Kidnapping the Gang Leader

11 - The Way He Used To

I stood before the school at 3 am, battered and bruised. I had a dark forming bruise running across my cheekbone, my ribs and back littered with even more than the ones along my arms. She was careful not to hit my burns as bad, but in her drunken rage she got sloppy.

I raised the bandana around my mouth after taking a sip from my bottle of Hennessy, already feeling the warming effects from the drink. I was turning into my mother, and I'm not sure where to be utterly terrified or just suck it up and accept it.

I took off my sweatshirt and let my arms air out in the tank top I was wearing, smiling at the fresh feeling against me. I stood before the brick wall that every student saw right before they entered the school, my fingers aching to paint something, anything; I just couldn't decide.

So I didn't.

I didn't mean for it to come out the way it did, nor did I mean for it to seem so, pathetic. I felt like a lovesick fool, even if I wasn't in love. I just simply longed for him, which was a stupid feeling.

Longing was a stupid feeling. And I hated it.

"Fern?" I whirled around to face Charles again, his eyes narrowing on me. They went wide after a few seconds before containing such sadness it broke my heart, and I wasn't even sure what he was so upset about. "What the hell happened?"

I looked back at my painting before looking back to him, my eyebrows raised in confusion. "Huh?"

"Your goddamn arms Fern! Your face! The fucking bruises! What the hell is going on?" My eyes bugged out as I reached down for my sweatshirt I had completely forgot about, turning and racing down the hallway.

Admittedly, not my proudest moment.

His footsteps sounded behind me before my body went sprawling on the cold marble floor, a groan of pain leaving my lisp when he came in contact with my ribs and my skin. He pushed my arms down to my side and sat down on my palms with his knees, my eyes staring at the ceiling. I didn't dare look at his face, not wanting to see the pity and confusion in his face.

"Why didn't you tell any of us?"

I sighed before looking to his face again, my heart clenching at the pain within his eyes. "It hasn't been that bad until recently, and I didn't really want to bother any of you. Plus, to be perfectly honest, I don't trust gangs all that much."

"Damien's a dick." I chuckled as he stood up, lowering his hand in an attempt to help me up. I graciously took it and stood, groaning at the sharp pain from my ribs. I was almost positive they were broken, but I couldn't go to a hospital, not with my burns.

"You can say that again." He didn't laugh at my words, instead staring at my arm wrapped around my ribs with a pained expression.

"Let me take you to our docto-"

"No, Charles. I can't have Damien figuring anything out."

"You're not going back to your house!" I huffed, spinning and walking back to my bottle of Hennessy and the left over paint bottles.

"You're funny."

He sighed as he watched me, walking up and snatching the bottle before I could get a proper sip. "You'll turn into your mother."

"Fuck you Charles."

"Seriously, let me take you to the doctor to at least look at the goddamn burns, you'll tell me afterwards." I sat and thought for a moment, my eyes lingering on the painting smeared over white brick. "If you don't I'll tell Damien everything, and I mean everything."