Page 10 of Born in Sin

He heard the door open and close, a quiet click, the sound a death knell to every unspoken hope he’d ever harboured.

Not today. Not ever. That about summed everything up.

Crestwood

“Celina.”

She raised her hand. The history teacher’s smile softened at the sight of her, like it did for all of them at the sight of Maria Fernandez’s daughter. Over a year in this school, and nothing had changed as far as the teachers were concerned. She was a bit tired of it, to be honest. She was thirteen years old and didn’t need to be treated like a three year old starting Nursery.

“Your partner for the project is Virat. Please shift so you both are seated beside each other for the duration of the class.”

Oh great. From a bunch of kids who barely spoke to her, she got to sit next to the one person who ignored her completely. She picked up her bag and shuffled over to where he sat, straight-backed and stone faced. Someone would think she had the plague. What she had was the stink of ‘teacher’s pet’ on her.

She dumped her book on the table and opened it, her pen ready to start taking notes.

“So, shall we make the outline first?”

He slapped their textbook open, the page falling open to the chapter on the Mughal Empire.

She looked at the book and then at him. “What?”

“The outline. It’s there.”

Celina pressed her lips together. “We are not supposed to just copy from the textbook.”

Virat didn’t say anything. She saw the way he sat, leaning slightly away from her almost as if her presence was repulsive. She huffed, offended, and pulled her book towards her. If he was not going to help, she’d just do the work on her own.

She looked through the titles and started writing down her outline. She was mostly done when she heard a strangled sound beside her. She snuck a look at Virat, but he was staring at his blank notebook, like it had something fascinating on it.

She looked at it. There was nothing. A drop of sweat dripped off the side of his chin and landed on the blank paper, a wet stain that spread as she watched. She looked up at him again and saw the expression on his face. She’d seen the same expression on his face the day she’d met him for the first time.

“Are you in pain again?” she asked, softly, her gaze darting to the teacher who was writing something on the board.

He shook his head, his lips tightly pressed together. Virat looked like he was going to throw up. Either that or faint.

The bell rang a minute later, and the class filed out for recess. Virat’s friends walked over, hauling him to his feet as they hustled him out of class without a backward look. Celina watched them go, feeling strange.

Later that evening, she sat in the mess hall, with a few of the other girls. Everyone was mostly polite to her, but no one wanted to be her friend. She watched Virat’s friends take a corner table and huddle over their dinner. Virat was nowhere in sight. Not that she cared. But weirdly enough she did, her heart reminded her.

Celina shoveled her own food in, answering when spoken to. She was done before the others and excused herself, going in search of her mother. She’d just finished searching the teacher’s den, her mother’s office, and was crossing the grounds to the teacher’s quarters when she heard a sound. A strange, strangled sound.

She walked around the school garden and towards the shed where the tools were stored. She peeked in but didn’t see anyone. The noise came again. This time she followed it to the back of the shed.

A frightened gasp escaped her at the sight that met her eyes. His back was a raw, bleeding mess. He sat huddled on the ground, trying desperately to reach the wounds and smear some medicine on it.

Celina rushed forward, dropping to her knees. “Give it to me,” she said, already leaning forward to wrench the tube from his hand. Virat was so startled by her sudden appearance that he didn’t question it.

“Who did this?” Her voice trembled with anger and fear. She smoothed the ointment down as gently as possible. She emptied the whole tube trying to cover all the wounds.

“No one.” His voice was harsh with pain.

“No one?” she shouted, her voice carrying over the quiet school grounds.

“Shh!” He moved away from her touch, pulling his t-shirt down, his face turned away from hers. “Please. Don’t make a noise.”

“I’m going to tell my mother!”

Nothing in her sheltered life had prepared her for this. But her mother would fix it. Her mother fixed everything.

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