Page 26 of Unspoken Truths

By the time I’m finished and the adherent beige bandage is wrapped tightly around my thigh, I clean off the knife and put it away. I need to find a restroom to wash up.

Hauling myself up, I close my eyes against the lightheadedness I feel. Leaning against the wall, I pull out my phone to see what time it is. There are messages that I ignore, humming under my breath as I see that it’s almost lunch time. The entire morning has passed by.

It’s amazing how trauma can affect the way the minutes and hours speed by. Sometimes they can crawl by, like when Colton was on top of me, pinning me to the bed, and others half the day is gone.

Blowing out a breath, I begin clearing messages on my phone, only to find that they’re all from Liliana. I ignore all of the pathetic lies, my finger idling on a voice message. Shaking my head, I put the phone away in search of a restroom, taking turn after turn and getting completely lost.

While I feel better, I also have so many questions, my body responding to the sluggish loss of blood that I can only hope is being stopped by the tight bandage. It’s very different to cut with a knife than a razor blade. Finding a bathroom as I move into a hallway, I’m grateful that no one is around as I scurry into the single stall.

It appears to be a restroom used for younger children, which means I’m really lost. Shit. Pumping soap into my hands, I scrub them until all the blood beginning to dry washes off under the warm water. Then, I take a deep breath and gaze at my face, taking in the puffy, red rimmed gaze staring back at me. I didn’t even notice the buckets of tears that fell, leaving me looking wrecked.

Turning the water to cold, I splash some on my face before drying off. I have to move if I’m going to find my way back to the high school side of the school. If there was ever a reason to walk home, today would be that day, but I keep hearing Mr. Richardson’s admonishment not to miss too many days of class.

It figures the class also has Jared inside of it, one of the last people I want to see or listen to. Pulling my phone out, I torture myself with the voice memo that Liliana texted to me:

“I can see why you think this is me, it makes perfect sense, right? I swear, that article wasn’t in the newspaper when I looked it over again with Miss Hailey, Rachelle. This newspaper is my baby, though. My responsibility— Ah, you fuck heads.”

My head shakes as I listen to the message, confused until I hear my stepbrother, yet Liliana doesn’t end the message.

“Hello, Liliana. What do you think my dad is going to think when he hears about how badly you fucked up today? You want to be an editor at a big, swanky newspaper when you grow up, don’t you?”Ignacio asks cruelly. “I bet Dad insists you get kicked out. Have you tasted my stepsister’s pussy yet? Is it sweet enough to hold tight to the memories after she wants nothing to do with you?”

Something tells me there’s more to this, but I can’t explain what it is. If Liliana didn’t do this, was it Ignacio? He and his friends probably hate me enough to do it, but how?

Swallowing hard, I focus on the way my cuts begin to throb, reminding me of how deep some of them were. I didn’t cut anything important, I’ll probably be fine. If I’m not, then at least I’ll never have to come to school again.

I don’t really have anything going for me, any reason to push myself to get up another day. I’ve been doing it more because I don’t think my mom should have to bury another family member, but she has Emil now, right?

The words Mom said about me coming first trickle through my mind, but I push them away to listen to the rest of the voice memo.

“My relationship with your sister is none of your business,”Liliana snarls.

“Stepsister, it’s a nuance I need you to remember, Lili, dear,” Ignacio coos. “I have a very strong feeling you’ll be called out of class to be interrogated. It’s a real shame, you’re one of the only people who is any fun around here. You’re always right behind us on the grade charts.”

This helps explain a bit about why Liliana is untouchable in some ways, even outside of her family name. Emil said she wouldn’t bend easily, which makes me doubt that she’s working with the Kings. God, I’m so confused. I don’t understand what’s real or paranoia, but the latter has always helped me stay a step ahead of things.

“I think I’ll be right here this afternoon and the next day, being my usual pain in your ass,”Liliana says. “I’m completely innocent, pinning this shit on me will never stick. I think you know that.”

“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,”Jared adds, coming into the conversation.

“The important thing is that the little mouse won’t have any more friends,”Elijah says. I only know it’s him because it makes the most sense. They wouldn’t be speaking about this outside of their circle. “It’ll be easier to have our fun with her, even if she does decide to come back to school.”

“I doubt it, though,”my stepbrother grunts. “She’s got my dad wrapped around her finger with her supposed innocence. Maybe this will cause Dad and Julia to fight. That would be fun to watch, they’re so in love it’s disgusting.”

“You’re disgusting,”Liliana says. “People aren’t pawns to move around the chess board. At some point, you need to decide how far is too far.”

“No one is exempt,”Ignacio says. “My father knows the only people I have any allegiance to are the Kings. Now scurry away, Lili.”

“Fuck you,”Liliana says, and the voice memo ends.

My mind is spinning, trying to understand what I heard. I’m even more confused, but it’s clear to me that Liliana got caught up in one of their webs. I’ll need to decide if I want to talk to her later about it.

Checking my leg, I unwrap it, seeing that the cuts have clotted. I throw the mess away making sure to wrap it in paper towels so it won’t be found. I don’t need to be the reason why elementary students wonder about bloodstained gauze.

Unlocking the door, I poke my head out to see a little girl standing outside.

“Are you lost?” she asks.

“I am, but I’ll find my way,” I promise her, moving away to slip into the tunnels.

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