by Ellis Marie
“Trent, stop!” I scream as I watch the two boys roll across the floor a splatters of blood coat the white surface beneath them and tears continue to stream down my face.
Why am I so weak?
From behind us, the sound of running footsteps echo. I turn just in time to see Cole skid to a stop, his eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. Right behind him come Robbie and Dean.
“Cole!” I yell, my thoughts flying as I watch Carter receive a punch straight into the side of his ribs and the sound ricochets off the walls. “Do something!”
I couldn’t do anything. God knows I’d only get hurt or make things worse.
Cole looks at me for a moment, concerned and confused, but then he glances down at my necklace. He seems to freeze, his body stopping as if someone has hit pause.
A grunt from below us captures my attention. I quickly turn to the twins, my hands frantically waving around me.
“Don’t just stand there!” I scream, and it seems to snap them all out of the daydream they had been in because they suddenly rush forward and struggle to separate the figures.
As they lift Trent up, I realise that Carter is scrambling away from him, his eyes wide with fear. It’s only Trent that needs to be restrained. I stand there in shock as Trent continues to try and throw himself at the figure, his body convulsing as he tries to reach the bleeding boy on the ground. I watch as he attempts to twist and turn his way out of the human restraints holding him back. Fear seeps into my veins, his wild presence forming a deep pit in my stomach.
Even Carter is afraid of him.
Carter shakily stands to his feet and wipes his mouth, spitting out blood in the process. He immediately begins to retreat, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Wait until Matt hears about this,” he murmurs, his voice grave as his eyes flick to me, burning into my soul. “You think you’ve got it bad now, just wait.”
I feel as though someone has reached into my chest and gripped my lungs, preventing them from functioning as I listen to his words echoing around my head.
“You’re dead.”
I’m not quite sure whether he’s talking to Trent or to me because I’m staring at the ground with blood pounding in my ears, but I know that it’s not a warning—it’s a promise.
“I’d f*cking run if I were you,” Trent growls, his voice sounding almost unnatural. Instinctively, I take a step away from him. I walk further back down the hall. I watch Carter turn and do the same thing, as though he has no time to waste as he races away.
Trent continues to stand there, his body vibrating and heaving as his friends crowd around him. Cole whispers something into his ear and my eyes flick down to his hands which are stained red.
How dangerous is he?
Scarlette rubs my arm comfortingly as she looks between me and Trent. When she looks at my face, she winces and quickly makes her way over to the boys. Her voice comes out in harsh whispers as she tells them something.
I can’t breathe.
The conversation between all of them stops within a few seconds of her arriving. Suddenly, all eyes turn to look at me, including those of the boy who looks as though he’s ready to murder someone.
Subconsciously, I take in the red spatters around us and up his white T-shirt, as well as the split knuckles protruding from his fists, but it’s the expression on his face that makes me step back again—the one which makes me scared.
Vicious. Wild. Uncontrollable.
“Elle,” he whispers, slowly stilling his body. He blinks a few times as though he’s waking up from a dream. When he glances down at his hands, a horrified expression coats his features. He shakes his head. “Elle, please listen—”
He reaches for me, but I step back as my heart hammers in my chest. Before he can say another word, I make my move and go sprint down the hall. My mind races as I head for the huge doors, which lead outside. I don’t look back. I’m too afraid of what I might see.
Who is he?
I burst out of the doors of the school and fall to my knees, the rough cobbles scratching my skin as I scramble to stand again, not wanting to be caught.
I’m not sure who I’m running from. Is it the teachers that would stop me? Is it Matt? Or is it the boy who screamed my name like he was begging me to come back, the sound cracking through my determination and almost forcing me to turn around?
All I know is that my legs move without me even telling them to. Before I know it, I’ve made it halfway across the field. I only realise where I’m heading when branches start to dig into my arms and the sound of the community around me begins to fade into the distance.
It seems like even my subconscious doesn’t care anymore. If it did, then I wouldn’t have run straight into the forest, forgetting all about the stories that had been whispered into my ear as a child.
Is there anything more horrific in here than what I would find in my own life?
When all I can hear is silence and the only thing in front of me is green, I finally stop running and let my body collapse. My lungs burn as sobs break from my lips, echoing through the emptiness around me.
My body shakes as I try to calm myself, but it seems like the more I do, the more panicked I become. The steel taste of blood fills my mouth, and my head is unable to do anything more than replay the events that have just happened. The scenery around me becomes fuzzy and the colour is draining.
The fists flying through the air. The whispers still lingering on my skin, words pricking my ears as though they’re inside my skull.
I can’t quite decide why I’m crying; fear engulfs me, but so does anger. My mind whirls with the threats thrown at me, the betrayal I’ve been told of, and the sights I’ve seen. They all seem to mesh together into one giant bubble, the shadow looming over my consciousness. I feel like I’m just waiting for it to burst.
“Elle?”
Suddenly, like static, it all disappears. I can see clearly, colours vivid around me. My breathing seems to slow down. I turn my head slightly to look at the person standing behind me, slowly approaching me, as if I’m a wounded animal that they’re scared will fly away. Relief washes over me.
