Focus

As The Days Go By

When I get to school Friday morning, I skirt down the hallways trying to hide my face. I don't know what I'm going to do if Brandon tries to talk to me. I have this feeling I might just punch him, although I've never punched anyone before and it might end up hurting me more than it hurts him. My head is still buzzing from all the liquor at Clark's last night. We sat and drank and spoke in short fragments until around 3:00 am. He's good at giving advice when asked for it, but I really wasn't in the mood to listen yesterday and I'm so grateful he understood that.

First period today is Spanish. No big deal, I'll just take the shortcut through the courtyard so I don't risk the chance of running into Brandon in the main lobby. I still can't believe he's out. Given the chance, I'm sure he'd do it again; drug an innocent girl at a party and take advantage of her. He's disgusting. In my mind I consider every possible law that might keep him in jail. How could he just get out like that? Good behavior doesn't account for six extra months of jail time. Something's not right.

I barely have time to gather my thoughts before I see him. He's leaning up against the wall at the end of the hallway, casually flipping through his AP chemistry book. Before even reacting or allowing myself to process an emotion, I yell, "Hey!" He looks up and his eyes zone straight to me. He was probably expecting me, but I don't care; I'm going to talk about this right now.

He stands in place as I walk straight towards him and throw my bag on the ground, pushing him against the wall with all my strength. His eyes widen in what I'm sure is mock surprise. "Ooh, role reversal," he says quietly, just for me to hear. White hot anger sears through my muscles as I bring my arms back and slam them into his chest. I hear a satisfying clunk as his head hits the wall. It takes about thirty seconds for me to regain my composure enough to speak.

"Who did you pay?" I growl. "Who did you bribe to get you out of jail?" He shrugs. "Nobody. Didn't they tell you? I got out on good behavior." He grins at me and winks, and I feel sick to my stomach. "Bullshit!" I yell, and slam my hands onto his chest again. This attracts a few stares from teachers in surrounding classrooms, but no one steps in to help. It's amazing the lengths people will take to prevent a scene. I shut my eyes for a moment. "The only thing that can convince officials to drop six months worth of charges is money," I say shakily. "How much did you pay them to keep their mouths shut?"

He shakes his head at me. I can feel him purposely flex under my hands; his chest muscles ripple through his shirt. Although it makes me internally gag, I can't let him walk away from this, so I keep my grip firm, pressing him tightly against the wall. Still shaking his head, he says, "I didn't need to use money. All I had to do was tell the police who were holding me the story of what happened that night." He shifts slightly under my hands and looks down at me, a glint of malice in his ice blue eyes. It makes me shiver.

He raises an eyebrow, and continues, "You know, the set up. How easy it was to slip it into your drink, and how you just kept letting me buy you rounds, and you never suspected a thing. How desperate you were for my...touch..." He lingers on the word. "How helpless you were and how much power I had over you. You practically went limp in my arms. All the guys at the station agreed; you wanted it. You wanted me." With those last words it's like the entire world shut down and all that's left is a patch of light, me, and Brandon. I don't care who sees me react. I have to say something. I have to do something. "Why are you like this?" I scream. "Who did this to you? What is your problem?" In response to this, he lets out a laugh. He simply tilts his head back and giggles as if I had said a funny joke. Bile rises in my throat but I hold his gaze. "How can you be this way?" I mutter in a panicked voice, more to myself than to him. "How do you sleep at night?"

I let go of his shirt and take a step back when I realize how hard I had been holding him there - the blood rushes back into my fingers. I can hear the rage masking my voice with the next sentence. "How many people have you done this to?" I ask, almost in a whisper. He looks at me, his jaw steeled, and thinks for a moment. A small crowd of students and staff are watching from afar. "You know," he says after a few minutes, "I think I lost count. They never tell anyone, which makes it so easy." This is what really sets me over the edge. I bring my arm back and smack him across the face with every ounce of strength I have in my body. "Coward!" I scream. Either I'm a lot stronger than I thought or he's a very good actor because he falls to the ground and stares up at me in horror. A red welt is already forming on his right cheek.