( A/N) themes of abuse, suicide, and bullying are present here. If this might trigger you please precede with caution.
The day was slower then usual. Cloudier then usual, and... Nosier then usual. The other students around me were busting with chattering energy for our first period History class, all talking about the possibility of getting out of school early.
I sat in the back of the class, my desk closest to the large window beside me. My gaze was fixated on the rolling clouds before me. There menacing appearance promised heavy rain and bad weather.
As if reading my thoughts, mother nature let a rage of Thunder rumble through the sky, making the window tremor under it's wake. I clenched the pen I was twirling around in my hand.
I hate thunder storms.
"Hey Lia, did you hear what John said on the weather forecast?" A familiar voice asked me. I looked to my right, expecting the one and only girl who I would allow near me: Annette. short, light brown skinned, with pretty black curls that was pushed back by a thick bright yellow headband.
Annette was a beauty to behold. Though she did lean to the mild fluffier side, even a fool couldn't ignore her striking features: heart shaped lips, beautiful hazel eyes, and a clear complexion any girl could die for. even her sense of style was amazing.
And She happened to be the only the girl I knew in my whole grade who didn't shun me.
We had met in middle school, when she was transferred from her old school ( for reasons unbeknownst to me. And I have not pried into her life as she has not done the same thing to me). And though she and I rarely saw each other, the Times we did cross paths we sticked with each other.
to stop you right there, This was not friendship between us. We only stayed by each other because we learned that we could tolerate and get along with each other better then with any of our peers. Not that I had trouble getting along with anyone, but my silent behavior seemed to sometimes rub people the wrong way.
I proceeded to flip my pen again as I answered her "Yes, he said that Thunderstorms will be rolling around about this time and through the afternoon" Annette let out an annoyed groan. Her plump breasts swaying as she leaned back in her chair dramatically. A small smile rose on my face despite my best efforts to hide it.
Another thing about Annette was that she was a hoot. " Damn it, now Dad is gonna make us go to Aunt Kinya's house" Annette, from what I gathered, hated two things in her life: 1. Dogs and 2. Her Aunt Kinya ( why she hates her I don't know. I never ask questions about her life and vice versa ).
Everytime bad weather of any type came rolling in, her dad would pack her and her youngest sister up and drive to there Aunt Kinya's house. Annette once told me that her dad has an irrational fear of bad weather.
"You know, your dad is right about that fear. Mine told me once he's seen a tornado take a house with a family in it and lighting strike apart a thick oak tree. Bad weather isn't something to mess with" not true. my dad never talks to me. But it got Annette's attention away from her unfortunate visit she'll be partaking in soon. Maybe.
Looking over at me, still leaned back in her chair, she said "Shiiiit, that poor family. Tornados are fucking jackasses... hey What does your dad do when it's bad weather? If he's anything like my dad maybe we could hook em up" An innocent question. despite myself, I stiffened. stopping in mid action of twirling my pen. An innocent question. But it was one that I didn't think I could answer without having an edge to my voice.
Before I could give an answer, the late tardy bell rang, signaling the start of first period class, the chatter dying quickly. "I'll answer that another time" I quickly whispered to Annette before turning my attention fully to the teacher at the board.
Mr. Hawking's, a man in his late forties, was writing something on the board. Thunder rumbled once more, but this time, something odd sounding was followed with it....Like the sound of screaming. Without turning my head, I looked to the window beside me. My heart beated hard in my chest.
Nothing was there. All there was the huge yard that overlooked the entry way to the schools parking lot and the highway beside it.
This eased the tension in my shoulders and heart, but not the confusion I felt. I was for sure I heard something. The scream sounded all to familiar. like someone in a fit of rage. Deep in my thoughts, I didn't notice that Mr. Hawking's was already in the middle of teaching.
"Park, could you tell me a bit of The Fair folk?" I snapped out of my speculations, eyes snapping to the teacher and then to the boy Mr. Hawking's called out. Internally grateful that I wasn't the one picked to answer this question. Park looked up from doing whatever he was doing and gave Mr. Hawkings a funny look.
"Isn't this history class? Why are we talking about faeries?" A smart ellic retort. Parker was known for causing trouble. Always refusing to listen in class, always arguing with the teachers, always skipping school days, and his most recent display of idiocy was him fighting one of the Burly football players, Jess, over something I wasn't entirely sure about. Rumor speculates that it was over something illegal.
All the teachers avoided interacting with Parker, except Mr. Hawking's. The first period teacher loved a good challenge and loved to debate. To be honest,he should have taken a career in being a lawyer or politician.
I could throttle the man for it. I had every class with Parker and I didn't want my first class period go off on the wrong foot because someone wouldn't back down. Mr. Hawking's narrowed his gaze in on Parker, who returned the same gaze. I know for a fact everyone in the room groaned internally.
"Fair folk, as you like to call 'faeries'" he corrected. Dear God save me. " Are a part of many cultures, the most known is the Celtics version. Though Slavic, German, french, and English have there own versions. Though we are going to talk about the Celtics"
I tuned out from then on. History was not my biggest strong suit, espically the mythologies behind cultures. And it seemed like Mr. Hawking's was just trying to get out minds wiring. Specifically Parkers.