“Scarlette.” The word comes out of my mouth as though it’s painful, the syllables grating my throat so badly that I’m surprised she even understands what I’ve said. It’s as though she understands everything. She stops beside me as she sits down, leaving a small space between us—breathing space.
“I-I’m sorry I ran. I-I—”
“Shhh,” she coos, reaching out to wrap her hand around mine, bringing it onto her lap. “There’s no reason to apologise. If you hadn’t reacted like that, then I would think you were crazy.”
I look at her in surprise. She smiles softly, her green eyes like mirrors, reflecting the blowing leaves around us. It brings a sort of peace to my mind, the panic set on a loop like how a record player seems to halt and my lungs stop being painful.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not knowing how to explain what her words mean to me, not just in this situation but in any. It’s the first time in a long time that I have been told that it’s okay to not be perfect, to let the façade crack, and to not have my response conditioned to perfection.
She grips her fingers around mine tightly, reassuring me that I’m alright. For once, I feel that maybe I am, which seems crazy when I’m possibly the most frightened I have ever been.
After a few minutes, I feel my mind begin to work as it processes everything that occurred like a movie, replaying all the scenes, and one question brims at the tip of it all.
“Scarlette,” I begin, swallowing my pride. My eyes cast down, unable to look at her. “Is Trent dangerous?”
Silence greets me. The thumb rubbing my finger comfortingly stills immediately, tension freezing the movements as I listen to the breeze move around us. I slowly look up at her with my heart pounding in my ears as I take in her sombre expression, her unmoving lips clenched as if she’s trying to figure something out.
It’s
an odd question. On one hand, I had seen what he had done; I had witnessed the blood spilling from Carter and the look in his eyes that shook me to my core, but for some reason, I feel like I have to ask.
Finally, she opens her lips. “I don’t think you have any reason to ever be scared of Trent.”
She furrows her brow, and she straightens her back. Her grip on my hand is back to being like a clamp and she looks straight into my eyes, her stare unwavering. “In fact, I can promise you, Trent would never hurt you.”
A warm kind of feeling pours over my skin at her words, and I decide that it must be relief.
Had I really been so worried? Had I really thought that the boy who could look at me so softly and say such sweet things to me be dangerous? But could I also forget the horrible words he snarled at me the night before, his eyes filled with nothing? Could I forget the blood dripping from his clenched fists?
I smile at Scarlette and nod softly. She smiles back, and I take a deep breath, turning away from her to look out at the scenery. I can’t help but notice the way the smile slips off her face and a frown replaces it as soon as I have.
What isn’t she telling me?
“Elle,” she begins, and already from her tone, I know that the next words are going to be difficult for her to say, let alone for me to hear. “That guy Carter . . . has he ever . . .” she trails off quietly. The things she hasn’t said hanging around us like nooses from a branch, and I can feel them tightening around my throat.
“No,” I whisper back. “He hasn’t.”
The ropes tighten, my head starts to become light, and I feel my fingers tingle, wanting to reach out and rip the constraint away, but I can’t. I’m frozen in sheer panic of what she’s going to say next, but I also feel numb, as though I need her to do it.
“Matt . . . is he . . .”
I feel my ribs press into my lungs as they expand in shock, the shuddered breath feeling jagged. Even though I know it’s coming, it’s as though no matter what I have prepared for my ears, they can’t quite understand what they’re hearing, and my hands begin to shake in confusion.
Is he . . .
How do I answer? How do I begin the sentence? How do my lips form the word? Does my tongue even know how to pronounce it? Can my brain even think it?
The answer that has been banished from my vocabulary, the response that I’ve trained myself not to have. It’s as though hearing it for the first time shakes the foundations to the wall I have built around me. Suddenly, it’s crumbling, crashing around me, and destroying the fake image I’ve created—the life I’ve made myself believe I could have.
Is he . . . could I even say it?
Would it not ruin everything I have, everything that’s planned for me? Am I ready for that can of worms to open? Could I look at Scarlette the same again if I do? Could I look at anyone if I do? Would I always see their sympathy shining back at me, forcing me to never forget who I really am and what has really happened to me?
Am I ready to be that girl? To admit that? To finally face the truth? To push aside all fears and promises that I have given myself to stop this from ever happening?
My breath rushes out of my lungs.
“Yes.” The word flows from my lips and into the air around us, unravelling the knots from the branches as well as the ones in my stomach. Suddenly, I feel light. The weights around my ankles seem to fall off, and it’s as though I can finally get my head above water long enough to breathe. My tip toes feel like they can just touch the sand.
A ring floats in the water in front of me, the air inside offering a way to stay afloat as the material provides something to lean on. The ring is the same vibrant red as Scarlette’s hair.
Despite my preconceived thoughts of her reaction and what I assume it is going to be, she surprises me. There are no sobs, no screams, no shocked gasps and apologetic words fumbling for a way to comfort me.
