces with a blank stare. I decided, once and for all, that I wouldn’t be destroyed by these idiots, no matter how hard they tried. It worked for a day or two.

  Then the next day I ran into Blayze sucking the lipstick off of Sam’s face. He didn’t see me, but she did. She winked at me over his shoulder then made a show out of it, moaning into his mouth and pressing her plastic-wrapped curves against him like a writhing snake. I turned on my heel and walked away, even though my class was down that hall.

  She’d shaken me to my core, undoing all the defenses I’d built up over the last couple weeks.

  I knew they had history, but Blayze didn’t like to talk about it. All he ever told me was that they dated off and on, and that he would never make that mistake again. Of course, he also told me that I’d never have to worry about being bullied around school again. Guess that shows how much his word is worth.

  I won’t lie, it hurt like hell. Especially since the nurse finally got sick of me hanging out in her office every lunch period and told me to handle my headaches “like a big girl,” which meant I had to sit in the lunch room and watch Sam giggle and flirt with Blayze, showing him off like some kind of trophy. He acted like he enjoyed it, but his smile never quite met his eyes. What on earth could I have done that he would choose subtle misery over being with me?