Secret // Calum Hood

6

Elena

I hate them all so much.  Especially Calum.  He’s done the least to me, but that’s why I hate him the most.  Well, maybe not as much as Janie, but I definitely have strong resentment towards him.  He sits there, and acts like he wants to be my friend.  He sits there and asks me what’s wrong, knowing that him and his friends and everyone else in the entire freaking world is what’s wrong.  But what hurts the most is that he sits there with them when they’re teasing me, and doesn’t do anything to stop it.

I don’t really expect him to try to stop it.  They are his friends, after all, and he wouldn’t want to sacrifice his popularity for me.  I wouldn’t really even want him to.  But it’s like there’s two sides to this situation inside my head.  One side tells me that it’s okay that he acts that way, because that’s what I’ve taught myself to expect from people.  The other side wants to fight, and tells me that it’s not okay for him to act one way in front of me, and then another way in front of his friends, no matter how distant we are.

And then I hate this stupid project.  No one in the world cares about overcoming stereotypes or trying to prove them wrong.  Everyone is the way they are, and I couldn’t care less about finding out why.  And since everyone at school stereotypes me anyway, I figure I shouldn’t bother trying to show them that I’m any different.  They don’t care.  They never will.

I step inside my house after struggling to turn the key with the food in my hands.  Once I make it to the table, I put the food down and get out plates.  Mom loves takeout food, but only when she’s drunk, and only if she can eat it on a normal plate.  And whenever she wants it, she sends me to get it.  No matter what time of day or night it is.  I shuddered slightly as I remembered the time she wanted me to walk all the way across town at four in the morning for some Burger King.

“Mom, I got your favorite,” I said, shaking her awake.

“Not now,” she muttered, waving her hand at me.

Did she really just send me all the way to the mall, begging for food, just to wave it away when I finally get here?

“But you were so hungry, aren’t you still hungry?” I asked soothingly, sitting by her in the small little crook of the bed  where her stomach concaves and her legs curl up.

“That was like, an hour ago!  You couldn’t be any slower could you?” she grumbled.

I frowned.

“Well when you send me somewhere without a car, and all I can do is walk or take several dirty, crowded buses, then yes, Mom, it’s going to take a while, so you’ll just have to wait-”

I never got to finish my rant because at that moment, she sat up so fast and slapped me so hard across the face that I fell off the bed and onto the floor.  For a moment, I felt nothing.  But then the familiar ache and sting came, and it felt like tons of little needles poking my cheek.  My eye throbbed a little.  I was too shocked to say anything.  I had sensed this coming ever since Dad left, but not this soon.  It usually takes her about a month or two to really spiral.

“Honey, I’m sorry!” she shouted, getting up quickly and coming onto the floor with me.