Instead, her fingers hold mine more tightly, and her eyes light like a fire, as she stares at me with determination blazing within. Right as I begin to panic and question why I had ever opened my mouth, she stops me.
“You are more than this,” she states, the words gripping onto my bones. “You deserve more, and you are more. You are so much stronger than you have ever been allowed to think.”
In all my daydreams of telling someone the truth, of finally relieving myself of the burden that I carry with me each day, I have never—I could never—imagine that reaction or those words said to me. I could not have scripted it, and I could not have prepared myself for it. It’s like Scarlette knows; she just knows.
I only realise I’m crying when wetness drips onto my hand, which is clenching hers below me, causing me to glance down at them and taking in the intertwined fingers that seem to be holding my shaking body together. When I return my gaze to hers, she, too, has tears in them, but there is no look of pity or difference; there is only that fire and I know that it’s burning for me and not at me.
“You’re still you.”
Her whisper puts me over the edge and my limbs become soft, folding into her. My supports shake as I let her hold me up and wrap her arms around my body, pulling me tight against her. I don’t know if I will ever know what it is that made me tell Scarlette the truth.
What is it that convinced me, even after only knowing her for a short time? Why do I feel like I could trust her with my secret? Why could I confess to her about the plague that had infected me for years when I couldn’t even tell my best friend?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that her arms are like a vice around me, and we stay there for as long as it takes for me to stop crying and she never once falters.
She never once says a word or moves a muscle. She just holds me and let years of anguish pour out.
Sometime between me stopping crying and getting into Scarlette’s car, she has managed to phone Kristie and arrange for me to be dropped at her house. It takes a while for me to realise how dark it has gotten, and that’s when the realisation of how long I have been sobbing for really hits me and embarrassment floods.
Of course, somehow Scarlette feels this. She immediately reaches out and takes my hand, watching the road carefully as she drives.
“Never be embarrassed for what you just did. I’m so proud of you and you should be too. I won’t tell a soul, not until you’re ready.” Her words echo in my head as I arrive at Kristie’s. It’s all that seems to flood through my mind as she hands me over and quietly explains about the fight at school and Carter, but true to her word, she doesn’t tell her the rest.
Although, she doesn’t really have to.
Kristie has never outrightly said it to me and she’s never asked, but I know that a small part of her knows, but just like me, she doesn’t want to admit it.
The number of times that I have lashed out at her for trying is too many to count and, eventually, probably for the sake of our friendship, she has stopped pushing me, knowing that all it’s going to do is drive me further away from her and into his awaiting arms.
***
“I love you.”
It has been hours since I arrived at Kristie’s, and she hasn’t said a word. Since I had been here, all that we did is climb into her bed and switch on the television with the movie blurring into the background as both our minds worked over what happened.
“What?” I croak out, not confused by her words but confused by the abruptness she has said them.
She sighs, looking down at her hands, and that’s when I notice the streaks of tears on her cheeks and the patches on her t-shirt.
How long has she been crying for?
“I just wanted you to know that,” she bubbles, picking at her fingers anxiously. “I don’t want you to ever think I don’t, or ever think I haven’t just wanted what’s best for you. I just wanted to say it in case you thought that I didn’t care.”
I slide up the back of the bed into a sitting position and face her slightly, furrowing my brows. I realise that she�
��s being completely genuine and that the fear on her face is a fear for me.
“Kristie,” I half-laugh but it comes out sad. “I love you too,” I say, taking her hand. “And I know that. I’ve always known that.”
Her lip quivers as the tears reappear. She nods, bringing my hand to her face as she holds it, her forehead touching the skin.
“You mean the world to me. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you and I’m sorry I didn’t all this time.” She takes a breath shakily. “But mostly, I’m sorry that you were ever the person to go through this, and I’m sorry that you’ve had to hold onto it for so long.”
My heart shatters inside my chest as I look at my best friend. Suddenly, I realise that through all the years that I’ve pushed her away, all she’s been trying to do is help. And I hurt her, I worried her, and I probably caused her more pain than I ever realised.
“I’m sorry for putting you through this, for opening up enough that you knew something was wrong but not enough that you could actually help. You’re my world, K, forever.”
Our arms find each other, and our tears pour down each other’s necks as we cling on, not willing to let the other go until we feel like we have each finished pouring all the love that we can out of us. The longer we stay like that, the more I can feel my soul beginning to heal; Kristie’s support stitching it together delicately.
When we break from each other, there is snot all over both of our faces. I can feel the dampness on my shoulder seeping onto my skin. We both look at each other and giggle, our laughter breaking the harsh atmosphere that inhabited the room—and my body—for so long.
“We do not look swell,” Kristie jokes, wiping her nose on her sleeve. I chuckle at the action, pretending to be grossed out. “Oh shut up, you have a booger that’s about to fall onto your lip. Now, that’s what I call gross.”
I shove her gently and reach past her to the bedside table where a box of tissues sits, grabbing a couple for me and a few for her, too, although it might already be a lost cause. She takes them from me, still smiling. Silently, we clean ourselves up, the mumbling of the television in the background easing my mind.
