Below The Belt

Below The Belt- Chapter 3

Below the Belt

Six Months Later…

Staring mindlessly at the cream cafeteria wall, I jumped nervously when the bell rang for the end of lunch. Looking down at my untouched food, I hunched my back over the plate, all thoughts turning into a garble of pitiful self-induced sadness.

No one approached me, they never did. I was that silent kid who walked the halls like a ghost at night, neither saying nor doing anything to contribute in discussions.

Why should I care about who was next on the school council or who had cheated on their girlfriend? In all honesty I just didn’t give a damn. It infuriated me every single day that these drones would complain about every aspect of their lives. Their broken finger nails or the style of haircut their hairdresser had given them. They didn’t know about real pain. They didn’t live in the guilt-ridden memory of their dad, or give up on their dreams because every single time they thought about it, pain would slice through their chest rendering them breathless. I was like a broken piano, being prodded tunelessly with no hope of a future, waiting to be taken down to the local tip for disposal.

 Looking up at the cafeteria entrance I watched the pack of students file messily out of the double doors, a loud jumble of voices mingling into a roar. A scream here and there followed the excitement of a student as she conversed with her best friend.

 My eyes burned at the sight. I wanted friends so badly, but I just couldn’t open up to anyone. When I had arrived at school I was the shiny new toy. With a muscled lithe frame, and shoulder-length chocolate hair, I had not been thrown quickly onto the loser’s heap. People to begin with made the effort to befriend me, and so did I, but then the questions came - those God awful questions. “What do your parents do?”, “Why did you come to Oakhurst school?” and, “Do you think your parents would mind you coming to the cinema tonight?” Each question was like being struck in the face, leaving me in a dazed stupor, my bottom lip trembling with the painful memories. That was when people began to drift away from me, when they realised I was a boring closed book. That no matter how hard they tried I was never going to reveal to them what was wrong with me; why I was broken.

 Using my calf muscles I pushed myself up from the table, slinging my bag over my shoulder and headed to the exit with my plate. Depositing my rubbish on the counter, I walked up the steps to my classroom. Each footstep brought me closer and closer, making my heart pound harder and harder at the thought of being so physically near people.

When I approached the timber rimmed entrance, I clutched at my bag nervously. The loud shout of the teacher made me jump, before I used a limp hand to push at the door.

“Dawn, glad you could join us,” my teacher Mr. Hill reprimanded sarcastically, his glasses slipping down his stout nose as he watched me walk silently to my seat at the back by the window.

“Sorry,” I croaked, my voice coming out in a slight crackle as I placed my bag on the table. Keeping my eyes downcast, I rummaged around for my books, my stomach lessening in anticipation as eyes slowly drifted away from my face. Sitting down, I looked up at the board, pen in hand. Mr. Hill had gone back to teaching and all the attention was now back on him and the Doppler Effect.

Flicking my pen lid up and down, I resigned into boredom, my mind glazing over like a frosted window. Looking out over the school yard, I watched a bird peck at the remains of a sandwich that had been littered across the pavement. When it had finished, it flapped its wings and took off, searing up over the adjacent building’s tiled roof. It was then that I spotted the dark figure of a young man creeping ever so carefully along the brick wall.

Sitting up further in my seat, I leaned curiously over to the window for a closer look. The guy’s dark hair was dishevelled; his back bending precariously under the window as he slowly rounded a corner.