Before I Forget

Jagged Little Pill

Hawk stared at the empty seat in the row in front of him, unable to focus on anything else.

Ms. Hardinge had made a new seating arrangement and moved Hawk from the back row closer to the center. She had also mixed the pairs so that now, instead of Sky, Hawk was seated next to some random, chubby chick who was so shy and awkward that her whole, round face turned bright red when she saw who she was supposed to sit with. Any other day that would have been kind of cute, and Hawk would have started teasing that girl mercilessly, but today he just wasn't feeling it. His whole mind was occupied by Sky.

The classroom was full already, and the empty seat in front of Hawk - well, it had to be hers. She was the only one missing. She was skipping school again, and even if Moon had told Hawk the other day that Sky had texted her back, telling she was fine, Hawk knew for sure that couldn't be true.

He knew there was no way in Hell Sky was fine after the things he had yelled at her face that night. He knew she must be devastated, and he couldn't shake the worry that ate his guts like a beast with razor-blade teeth.

He turned his eyes away from the empty seat, into his hands that lay on the table, trying to force his mind off Sky, to think about anything else than the look in her eyes when he had crushed her.

His knuckles were bruised and scraped, they looked worse than ever. When Mom had seen them she had started asking questions again, and again Hawk had yelled at her to leave him in peace, had shouted to her that it was none of her business, that she knew nothing, that he didn't want to talk. Yet another secret, another thing he could never tell Mom. He didn't want anyone tending to these wounds - but he wasn't ashamed of them either. They were scars, earned in a war, and he wore them with pride.

He had no regrets when it came to these bruises.

First, there had been Rickenberger, then the fight in the arcade (the snapping sound of a breaking bone suddenly lured its way into Hawk's stomach and he had to clench his jaw to keep the sickening feelings under control), but the last battle—

He clenched and unclenched his fists a couple of times, observing the movement of muscle and tendon under the skin that had turned purple and blue.

Who would have thought these hands, his once so delicate hands, with long fingers and soft skin, could be such weapons? That they could so easily break bone, draw blood?

He had wanted to kill Brucks. He had almost done it too.

When he had been finished with that asshole, he hadn't given a rat's ass if the boy lived or died. The burning, justified rage had turned him into something not quite human, and he had kept on hitting and punching Bruck's face for a long time after he had stopped resisting.

His pathetic pleas for mercy had only fueled Hawk's anger. How many times had Eli begged like that when Brucks had been the one doing the punching? And when had Brucks ever given him mercy?

Never. So Hawk had given none for him.

When he had stood up and spat on Brucks' face, the boy had laid limp on the floor, a big, ugly lump of flesh and blood, his features an unrecognizable red mess. Only then had Hawk known that nothing remained of the asshole who had bullied him throughout his life.

So in the end, it didn't matter if Brucks lived or died - Hawk had killed him in all the ways that mattered.

He'd been so lost in his thoughts, that he hadn't even noticed that someone had knocked on the door, that Ms. Hardinge had opened it, and now, walking into the English classroom was—

Sky!

His heart skipped a couple of beats at the sight of her. She was wearing a short skirt, knee-high socks paired with sneakers, a cute top that hugged her curves. She looked absolutely breathtaking.