so close to hope

XII

You're an even-tempered person, most of the time.

You had to be when you were younger, back in the lab. You learned that it was best to cooperate, to hide your emotions as much as you could. And you were successful. Mostly.

But sometimes, it would gnaw at you. You're not sure how to put it' into words -- the marble of resentment and rage that formed in your gut and grew and grew until you couldn't contain it anymore.

After you lashed out, leaving bruises and scratch marks on the guards who had to sedate you, Papa would ask why you were so angry. Why couldn't you be good? Why would you act out, knowing that you'd be placed in that tiny cell of a room they threw you in when you misbehaved.

Weren't you smarter than that? Didn't you understand cause and effect?

Even if you had an answer, you wouldn't have told him. Back then words were especially hard to pluck out of the fog in your brain. But now, thinking back on it all, you know why you lashed out.

It was a way to prove to yourself that, even while wearing a ratty hospital gown in an underground lab, you still had free will.

***

Breaking Jimmy Kenswood's nose had nothing to do with asserting your free will.

But something about him brought back all those feelings from before, and the familiar stone of fury had been sitting heavy and hot in your belly for months.

He was a bully, plain and simple. He made fun of everyone for anything and everything, mocking Lily for dressing like a boy and you for looking like you belonged in kindergarten. Once he even stomped on your beloved yellow keds.

You'd met bullies before -- plenty of them -- and, with Leo's help, you learned not to let them get to you. In the group home, at least, you felt bad for the bullies. They came from messed up backgrounds, some even worse than yours, and on some level you could relate.

But something about Jimmy was different. Jimmy's dad picks him up from school every day, and he doesn't shut up about his mom's corner-office job in some high rise in the city. You can tell his family loves him.

Or maybe it's you who's different. Maybe Jimmy was the one fly in the milk of your new lovely life. Maybe ugly souls like his stood out even more now that your life was so soft and bright.

But the reason doesn't matter now.

All that matters is when Jimmy called your moms a name -- some word you hadn't heard before, but it sounded sharp and hateful and it made Lily flinch -- you decked him so hard that blood splattered on your hand and dribbled down his chin and onto his white polo shirt.

***

Roseanne doesn't say anything as she drives you home from school.

She must have been out running errands when the principal called her to say you have to stay home for three days because there are a bunch of grocery bags in the backseat. They look like they were thrown in haphazardly. A few oranges have fallen out and are rolling around the floor.

You breathe slowly and try to find that place in your mind where nothing hurts, but you can't quite get there. Instead you focus on Roseanne's hands, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turn white.

When she pulls into the driveway she doesn't take the groceries out of the car.

At first you sit in the kitchen, hanging your head as she calls Lisa and then your social worker. You've never heard her voice sound like this before and it makes your chest feel tight. You pick at the dried blood on your knuckles and open your mouth to try to catch your breath.