24 Hours

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

                I knew a girl, once. She was kind, and sweet, and I loved being around her. But she was a troubled girl; her parents were getting divorced, and she was to live with her dad.

                The girl did not like her father.

                She told me he was a bad man. He’d hit her and hurt her, and she’d told nobody but me. Occasionally, the girl would show up to school bruised and cut, but not often. As time progressed, her injuries would get worse and worse.

                Once, I saw her lift up the sleeve of her shirt to scratch a mosquito bite. Unwillingly, the girl flashed me a view of her left wrist. There were several slits on it, and I knew it wasn’t her dad that had caused them.

                Then, one day, the girl didn’t show up to school at all.

                It took only a couple days for the news to finally get around to me. When it hit, it felt as though I’d been slammed by a tsunami; my thoughts scattered, pieces of me chipped away. My childhood…ruined.

                The girl – my best friend – had overdosed on painkillers a couple of nights before.  Her father had not been there to stop her. Even if he had, I doubted he would’ve tried. But she was dead. Dead because of him, and the neglect that he gave her in such great quantities.

                I didn’t want that to happen to any of my other friends. Never. Never ever. So, for the next part of my mission, I decided not to confess my sins. Yet.

                Instead, I picked up my binder and books and trudged down the hallway, straight toward the counseling office. I barely made it a couple of feet before a strong hand gripped me by the shoulder and spun me around.

                The hand was not gentle. It was forceful.

                It belonged to a girl, much bigger than me, and much scarier. Much more violent. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, and she’d applied way too much eye shadow to be attractive (or healthy). She was overweight, but I couldn’t differentiate the fat from the muscle. Her name was Donna.

                Donna gave me a big smirk. “Well, hello, Juniper.” Her voice was rough, and it reminded me of nails scratching on a hard surface. I shivered at the thought. It made want to vomit. “I heard your little speech today in math, and homeroom. Trying to be a goody-two-shoes, is that it? Huh?” She shoved me into the wall. I said nothing.

                Donna’s smirk melted into a frown. “Don’t try to pull any crap with me, Juniper. You know what I’ll have to do.” And with that, she punched me in the stomach and put her hand over my mouth to muffle my scream. The wind was knocked out of me, and I slid to the floor as Donna ran away. I could feel her strut as she walked, and as my vision turned a scarlet red. Never before had I felt such pain, and I gasped for air – quite desperately.

                As I regained my breath, I began to breathe more steadily. As I struggled to stand back up, and my vision became clearer, and I felt a finger poke me on the shoulder. Immediately, I tensed up, survival instincts telling me it was Donna. Again.

                But I whipped around, and to my surprise, it wasn’t Donna. It wasn’t Rebecca, or Justin, or even Molly. It was the boy, his hair hanging low over his blue eyes, like gems is a coal mine. He smiled.

                “Hey, you OK?” The boy inquired, concerned. I tried to slide up the wall, but I was caught off balance and fell to the floor again. The boy quickly wrapped his hands around my waist and lifted me up just before the impact. I felt like a drunkard, rejected, leaving a bar.