I taste blood. And grit. It's bitter and hard in my mouth and makes me feel like vomiting. I try and get up, but my bones are aching, like great big weights on my arms. They are hurting like hell and my temple is throbbing. I hear voices, foggy and unclear over the ringing in my ears. "Do you reckon she's OK?" I hear one voice mumble. "Dunno." says another. "Did she like, pass out?" "Out of my way!" I hear someone shout, "Move the whole lot of you. Honestly, this really had to happen on the first day of school." I open my eyes blearily and see about 10 people circled around me, wide-eyed and open mouthed. "What are you doing down there young lady?" the woman barks. "Umm..." I groan, and double over. Reassuring hands catch me and I look up to see the concerned faces of Harriet and Jamie looking at me. "Fainted?" the woman chides. I nod and she sighs. She instructs Harriet and Jamie to take me to see Matron before marching off to tell the headmaster.
"Are you okay?" Jame asks me when the crowd had parted, "Honestly, you took a fair bit of a beating. Harriet and I were dead scared that Jake and his crew had taken you hostage." "No." I reply, almost too abruptly, "Nothing to do with them. I just tripped and hit my head." "I'm sure Matron will probably want to get you checked out for concussion," Harriet concludes, "It's a nasty injury." "I don't want my mum worrying," I state, "She gets her knickers in a twist about everything, from whether I get bullied to whether I had a decently made ham sandwich for lunch. It's ridiculous really." "Well, at least she cares." Harriet observes, "My parents care too, but they're only really content if I have a large pile of encyclopedias in front of me and enough sheets of paper to get me through my work." "My dad and mum let me do what I like, within reason." Jamie says. "I'm allowed to do what I like, but they do get really pissed off if I do shit in my work. Education is really important to them, but so is my free will."
We arrive at the Matron's room, which is full of Paracetamol and Ibuprofen, plasters, bandages, antiseptic wipes and creams, inhalers and EpiPens. The shelves surrounding the office are chock full of medicines which are not even neatly categorized. Matron is currently attending to a 7th grader who felt a "bit sick" who actually looks like the kind of person who was the one making people sick. He moans and groans and puts on a pretense that his "tummy hurts" while I wait there, my vision a little blurred and out and of focus. "There's nothing wrong with you dear," Matron tries to sound composed, but I can see that all she wants to do is punch the boy in the nose, "Just take some Paracetamol and then go back to your lesson." The boy glances at her sorely, takes the packet of tablets and walks back-achingly slowly out of the room. I seem to find a chair and sit down, before Matron gives me a sympathetic look. "What's wrong with you my dear?" she asks me, "Fell over?" "Yes," answers Harriet for me, "Mrs Lynch wanted us to get her checked for concussion." Matron laughs and then nods. She takes out a large messy looking exercise book entitled: "Pupil Illness Book" and begins to write down a few things before pausing. "Name dear?" she asks me, looking over her precariously perched spectacles. "Lauren." I say, "Lauren Groves. I live at 7, Henley Way, Manhattan. And I fell over and hit my head bloody hard." "Yes well that all seems to be in order." replies Matron, "Just a little bit more information. Why?" "Why?" I repeat incredulously, "Why? Well, for a start my shoes are too big. And I felt sick and had a headache." I really didn't feel in the mood for her annoying asking of questions. My head was throbbing and my hand aching. I didn't know how I was going to survive Trigonometry class.
YOU ARE READING
The Price of Blood
VampierTwo parts. Two stories. Two points of view. Two outsiders trying to fit in in their respective worlds. One extraordinary event will bind them together. They should not be together. They should be enemies. Can they be more than friends?
