Just Bent

Chapter Five

Black, blue and purple painted my jawline. I watched my jaw muscle flex under the fist shaped pattern of the bruised skin, and watched myself wince in the mirror. The edges of it had begun to fade yellow and green into my short hairline. The smattering of bruises on my right rib matched the puke green colouring and only hurt when I stretched a certain way, where as my face, even after four days had passed, ached even at a stand still.

Monday had come too soon. I wasn't ready to face anyone. My story was on reruns. Local media found it their duty to rehash the break-in, and if I hadn't been a minor I'm sure my face would have been splashed all over the television screen and the front page of the newspaper. By now everyone knew about the break-in and everyone knew I was the one that had been held over night at the prison. God bless the day receptionist and her big mouth.

"I've got some concealer handy if you want me to fix your face."

Molly leaned against the door jam, with her arms crossed, watching me. I tried to smile at her, and failed.

"No. Thanks."

She walked into the bathroom and stood beside me, reaching for her tooth brush. I let my eyes wonder back to my reflection. These bruises were nothing. They looked way worse then they felt... the worse kind of bruise is deep in the muscle, in your bones... I'd never had a bruise this dark on my face before, but it wasn't like I was trying to hide it- I looked away from my reflection and down to the cluster of beauty products that belonged to the women of the house.

"You can sit with me at lunch today if you want."

I turned to look down at my little sister. She wasn't very good at hiding her feelings, her eyes darting away from mine. Seeing that made the panic building in my chest and an accompanying numbness begin to recede. This time when I smiled it worked out a little bit better.

"I'll be okay Molls. You don't need to worry." She turned away from me and shrugged.

"Okay."

''

The words I had scrawled across the page blurred. I couldn't focus on analyzing King Lear. I kept looking up at the clock that hung on the wall, the second hand becoming my lifeline. At a quarter-to-twelve, I had about 15 minutes till lunchtime. Ms. Roslin had said that she would be in here in about two minutes to let me go to my locker to let me grab my lunch bag. My pen flipped carelessly over my knuckles as I played with it, turning back to my notebook. Not even 30 seconds later she was at the door, and I could breathe again.

"You can go grab your lunch now Mr. Martin. Be sure to be back here before the lunch bell rings." She didn't have to tell me twice.

I was on lock down. My truck keys had been confiscated, and to say I was grounded sounded stupid in comparison to what I truly was. Mom dropped me to school and I had to walk straight home. I wasn't allowed in any of my classes, confined to the spare room in the guidance office, and watched like a hawk by hallway monitors every time I left it. They said it was for my own good.

Chrestler Heights High School had become its own prison, with its own special brand of torture walking the halls. It was no surprise that everyone avoided me like the plague. Everyone stared. They whispered. I walked by like I couldn't see them; like I couldn't hear them.

I hadn't heard from anyone. Not Nathan, not Tommy, not Mac, not Haley. Nothing. Not that I would have been able to talk to them anyways. My phone had also been confiscated. But no one had approached me at school either. Mac didn't show up that morning, and since I hadn't stepped foot in a class room all day, I hadn't seen any of the rest of them.