PROPERTY OF A. KENDRICK

Entry 51

October 14

Today I didn't look away when Vincent looked my way. We didn't talk, but the air between us was clear. We communicated in split-second looks when Henry wasn't paying attention.

Except I guess he was.

I usually sit alone at lunch. I can't have my own table, obviously—I share one with a group of girls who giggle a lot—but usually no one sits next to me. Except today, Henry did. Along with the fear came an old feeling like I had during the summer. That made me angry. Even after all the things he'd done to me, even after all the abuse, even when I knew it was a lie, I was still hoping...

"Hey, Air." My eyes snapped over to see Henry smirking at me. "Let's take a walk." My stomach dropped out.

"Bu-ut, um," I licked my lips. "Don't you need to eat?"

He leaned into his arm on the table. "I'll be quick."

"Okay," I whispered, standing up. He was definitely going to hurt me, but I knew it would only be worse the more I resisted.

Henry stood up too, grinning. There was no warmth in it.

I followed him to the boy's bathroom, then waited, shaking, as he checked each stall to make sure we were alone. Then he locked the hinge above the door so that no one could get in.

I closed my eyes as he slammed me back into the tile. Air left my lungs in a huff, but that was the only sound I made.

"What did I tell you about Vincent?" Henry demanded, one hand balled up in the front of my shirt.

"What are you talking about?" I stalled. He pulled me back and slammed me into the wall again. I lost my air again, but my thoughts kept racing, panning through various explanations and scenarios.

"You know what I'm talking about! Don't think I didn't notice the glances you've been sending him all day! Did you try to talk to him again?! Answer me!"

"N-no, he—he tried to talk to me—but I knew he was just bored, like you said, Henry, it didn't mean anything to either of us!" I panted.

"Then what about the glances?! What about the glances, Arin?!" He slammed my head against the tiles then, and my eyes closed at the pain. I pried them open to look him in the eye as I answered him.

"I wasn't looking at him!" I paused to lick my lips, but hurried on at Henry's enraged expression. "I was trying not to look at you! I-I mean, I'm sorry, I know you don't like it," his grip on my shirt loosened, "but I can't help it! You're just so much cooler than I am! You're stronger and smarter and, and—you're amazing!" I was no longer pressed back against the wall. Henry unclenched his fist from my shirt, then slowly ran a hand over the fabric to smooth out the wrinkles. He smirked.

"I am." He leaned in. "And don't you ever forget it."

He slapped me. Hard.

Then he left.

I missed lunch. After Henry left, I locked myself in the handicapped stall. The lies I'd told made me feel inexplicably dirty, the slap even dirtier, like I was some dog that'd disobeyed its master. And I guess that was the way Henry saw me—something he owned, something only he had a right to control. And under the dirtiness, I just felt empty and tired. Every other feeling had disappeared, locked away in the box I'd made for them.

I went to class when the bell rang, and the teacher asked me about the bruise on my cheek. I told her someone'd accidentally hit me with their locker door, and that they'd apologized to me.

If lying could solve my problems, they'd all be gone in an instant.