The Vituperator (NaNoWriMo 2015)

ten \\ epiphany

JUST WHEN I THOUGHT he wasn't as bad as I assumed, he graduates from douchebag to abusive asshat. Serves me right for unintentionally deciding not to doubt someone.

"What the fuck," I mutter, slamming Alona's diary shut, tossing onto the grass. I leaned back against the tree, having chosen to go to my usual spot in the park to read her diary.

It's well into the evening, after my talk with Bryson at the diner there was this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. A quiet whisper turning me to Alona's diary. In all honesty I wanted to forget about it, I wanted to drop my growing suspicions off at the curb of my subconscious and drive far, far away. But that's not how things go with me. The nagging curiosity would have eaten me away, so naturally, I have to do at least a little digging.

He hit her, a lot. I can't fucking believe it. Yeah, he's a douchebag, with a little temper problem on the side, but I never thought he would be capable of that level of —

Light drops of water spatter onto my cheeks one by one, I glance up at the sky to see that it's grown significantly darker. I sigh and dump the diary into my bag, trying to ignore the shaking feeling in my hands. I have to do something with my hands; I have to calm down.

I end up tearing out clumps of grass, soil gets stuck underneath my finger nails. My hands bite down on the grass, fingers sinking into the dampening dirt.

"That asshole," my face contorts into something mean, I start to wipe the dirt off my hands and onto my jeans,"that — fucking human piece of trash!"

I'm just — I feel so angry. It's Alona's life, not mine, I know. It hardly affects me too, but he hit her. He hurt her. And I'm his friend? I know an abuser, an abuser thinks of me as a friend. His friends, do they know? Do they know what he did to her? God only knows why that's the reason Alona left in the first place. Nobody deserves that, nobody deserves to be treated like complete shit by someone they trust and feel like it's their fault. I don't know if Alona ever told anyone, but so far it seems like she was alone in this. My stomach twists at the thought of it — enduring the pain and unfairness as her way out — that's pretty damn brave.

It's funny, you know. When you hear or learn about abusers — what they're like, what they do to people — but you can't fathom that you would actually end up knowing an abuser. In Alona's case — being the abused.

Sure, I was starting to be more civil towards him; starting to tolerate him. Regardless of this, I never liked Bryson, I didn't give two shits about him. But now, there's something. I'm feeling something. Something red and disgusting and vile — I am seething. I disliked him before, but now I despise.

"Shit," I wipe the wetness of the rain off my cheek, wincing slightly as I disturb a few of the spots on my face, only to find that its practically a furnace. My face must be so red — I probably look like I'm going to burst. The rain's getting stronger, another minute out here and my clothes will be stuck to me.

Standing up to brush some dirt off my thighs, I walk over to the ledge where the grass ends and jump off the meter-high elevation of the park, not wanting to bother with the stairs just a few paces away from me. There's a satisfying sound of a splash as my feet meet the sidewalk; I grimace, feeling the puddle soak into my socks in a matter of seconds. I jog down the sidewalk, towards the roofed bust top. I can just wait out the rain in here.

I sigh, and wipe down my face again with a light sniffle. I take a moment to examine myself — my jeans are soaked, especially down at the bottom with my shoes, my spaghetti strap shirt is being especially clingy and see-through so I zip my damp hoodie all the way up. With the rain mixed with the fact that this hoodie hasn't been washed in two weeks, my chest will probably flare up like a bitch. I'll blame Bryson for this too, because if it weren't for how fucking angry I'm feeling right now my acne probably wouldn't have been that bad tomorrow.

I wipe my nose and brush my hair out of my face. I'm not too soaked, but I definitely look terrible. The sky's gotten much darker now and I can't tell if I'm shaking from anger or just plain shivering. I would probably feel colder than I do right now, if it weren't for the fact that my body has cranked up the heat furiously.

A light catches in my peripherals and I glance to see the neighborhood's bus arriving. It slows to a stop with a generic tire screech and the door folds open in front of me. I squint at the bright lights coming from the bus. After a moment of stillness, the driver looks at me expectantly.

"Fuck it," I murmur and step on board. I'll just ride this out to wherever it goes — it doesn't leave the neighborhood anyway. Besides, the light in here is good enough for me too keep rifling through Alona's life.

I walk a cautious pace down the isle to take an empty seat at the back, stumbling into it when the bus lurches. I slide all the way in, next to the window, sticking my knee's up against the seat in front of me. I may be pissed, but I'm still going to get comfortable.

I look around beadily, the bus is practically empty, save for maybe three other people, scattered and sitting alone in their own little worlds too. Perfect.

I slide my bag onto my lap and unzip it slowly. I want to make sure that nobody sees the cover of the notebook. Of course, nobody's actually paying any attention, nor can they see my lap from where they're sitting, but so help me I'm feeling a bit paranoid — as I always am when I take a peek into the life of a missing girl.

I open the notebook, it stays inside my bag — face up and cover lost in the canvas depths of the bag. The bus lurches again and I focus my eyes on the impatient scrawl of Alona's hand.

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This chapter's dedicated to caffeine_junkie, who's been sticking with this whole way so far. Thank you for your reads and votes!