I looked out the window, it had started raining while I was occupied. Not strong currents of them, more like a small shower. Though the rain was in the form of fat water droplets. They hit the window with a loud thud.I could still see outside, so it seemed the wurst of this possible weather hasn't rolled around. No thunder growled, no lighting strike the sky's.
I guess we were stuck in school. I sighed out loud with relief. I didn't want to go home so early. This morning was not left on the right foot and I did not want to face my dad's wrath. I frowned. If he was even home.
While Mr. Hawking's and Parker were stilling throwing senseless words at each other, the intercome came on, the speaker being the Mrs. Harriet, our secretary. "All attention teachers and students, we will be leaving as the weather is predicted to get worse throughout the day..." my racing heart drowned out the rest.
I could feel the sting of tears on my eyes and the sting in my nose from the intense emotion. I gripped my desk. I did not want to go home.
Everyone around me buzzed with excitement, and our homeroom teacher and Parker seemed to have called a truce from arguing as they both were now going about there own business. Beside me, Annette seemed just as unethusiastic as me about these turns of events as She lazily packed her stuff up in her bag
We both gave each other a side long glance "good luck with Your Aunt Kinya, Annette" I said with a sigh. "Back at you, I'm sure your dad will be ecstatic to see you home early" that was our goodbyes before we went our seperate ways.
packing my things, I found myself lost in my thoughts again, no sooner was it shattered from the intercom coming on once more "all bus riders may leave at this time" With sweaty palms, I stood up and followed the assembled line that led out the door.
As I did, a group of three girls who did not get in line were giggling, there eyes on me. I knew they were whispering foul things about me. I felt my face flush. Tiffany, Deana, and Gracie were the girls names and they, like any movie and book where the main protagonist gets bullied, were filthy rich and thought they were better then anyone.
Remember how I told you before that my oddness in keeping to myself rubbed people the wrong way? Well, here was a sliver of it. A year ago I pissed off Tiffany by ignoring her when she approached me.
I guess the asshole never took being shunned by someone easily. "leave me alone" I said, heading towards the door. I looking around the room for Mr. Hawking's, who was no where in sight. Fantastic. Just fantastic.
It was like the bitches payed off the teachers to disappear whenever they approached me. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.
glancing toward the window, my stomach flipped. It looked horrible out there. The clouds were so dark. Soon shit would go down hill.
I looked for Annette, who was my buffer for these sort of things. She, unlike me, was more then willing to punch their faces in. The last time she was with me, about four months ago, she managed to drag Gracie out of the girls bathroom by her hair after she called me a bitch infront of her.
After that, me and Annette openly called them "The Trio of bitches" or my all time favorite. "the Bitchies". The intercom Came on once more, warning any remaining students that were bus riders to head to there buses, and for students who ride themselves to be leaving soon.
Then it hit me. Annette was a fucking car rider. The realization was enough for me to have an ugly grimace on my face. "Aw, you realized That fat bitch isn't here to back you up Lube" I blushed at the horrible names.
My teeth grinded against each other, and before I knew what I was doing, I stormed right up to Tiffany and back handed her. Her head snapped to the side and she stumbled into Deana.
A collective gasps from them rang the rather silent room. My breathing came out ragged, blood rushing in my ears. "don't you ever call Her Fat bitch, her name is Annette!" I seethed. "and my name is Lia. Not Lube. You Fowled mouthed pricks" I held my stinging hand to my chest and Without giving the Trio of bitches another, I walked out the door.
Their stares burning holes in my back as I left, promising a vengeance I know I'll regret.
The bus ride was shorter then I expected. My head leaning on the window as the rain poured mercilessly against it, with Thunder and lighting fighting in the sky. My hand still throbbed from hitting Tiffany, I had it pressed against my chest, unable to use it, as everytime I tried to flex my fingers they screamed in agony. It could be broken from the amount of pain I felt.
But that was the least of my worries. I squeezed my eyes shut from the inscedant between me and my dad thus morning. He was so drunk and pissed, rambling on about how I should have been aborted the moment my mother found out she was pregnant.
I shrunk in on myself, trying to drown out the nasty words he spewed next, the still tender bruise on my collar bone from were he punched me, The way he stormed out of the house, swearing that he was leaving me for good this time.
When the bus came to a screeching halt before my home, I quickly scurried off the bus, using my backpack as a shield from the rain.
When my dad was like this, he'd disappear for two weeks, the longest being four and three days. His visits always stayed short even if I wasn't the cause. Three days max. And He always seemed to get worse Everytime he got back.
Always getting dropped off by strangers, since he didn't own a car. Or coming in by his own legs. And each time a new bruise, or wound, or even both would appear on me. In places that no one could see unless I stripped naked.
I ran down the small drive way to my small little home as the bus rolled away. The rain pelted me as my teenie shoes sloshed in the big mud puddles. Running up the three large steps to the door, I paused. Fear racked over me like wildfire on dry grass.
