Ripped [TO BE PUBLISHED 2016]

23

A/N: Okay so like this story has been on hold for like 3 years but I'm actually finally publishing it. Oh hallelujah. Anyways if you've read this story in the past you basically have to go back and reread everything because I've changed a lot, but I decided that I'll post more of the story on here until it gets published. Thanks for the journey. Love you guys. 

I've been on the rumor mill before. It wasn't a strange occurrence. This time, though, I don't think that I've done anything wrong.

My mother drops me off in the roundabout. She's still on her weird emotional streak, and she feels like it's a necessary measure to make sure I actually make it to school. I get out of the car and walk into the building.

I swing around to the courtyard, where the only people willing to be out in the cold are the ones either hooking up or smoking. I sit down at one of the frost bitten tables.

"You're here early," a low voice drawls behind me. "Come here to smoke?"

Cassie. Thank the Lord.

"This is part of my mandatory good girl lessons, evidently," I mumble.

"You're a kid. You're supposed to live a little. She should know that better than anyone, right love?" She hands me a cigarette. I put it between my lips. She tosses me her lighter. "So come on, Aspen. Are you gonna live a little? We both know you're not a good girl."

I'm tired, I'm fed up, and frankly, I'm pissed off. My mother and my teachers don't know me. They don't have any jurisdiction over me. I spark the lighter, push it into the edge of the cigarette. A tart taste fills my mouth. The smoke is thicker and fuller than the smoke from the weed. I cough it out, trying to keep my lungs down in the process.

"Jesus," I say, trying to catch my breath.

Cassie just laughs. "Congratulations. Welcome to adulthood. Don't screw it up okay?" I can only nod. If I open my mouth again I'll start the coughing thing all over.

I take in a deep breath, inhale another puff. This time the smoke settles, and I manage to blow it out without choking. It becomes easier each time, the smoke becoming relaxing instead of creating trouble.

"Thanks," I say to Cassie, snuffing the cigarette out on the concrete floor. She gives me a flickering smile before grabbing her stuff and leaving. The warning bell rings overhead, sharp and shrill. Sighing, I pull my backpack onto my shoulders.

First period is life science. They can't call it biology until we start high school.

It's definitely a paper and textbook kind of class; the kind of class that only teaches you how to take notes from a book.

Whispers float, circling my head. People gather-whisper. Talking in groups, tongues slicing reputations and slaying open hearts.

We sit in big black wooden tables. Two per side. I glance over at the two girls on the other side of my table. They glare at me, eyes burning holes in the back of my head. I give the boy next to me a sideways glance. He doesn't even look at me, keeps his eyes on his notebook.

I keep writing, even after the bell rings. I slide my notebooks and pencils and books into my bag slowly until the class files out.

The hallways are quiet as I walk towards my locker. I'm lucky. My locker is tall and pink, the one farthest from the main entrances and paralleling the fire exit. A gaggle of cheerleaders share lockers at the end of my row.

As I walk past, one of them pulls my hair back. I glance up at them, all of them, but they're looking at everything but me.

There are twelve cheerleaders. Anna, Aubrey, Sam, Latasha, Mara, Britney, Kristen, Lucinda, Alexis, Jenna, Hadley, and Lizzy. They cheer in competitions against high schools, and everybody and their mothers knows that they were all that and a bag of chips.

Lizzy is the dictionary definition of cheerleader, in the flesh. She's tall, with long brown hair, and a slender figure. She's stuck up, rich, and a total bitch. Most of the school's male population has wasted money on condoms for her. And, boy, she knew how to kick.

She sent a tenth grade girl to the hospital after her team had made it to state. She kicked her so hard in the face her eye fell out of her socket. Or so they say.

I wouldn't be surprised if she was the one that pulled my hair.

As I get closer to my locker, I can see a pink post it note stuck on top of it.

"The slut strikes again!" is written in dark permanent marker. I rip it off quickly, blushing furiously. The cheerleaders giggle a few feet away.

"I can't believe you," Lizzy says, twirling her long hair on one finger. "Seducing another man in a relationship? You could rub one in. Maybe then you'd keep your dirty hands off of other people's property."

I swallow, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. "I...I don't..."

"Whore!" someone in the other hallway screames. My chest tightens, my lungs refusing to expand. The white walls are blurry, caving in around me. I can't breathe. Lizzy and the cheerleading mob block the way out.

"What's wrong?" Lizzy coos. She reaches up to brush my hair from my face. "Didn't think anybody would find out?" She spits in my face. It runs down my cheeks, wet and warm. My vision goes black. I put my hands in front of me, push through whoever's in the way.

Faces and shapes blur by, but I keep walking. I don't know where I was going. My stomach lurches, but I have to keep going. The late bell rings, and most kids are safely seated in their classrooms no doubt.

My hand reaches for a handle. Pushes it open. It slams hard against the brick. In less than a few seconds, I'm sprawled out on the floor. My face connects with the cold tile, my hands raking through my hair.

Warm, wet tears leak down my face. I haven't cried in years. But nobody was here. I let out gut-wrenching sobs. My heart feels heavy in my chest. Sharp pangs spread from my heartbeat to my fingertips. "Why? Dammit. Why?" I scream, the sound bouncing from wall to wall. I can't say anything else. Just why. Why me? Why now?

"Shh. It's okay darling." Long fingers brush through my tangled hair. "You're okay," the same voice says, quiet and soothing. "It's okay." My breathing calms down a bit. I go from screams to sobs to whimpers. "That's right. You're okay."

I open my eyes. The sinks and stalls are straight. I sit up, my head still pounding. But I feel a little better, and that was a start.

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's get out of here."

I take her hand, let her lead me out of the bathroom, out of the building. I don't say anything as we walk, and she whispers sweet blasphemy into my ear.

"Let's live a little."