Page 3 of Fight or Flight

“All right, fine. So... My dad is pretty much tight-lipped about the entire thing and gets angry whenever me or my mom ask about it. But I heard him talk to some detectives once, and he did mention a punk that played them into going to that warehouse. He didn’t say it was Marcus, though, but it would line up with his story, I guess.”

“I knew it! He was always so salty about that little skank dumping him! He said she was fucking that cop.” Lisa laughs. “No wonder he’s been in such a great mood lately...”

“I don’t think it’s funny, Lisa,” Ella admonishes just as another bell rings out. “Come on. I can't be late again. We have a history test.”

“Don’t remind me. I swear Mrs. March wants to fail the whole...” The last voice gets cut off as they all exit the bathroom, with the door closing behind them with a loud click.

I stumble out of the stall and turn on the faucet to splash some cold water onto my face.

My breath is uneven, and I glance at my pale reflection. Do people really think that this is some kind of joke? A girl can be abused and treated like shit, and all they do is laugh? What kind of messed up world am I living in?

The yearning for someone to hold me and make it all go away grows to unbearable proportions. And yet again, I feel so lonely and helpless. I have no control. No control over my life, no control over my feelings, and no control over what’s happening to the people I care about.

I stare into my own eyes for what feels like forever until my breath evens out, and I feel stable enough to leave the bathroom. I fluff my hair and pinch my cheeks to bring some color to them before grabbing my backpack and walking out.

CHAPTER II

BECAUSE IT’S LONG AFTER the next class started, I walk out in a rush not to get caught by a teacher when I decide to ditch the school altogether—too much emotion for one day. I won’t be able to focus on anything useful anyway, at least not in a way that would make a difference to my already abominable grades.

My main focus on my escape; I don’t pay attention to anything other than my shoes and end up bumping straight into someone. I almost tumble to the ground but am caught at the last second.

“Woah. Sorry, I didn’t anticipate anyone being here. My bad.” I hear a deep voice stating apologetically and look up at the guy that I’ve been kind of ogling from afar for the last few months.

Well, maybe not downright ogling, but I was intrigued ever since he started going to our school in the middle of last semester. There’s something about him that makes me aware of his closeness whenever he’s generous enough to grace the school with his presence. Kind of what I felt when I first laid my eyes on Jenny. Just some unexplainable connection on a primal level. Like, perhaps, he could be my friend.

I don’t know his name since I was never even remotely close to voicing my interest or brave enough to ask around casually. I didn’t even say anything to my best friend. She’s been preoccupied with her father’s outbursts. And also, the subject of men was a no-go zone after the drama with Marcus last year. So I felt stupid to even bring up my weird infatuation with a boy I don’t even know.

But I’ve watched him. I people-watch quite a lot, and other students are already used to my staring. Not to say that they like it. Since I’ve been named the school weirdo almost since the beginning, no one cares, just assuming I’m retarded or something. Other than the occasional “What are you staring at, you freak?” No one pays me any mind anymore.

I don’t know why exactly, but with this guy, I tried to be more subtle. And it’s not like there were many opportunities I could do my secret scanning. He’s barely attending school, from what I’ve seen, and I don’t think he’s in any of my classes. I’m not even sure if he’s a junior or a senior. All I’ve gathered is that he’s very good-looking – not that it’s something that I care about; he’s not from around here, and he’s a loner.

He acts as if he doesn’t have a care in the world around our peers, but I see through it. After all, playing the unbothered, happy person is my jam. Hiding the deep sadness and overall confusion about life behind the cheery exterior that isn’t exactly fake. It’s real, too—the most exhausting dichotomy to maintain in life.

He steps to the side and eyes the backpack hanging loosely from one of my shoulders before his eyes travel to my colorful shirt with a yawning sloth and then simply smiles. It’s the first time in weeks since anyone directed a genuine smile in my direction, and I feel something stirring inside me. A new feeling that I have trouble naming.

“Ditching class?” He asks with humor sparking in his eyes.

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