Belle's Need Love Too

Chapter 7

 Another day, another dollar. Another week, another rent check. Another apartment, another colony of roaches.  -Yo Daddy

   So read the inscription on the note  attached to the "mysterious" valentine shaped box.  It was tinted will red foil, which had been stomped on with a muddy shoe, and finally shoved into my medium, Warrior burgundy locker through a slot designed specifically for thing of this nature.There had been a rose attached to the side of the locker as well; both "gifts", I knew, were death traps. First of all, no one had the nerve to give me anything, at any time of year much less, in the middle of autumn.  Second, didn't I have the world's longest list of enemies with no probable cause in existance? Guess who's not opening her presents?

   Frustratedly, I snatched  the rose by it's stem, off of the floss-like string it dangled from, tied through one of the three airhole seeming slits in my locker door.  The instant my soft, fleshy hands made contact with the wretched stem, millions of tiny sharp pains seared through my skin. I doubled over in pain, and squealed. I looked down both ends of the hallway, my eyes not detecting a soul. Alone and helpless, I glanced down at my hand, and what I saw made me drop to heart-shaped box. When the red disaster thudded to the ground, about a dozen large tree roaches scattered out of the box to seemingly strategic, yet unknown places.

  Shuddering I wimpered in pain and disgust, delivering my attention back to the dire situation with my hand. There were thirty-seven individual, silver sewing  pins wedged into my hand at random. Each pin had made its on individual, miniscule puddle of blood gushing out with every pulse; especially the eight needles rooted in my thumb. My eyes were locked on the tiny spatters, praying in my head that none of them would break off in my hand forever to be embeded. Fearfully, I chose to do nothing to my aching appendages.

  Staring at my fingers, I contemplated as to whether or not I should even go to my original destintion of debate practice with a brave face. Or if I should just go home, since I was the only member of the team anyways. I opted for the former, seeing as leaving would be the ultimate form of cowardice, I put on a cool and  collected face. It was necessary to appear nonchalant, at least until I found Cedar's, the date coach, classroom phone. My free hand, which had never left my wrist, calmly clutched my wrist tighter to spare myself the blood loss.

    Confidently, I made my way down the short piece of hallway I needed to walk to get up the maze of winding stairwells reaching the third floor debate classroom. Though no injury had been sustained to my feet, I winced with each step I climbed up the oak wood with cherry finish stairway.  My wimpers of pain grew upsettingly louder, no matter how hard I tried to supress them, as I turned onto more flights. On arrival at the top of the last flight, I sat on the edge of the staircase where double, oak doors allowed passage unto the hallway of adjacent, to one another, classrooms. I was breathless and wimpering like a wounded infant animal as I wedged myself in the tiny crack of space betwee the right oak door and a secret closet bathroom ( a bathroom that had been long since deemed inadequate, no one else knew about and I spent many a class period crying).

    I knew today would be one of those days, as I felt a salty tear splash into one of the tiny holes in my hand. Gnashing my teeth, I erected my self, with much agony, and forced my frame to take the dozen steps needed to reach Cedar's classroom. Though it was hard, I tried to appear nonchalant when I found myself standing in Mr.Cedar's room.  Rather than mewling like a wounded gazelle, I put on a tough mug for my own foolish pride's sake.In an effort to distract myself from the utter near death situation at hand, my eyes wandered around the room.

  For starters, because this room was on the corner of the castle-like building, two of the walls were made of windows; nearly covering their entirety.  The rectangular windows had mahogany colored frames providing the only separation from one to another. Assuming that they were separate, there were twelve total in the large room; so many that the lights rarely ever turned on.  Under the windows, and even partially covering soem, were bookshelves upon bookshelves. On some six short heighted bookcases, lie alphabetical encyclopedias from several different companies; with covers including red, black, and blue with their letter contents on the spine. Three of the remaining shelves were occupied by dictionaries and books of miscellaneous authors including Immanuel Kant, John Locke, even two on Marxist theory.