Should I go in? There was a high chance my dad came back home, and was currently in the living room drinking to his hearts content. Gently, I layed my back backpack on the porch and peered into the spyhole on the door. I could feel my heart fluttering from sheer anxiety. If he was here then I might as well camp out tonight under the carport.
It was what I normally did when he came home, only coming in at night, when I knew he was dead drunk, to take a cloths on shower, eat, and hang up the cloths I pick up from the laundry matt in my large hometown. Wake up at three a.m. so I could leave the house so I didn't have to see him.
But like today, I wasn't always so lucky when sneaking under his radar.
To my relief, I didn't see him. But that relief was replaced with tension once more. That didn't mean that he wasn't in the other rooms. I pulled away from the spyhole. My hands staying at my sides. Refusing to open the door. Even though I severely wanted to.
Lighting clashed in the sky, making me flinch. I wanted to go inside, sleep in my warm bed and hold the worn stuffed German Shepard my deceased grandma gave me when I was little. The only remnant of love I knew.
But fear kept me rooted in place. I guess the carport was for me tonight. Soaked to the bone, I grabbed my sudden back pack and trudged to the shelter I only knew.
The carport was really only a metal roof with thick woodenpoles to hold it up. The ground was covered in cement, thankfully, instead of rocks. On the other end of the port a metal wall was nailed to the rest of the building. It was not connected to the house, so no walls lay on my right and left. Leaving me vunerable.
I stifled a strained sob in my throat as I tossed my backpack aside. Thunder clapped in the sky, harsh winds spraying into me. Making me quiver and shake from the biting cold of October air.
Honestly, I wandered why I never ended my life. Not that I haven't tried, but a hospital visit and a beating later told me to never try it again.
The only thing keeping me sheltered and alive was my mother's child support and the governments funding for a "disabled" bastard like my father. This house was the only pretty thing about this situation.
A beautiful cabin with three bedrooms that could fit two beds in them, two baths that could three people in them, and a kitchen that could fit four people in it.
This pretty image was topped off bring surrounded my pine trees and a stream but five hundred feet from me. But I couldn't enjoy it. Couldn't share it with no one.
This pretty image hid dark things. hid me and my suffering. Only me, who was suffering. This worthless, pathetic, waste of existence.
I Slid to my knees, slapping both my hands to my face, my injured one screaming. But I didn't care. Bending over, I screamed and sobbed. Knowing I could do it freely without being heard over the roaring wind and thunder.
I let the pint up emotions from this morning pour out. So many thoughts rushed past me, wishes, curses, dreams.
I wanted someone who would hold me; rock me in my arms and tell me it's okay. I wanted someone who loved me and would never leave me. I w-
a loud crash somewhere behind me, followed by a clap of lighting that hit a tree just across the house. I cried out, half expecting the tree to burst out in flames. But thankfully, never did.
I stiffened, my throat burning from my melt down. Quickly getting to my feet, my first thoughts of what the crashing sound could be was from my dad coming out of the house.
when I never saw him, I felt the tension in me lessen a bit more. So now I knew he was either passed out drunk or he was actually not here. Then like that, the easiness I felt was soon replaced with a new fear. If that sound wasn't from him, then who or what caused it?
With shaking legs, I turned to the right, where the sound came from. From where I stood, I couldn't see anything. And the pouring down rain didn't help none.
I waited where I was, trying to hear over mother nature's anger. Two minutes stretched to four and four stretched to six. And nothing came from the direction the crash came from. I took a deep breath and swallowed.
Options tumbling around my head like the stones in the stream nearby. Should I investigate? I looked to the gruesome clouds and relentless rain. Then I liked back at the forest before me.
Curiosity gripped me, but also paranoia. If there was actually something there, then it could come out anytime in the night, or right now and hurt me. That was reason enough to investigate. I turned around and looked around the carport, searching for the shovel my dad had here for whatever reason.
It was basically my only weapon here, as a search for a knife in the house could result in me running into him. I shook my head, my eyes landing on the shovel. I snatched it with my god hand and began walking out of the port. My damp clothes were immediately soaked once more as I walked carefully through the slick ground, towards the source of the sound.
I would only walk halfway to the stream, check things out, and if I see nothing, I will go back to the carport and pretend this never happened. Simple as that. I tried telling myself that as I neared the forest, keeping my face steeled and my hand firm on the shovel. The only thing that could betray me was my pounding heart.
I took a deep breath and walked through the underbrush of the woods, and immediately stepped on something squishy. A scream caught in my throat as I leaped away from what I stepped on, my shoes tangling on the vines and roots on the ground, making me fall to my knees
I dropped the shovel, my hands shooting out infront of me. The instincts to keep myself from hitting the forest floor strong. I stayed like that for a second, trying to catch the breath I didn't know decided to leave me. My injured hand trembled, my whole body quacked in shock and relief.
That relief being that whatever I stepped on didn't move, which meant it was probably dead, and shock from the fall.
"what did I just step on?" I whispered to myself as I pushed myself to my feet, not even grabbing for the shovel as I froze. My eyes snagged on the thing I had stepped on.
I thought my soul had left my body with layed before me: a strange looking boy who looked half-dead.