How To Kill a Songbird

Chapter 12: The Glasglow Smile

"Ever since Jackson died, I knew something was wrong with me. Everywhere I look I see H-Harlow out of the corner of my eye. He tried to kill me the day I told you about it and on one other. I, for some reason, cannot recall the details. I just know what happened changed my life forever. My mom finally reported the abuse because I finally grew a pair and told her what was going on. Soph, I have scars on my body from him."

I pointed to one near my eye. There was a scar from a slash on my face. It started on the bridge of my nose, skipped over my eye as it clipped my eyebrow, and went into my hairline.

"He took his knife and cut me. I fought like hell to survive. Another was a slash to my arm," I sighed as I showed her my left bicep. It was a slash that followed the muscle structure on my arm. I then showed her the stab wound on my stomach as much as I could without taking my shirt off. "He even stabbed me."

Soph was in shock. When I was younger, I was always a little apprehensive when it came to showing my scars or explaining them. I just said I was scared to show my stomach and for years gained a significant amount of weight. I lost it all in two years. The process started in 2022. I am back down to around two hundred pounds with more muscle. I wanted to be more fit in case I ever faced him again. I even retook some martial arts lessons and worked out at a boxing gym. I could run a mile comfortably and lift half my body weight.

I sighed. "I was lucky I survived. There was an investigation, but Harlow somehow paid them off because they said that there wasn't enough evidence, yet I have the physical and mental scars to prove it. I think he killed Jackson to get to me because he was my best friend before you came. Jackson helped me when no one else did. Harlow would constantly taunt me that I wasn't good enough. That I was the worst person on Earth. I am lucky that all I have done for self-harm was hit myself in the face. It was because that was all I had known for years. If I fucked up just one note, then I got beat. One time-..."

As I started to tell another story I wasn't in the diner with my best friend anymore. I was in that band room.

It was during winter break rehearsals for the Evergreen State Music Education Showcase. It was a very prestigious event for us to get invited to as a whole band. I was in the pressure cooker to be perfect. I couldn't miss a note. I was shaking so badly that I might as well have been born as a massage gun. Then I blew it! I squeaked. Harlow's head whipped towards me like the Terminator. He then cut off the band with a hand signal and went down the line of clarinets. I was sitting on the edge of the row already as his punishment to "do better." The real reason was so he could slap me and not have to fight with music stands and other kids sitting down to get to me. I was naturally first in this inspection. I was terrified.

"Play measures 1-5, Adrastea," he smiled with a grin of self-importance. He always declared himself the king of the band room. That greatness starts there. That it was a privilege to be there. He even said we could be doctors one day because we were a part of his band. That they would hire us immediately. All his former students showered him with praise like he was the newborn baby Jesus saving the world from bad tone quality and those unworthy to wield a musical instrument one musician at a time.

If he was a vocal coach, he would probably cut the vocal cords of the students who didn't pass muster. I am thankful he wouldn't make me mute for life. That wasn't much considering the daily beatings. I had to survive this encounter. All to make it home alive then do this song and dance again the next day. This happened every day. I was beaten and abused every single day from when I was ten years old to when I was sixteen. He tried to kick me out once before, but because the school said he couldn't choose his students, he failed to kick me out. Right then and there he made it his mission to take my shortcomings out on me.