Toxic

Another Day Means One Day Less

"So you found the library." I say fruitlessly. The last thing I needed was to show any arrogance to provoke him. "Who knew there was a place filled with books?" I mentally rolled my eyes and sighed as I pulled out the trigonometry textbook. "Teacher wants us write the definition of each function. You write it, I'm lefthanded." He raises an eyebrow. "Since when are you going around giving me demands?" I didn't want to argue and simply took the marker, bent over the table and muttered, "You asked for it." Being left handed meant, whenever I wrote the wet ink would be pasted on the side of my left hand and leave muddy imprints all over the paper. 

But if he wanted to screw up this project, then fine. I was failing anyways. And then I remembered Ethan. He was fairly good at math. I didn't want to jeopardize his project like this. "Please just do it." I said quietly. He snatched the marker from between my fingers causing me to flinch. He eyed me weirdly and started scribbling. 

"You're useless both ways." he whispered. I knew he wanted me to hear it even if his tone was low. And I protectively gripped my elbows. I could feel the rough patches of skin from the cuts. I didn't bother to clean the dry, crusted blood last night from being too tired. They would probably get infected. My father hadn't been home lately. Probably off dealing drugs to teenagers. I was useless. In this state, looking destroyed both ways. 

"There. Now what?" He was going to let me tell him what to do. I show him the work for the project. It was silent in the library. The scrape of the markers were the only sound and Matt's grunts here and there since the table was digging into his ribs. "I can take it from here." my voice comes out shaky and afraid. I wasn't like this with Ethan. Why not? Was it because he didn't know me? Surely, he heard the rumors. 

He had to have heard something about me. Maybe I would ask him why everyone hated me. Maybe I still have a chance of reversing my mistakes. Whatever my mistakes were supposed to be. "Are you going to take it or not?" Matt snapped causing me to pull out of my thoughts. I take the marker and bend over the poster, careful not to wrinkle it. We worked in silence. 

He sat in the library chair next to me shifting his eyes from the marker to me. "Write straight." he commanded. I bit the inside of my cheek. "Neater." I wanted to yell at him since his handwriting wasn't any better. But the librarian was nowhere in sight. He would beat me to a pulp. "Sorry." I muttered. He scoffed. "Whatever, just hurry up so I can get out of here. I still have a life you know. Unlike you." 

"Why aren't you on your phone or something?" He seemed surprised that I could talk. I was surprised myself. I wasn't usually self righteous or bold. "Left in my locker. Too lazy to get it." he said. For a football player, he doesn't like moving much. "What did you say to me?" Did I say that out loud? "Yes you did." I should probably stop talking. 

"Yes you should." his voice was colder now. A faint pink tinted my cheeks as I frowned and continued working on the project. This was going to be a long day. Then again, all days were long. They were painstakingly, excruciatingly long. "Watch it!" he shouted. I jumped slightly causing the poster to rustle and bending the edges. The marker swerved off course leaving a long slash going down the paper. I was writing crookedly but not enough to notice. "Now look what you did." The slight pink had grown to a full flushed red as I sat down. 

It didn't make me feel any better. He was a tall powerful figure, a good six inches or so taller. But sitting in the chair made me feel so much smaller. So much more insignificant than I already felt. His eyes were blazed with fire, his muscles tensing. Was he going to hit me? I deserved it. I did after all ruin the project. I screwed my eyes shut tilting my face to the side and gripped the arms of the chair awaiting impact. After fifteen seconds, nothing happened. I opened one eye.

He wasn't looking at me anymore. He was looking at the poster. "Get out." He didn't have to tell me twice. I clumsily gathered my things and scurried out the door before he could call my name. It was still cold. My thin jacket was worn and torn a little at the edges. My teeth chattered uncontrollably as I rubbed my forearms while waiting for the bus.