Consumed

Chapter 1: Meri

"Here." My mother shoves a bagged sandwich and an apple into my hands.

I stare down at my feet as I hold onto the lunch. The sandwich is small and pathetic. She's trimmed the crust off; she probably ate it for a late night snack while making this. The apple's bruised and a little banged up, but it looks edible enough. "Thanks, mom." It's the expected, subservient answer. But I mean it. I'm grateful to her for feeding and clothing me. She could've thrown me out and saved money, but she didn't.

"Yeah, yeah." She takes a swig of clear liquid from a bottle. Looks and smells like vodka. It isn't a good sign that she's drinking this early. It means coming home to a high and drunk version of my mom. She might have her boyfriend with her if she's lucky. Maybe he'll be one who's nice. One who won't demand everything from her, including money and her body. One who won't leave her once he's got that and make her miserable.

She squints at me, and I realize that I've been lost in thought for too long. "What are you looking at?" she snarls.

"Nothing, Mom. Have a great day! And leave a note for me about dinner, maybe? I'll make whatever you like."

She glares at me as I glance up at her. "Don't act like you're offering me some peace offering, you mutt. Of course you'll do whatever I want. You have to. Now get out of my sight before I change my mind about punishing you," she hisses, squeezing the bottle tightly in her hand.

I duck my head, murmuring, "yes, ma'am," as I scuttle for the door. The vodka bottle follows me, smashing against the door frame and splashing the liquid down my threadbare jeans. I hate how they don't cover my legs completely like they once did. They've got holes in them and tears that would make anyone cringe, even someone who's gung-ho about wearing ripped jeans. And I'm not gung-ho about it.

The vodka trickles down from my hip, soaking into my jeans and going through the worn fabric to my legs. Grimacing, I grab my threadbare sweater and scruffy backpack at the door and race outside to sit on the steps.

I ease the door closed, afraid to jar my mother from her stupor. It could prompt her to come out here. And as much as I do honestly believe I deserve a beating for making her snap, I can't let anyone find out about the way she treats me. If they find out, I'll lose her.

My legs press against the cold, icy steps, which are crumbling at the corners. The bottom step has a chunk taken out of the center. I don't know what happened, but it's been like that for ages. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing I had a warmer coat. Don't think that way, I immediately scold. You're lucky to have this one, and she's too poor to buy you another. The only thing I allow myself to wish for right this moment is a speedy arrival from the bus.

My breath plumes about me in great, white puffs. Since I don't own any gloves, I shove my hands into my armpits, hoping that at least some warmth will be retained by this action. I wince as my fingers press into a band-aided cut in the fleshy inner part of my upper arm. My clothes do little to protect the gash from my fingers as I numbly grope for warmth.

I was an idiot the night before. After getting nothing but a crust or two of bread for dinner, I'd snuck into the kitchen after she was asleep to get an orange. Unfortunately, she chose that moment to stumble in looking for Tylenol for her raging headache. When she saw what I was doing, she'd thrown the glass of water in her hand at me.

It broke, and when she hit me, I landed among the shards on the bare tiles. My landing wasn't a soft one, and I was cut when I hit the floor.

The squealing of the bus tires shakes me from my reverie. It's finally arrived. I sigh into the frisky fall air, reminding myself to be grateful to have another day here on this Earth. It's more than I deserve for sure.

I throw my hood over my head and don my sunglasses as I gingerly pick my way across the treacherous ice of the driveway to where the bus waits. I hope no one notices the sunglasses in school because I'm not removing them or the hoodie. I have to hide what she did to me last night. If anyone sees, I'll be forced to lie, and I'm not sure how often those lies will actually work in my favor.

The driver gives me an odd look as I hop onboard, but he says nothing. This is how he always is. He rarely talks. Serious and reserved, he just observes everyone around him, analyzing and storing the information for later use. He skates around getting involved in anyone's business, and engaging him in conversation is a feat no student has managed just yet.

But I'm fine with his quiet, solid installment in our bus. Because of him, this bus is usually silent as a grave on the way to school. There's still a muted hush of voices, but nothing like other buses I've been on. For whatever reason, the guy brings a sense of peace and quiet over everyone. Sort of like a library does. And I'm okay with that because silence is better than the meaningless words that fill my empty existence every other moment of the waking day.

I make it to the first row of seats when his voice halts me. "What are you hiding?"

The usually quiet bus goes deathly silent when he speaks.

He never speaks. I panic. He never talks to me. "Excuse me, sir?" I don't turn around to look at the bus driver. He doesn't ask about our business. He doesn't talk. Why now?

"What are you hiding behind those glasses and silence?" he murmurs.

"Nothing, sir. It's just sunny out," I whisper as I continue to the back of the bus.

He doesn't ask me again, and I slump into my usual seat in the very back. I lean my forehead against the window and stare at the sludge on the road as the bus jerks back into movement. Why is he asking about me? He can't be concerned... He can't find out either...

"Hey, he asked you a question," a guy with spiky blue hair mutters, crossing his arms. "But you didn't answer him. Just evaded it... And we all know it ain't nothing. You where those things inside too half the time. Why?"

I ignore the boy's demand and clutch my backpack to me, swallowing hard. My fingers grip my bruised arms tightly, but I don't pay any attention to the pain. I can't afford to let on what's going on at home. My mom deserves better than a daughter who doesn't know how to keep out of the spotlight. She doesn't deserve to get in trouble for giving me my due punishment for misdemeanors.

"You can't just ignore him forever. And you can't ignore us either." This time, it's a blond-haired girl with dark eyes. Her lips press together in a sneer. "Why don't you answer us all? Do you cut? Huh? Answer me."

My throat tightens as tears prickle at my eyes. But I don't allow them to fall. I hold them back and stare out the window without a word. Until the girl in front of me reaches out and yanks my sunglasses from my face in a swift, sharp movement.

Desperately, I try to bury my face in my backpack or hide it in my hood, but I can't. The guy behind me pulls on the neck of my hoodie, grasping the hood and collar in his fist so that I'm forced to sit straight in the seat. My long hair isn't able to cover the bruise I was hiding behind my sunglasses.

Everyone in the bus can see it, and even the bullies go mercifully silent for a moment. I don't make a sound. Any noise I wanted to make flees from me when I see the horror and astonishment on their faces.

The bus driver speaks again, shocking everyone for the second time today. "What are you all doing? Give her back the sunglasses and leave her be."

The girl hands them back as the boy lets go of me. I shove them back onto my face and wrap my arms around myself. "I... I just fell, and I was embarrassed," I whisper. "I smacked my eye on the table when I tripped yesterday." Liar. Why don't you be honest about yourself? Tell them... Tell them that you're the lowest scum to walk the Earth. Confirm what they already think and explain that this is the punishment you deserve. Tell them.

But I don't. I stay quiet and stare at my backpack's ripping handle. A tear slides down my lashes and splashes onto my hands before I can wipe it away. The kids around me laugh and roll their eyes, but they turn away and leave me be.

I've been granted a reprieve. For now.