Behind The Glasses

Chapter 11

Here you go; enjoy :)

   I was on fire. Everything burned. Throat, eyes, limbs; I might as well have swallowed a match and set my insides on fire. I took some paracetamol, which seemed to be the answer to everything these days; after rolling out of bed before dragging myself to school.  No matter how I tried to summon up any enthusiasm, I couldn’t; I had nothing left to give.

   Ryker was a miserable little git, rambling on and on about something Evan was doing. What had he got against the guy? What had Evan ever done to him?  Amya was still gazing into the eyes of Clarke, who was being more egoistic than ever this morning; Xander was in post-breakup depression – every couple of minutes he would glance over at Brooklynn, back with her popular group; but more importantly he was shooting daggers at her, and the various boys she seemed to be throwing herself at, locking lips with; every other minute. It wasn’t a good place to be.

   By first period I had stripped off to my t-shirt, I wished I had chosen to wear a skirt today; yet everyone else was reaching for their coats; something was definitely wrong. I was also pouring buckets and buckets of sweat, I had drunk what seemed to be three gallons of water and the teacher was looking at me funny. Did I have something on my face?

   “Do you want to go down to the medical room Harper?” Miss DuPuis asked, en Français; I nodded my head, already feeling dizzy; like I’d been hit over the head with a sledge hammer. What the?!

   Shakily I got to my legs, trembling I was just able to lift my bag to my shoulder; it felt like someone had filled it with a ton of bricks. What had I put in here? I didn’t even have that much in there this morning. Just a couple of books and a pencil case; perhaps my lunch, depending on whether I had made one this morning; to which I couldn’t recall.

   It took me a lifetime to reach the door of the classroom; and an ice-age to get to the medical room. With one final groan I made it in, “What’s wrong dear?” the oblivious lady asked, looking like she would rather be anywhere than here. The ones that are all blonde straight hair, blue eyes; perfect makeup, they sit there filing their nails; sipping their coffee, every now and again fetching a vomiting child a sick bag; or an ice pack. But still, every movement was accompanied with a groan or a sigh; as though she was undergoing some laborious, back breaking task.

   All I managed to do was groan before I passed out.

   I remember vaguely snippets of consciousness; after I fainted they gave me a glass of water and told me to sit upright against a wall. I seemed to have passed out then against the wall, I was now lying on the medical bench; I was in the backseat of a car. I was in the garden on the bench swing, then finally I was in my room.

   This was the first time I regained consciousness fully, I sat up in my bed, sheets strewn all around me; tangled and wrapped around my drenched in sweat body. My throat was dry, red raw as though I’d been screaming.  Reaching for the water and the paracetamol on the bedside table. My fever was peeking, I could feel my body aching, longing for the pain to stop. It took me a while to get back to sleep again.

   An hour or so later I woke again feeling completely drained; but knowing the worst of it was over. I stood up, shakily wobbling over to the bathroom to freshen up.

   A short hot shower does wonder, freshly dressed in soft pyjamas and dressing gown; my hair towelled dry and plaited I began to pad softly along the hallway. My hair smelt like coconut, my body like apples; I carried a fruity fragrance. Passing Michael’s room I opened the door a crack, he was in there, silently sleeping, hooked up to his IV and drips; only a day more; then he was coming back to us; for good. That thought made me smile.

   In the two years he’d been away his room hadn’t been touched; which was gross and sweet at the same time. Gross as in his dirty shirts and underwear still lay abandoned on the floor where he had been too lazy to throw them into a laundry basket. But sweet in the way everything was just the way he liked it, ready for the day he would walk back in through the front door.

   There had been so many times I had fantasised that day; the day he would walk in and save me from the reality I was living. We would be family once again; of course without our parents; but we didn’t mind, it would just be the two of us; like it had been before.  I closed the door with a faint smile on my face.

   I was about to tackle the stairs when I stopped dead in my tracks. Voices. Unfamiliar voices. Raised, unfamiliar voices. One thing I could tell was that the stranger was definitely a man, one with authority. You could smell it on him.

“Are you telling us we are incapable of looking after our children?” Richard, my dad, demanded.

“We are not saying that, all we are saying is that there are betters who are better suited to the care of children than yourselves” the stranger stated in a neutral voice, obviously an expert at what he did; in my head I imagined him to be not very tall, looking tiny in comparison to my dad, who he would be squaring up. He would be wearing a suit, he would have short blonde hair, immaculately combed; blue eyes that could see right into your soul.

“But why would someone need to look after our children? They can look after themselves” Maria, mum, explained. “Harper’s been looking after herself for a very long time now”. Very true.

“We know; that’s the problem; she is still a child, she shouldn’t have to look after herself. These are the crucial years, she is sculpting her future; and that is very hard to do with no support at home”.

“Having to work for things isn’t a bad thing; it builds character” Richard argued.

“Have you ever thought what it must be like to be in her shoes Mr Diurnaloo? What were you doing in your teenage years?”

“I was at military school; we were out training physically every day after school for at least two hours; I know what hard work is”.

“Did you cook your own meals after this? Did you go to work? Did you clean your house? Did you have to look after a mentally and physically disadvantaged brothers? I don’t think so Mr Diurnaloo; you are in no position to dictate. We are doing this simply out of the best interests of Harper.”

“Are you saying taking a child from a mother is in its best interests?” Maria demanded. “Have you ever given birth? Do you even have kids? Do you know what it’s like to have to give up everything for them? We deserve our own lives too; that’s why we are both full working parents”.

“You are right Mrs Diurnaloo, I have never given birth; but I do have children of my own; in fact I have three. I do know that you have to sacrifice a lot for your family; but that is a choice you make when you both decided to become parents! That is what I’ve been trying to say. You are parents, Mr and Mrs Diurnaloo; but you do not care for your children. You merely had them”.

   An awful silence followed this speech. What else was there to say? Every word that had come out of this strange man’s mouth had been true. Evidence? I call my parents by their first names! I see them perhaps every two months! In the silence that followed all that remained unsaid consolidated.

“This is your last warning. Today your daughter collapsed from exhaustion; if something like this happens again; and once again the parents are abroad; and have been for several weeks; we will have to take serious action” the stranger stated firmly.

“What can you do? Anything you can do I can pay and write off; I don’t know who you are or what you think; I can always out buy you”    Richard smirked arrogantly.    

“Well, all I can say is you’ve been warned, Mr and Mrs Diurnaloo; next time Harper will be taken into care and that is final”.