(Darcy’s POV)
All I can think about for the past couple of months is Cham. Almost every waking -- and dreamt -- moment at home, we spend it together, cooped up in my room. When I get back from school, I rush up to my room, looking forward to my nightly quarantine. We talk for hours on end until I fall asleep, but I instantly awake in my imaginary dream world with Cham, which is when our fun finally begins…
“I always fancied having the privilege of brushing my fingers through your crimson locks, feeling the softness of your skin against mine, causing a blush to sprinkle your cheeks as you smile, being able to forever envelop you in my embrace... But, it is not until recent years that I began to romanticize those very thoughts…”
“I have watched your physique morph from one of a child into Aphrodite herself, and have listened to your aura sing its melodious hymn all these years. I find both of them irrevocably beautiful. I would listen and gander at your grace for eternity if you would allow me. And I vow, never shall I grow tired of either.”
In our dream world, while he says these things, Cham does exactly the things he coos over. His thick fingers trace my cheekbone, then trail up into my hair. His other hand holds me close to his slender figure as it runs up and down the side of my body. He runs those long digits of his down my shoulder, then curls them around my arm to squeeze me teasingly or rub my arms warmly. His forestial eyes swallow me, yet I can’t look away (not like I want to anyway). After he says things like that, the only barely logical reaction I can manage is to blush intensely. My voice is too shy to come up and my eyes are caught up in him entirely…
“RRRIIINNNGGG!” The school bell goes off, knocking me back into reality.
I rush out of class frantically with the herd of students. In the cacophony of shuffled footsteps and muffled voices, like always, no one calls my name to eagerly make last minute conversation with me before we all bustle home. Nope… I walk these halls solo. Even though I can spot my fellow juniors, I don’t want to talk to any of them. Ever since middle school, they’ve done nothing but torment me. Needless to say, I’ve learned my lesson to keep my distance from these assholes. Nevertheless, they always seem to come back despite ostracizing myself from them.
“Darcy,” Kally, the skank of my grade, calls to me once I reach my locker. In between animalistic chews of her huge wad of gum, she says, “I’ve always wondered how you keep the red in your hair so vibrant!” Her eyes, caked with melting mascara and eyeliner, are wide and blink frequently as if she’s trying to badly replicate a sense of innocence. She twitches her air head to move her dirty blond bangs out of her bony face. Her stupid posse brats chuckle behind her, but I ignore them and gather my bag and school books from the metal closet in silence.
“I think I know how she does it!” one of her followers, Joan, pipes in. “I bet she uses her blood from when she cuts her wrists!”
They all roar in laughter as I try to shove past them. I remain silent to show my ignoring their words, which has fueled a dormant frustration that has grown worse with each year. The three sluts, Kally, Joan and Sabrina, don’t budge, don’t let me pass. I try to break through their barricade once again, using more force this time that I almost knock them down. They gasp, call me names and curse at me when they regain their balance. When I think all is well, I feel a sense of accomplishment, a pride that I thought no longer existed in me spring up in my being. That new found confidence is extinguished, for my books, held in my hand at my side, slip out of my grasp. One of the jezabels grabs them behind from my back and slams them on the linoleum. Every shred of dignity I just revived dies with each slapping noise that echoes in the hall from my thrown manuals, one after the other as they smash onto the floor. The floozies howl in laughter yet another time as I am forced to get down on my knees to retrieve my books. I feel like I’m picking up pieces of my sanity or of my broken life…
To make matters worse, Kally has to add fuel to the fire. “At least it seems like she’s a pro in washing blood out of her clothes, right girls?” she spits as they galavant to their lockers. Was that a threat?
I gather my books as quickly as possible, avoiding by-passer’s eyes. I can feel all them watching me with pity, condescension or judging… My heart feels absolutely hollow in embarrassment and despair as if someone had just ripped it out and now I’m left with a gaping hole in my chest… I bolt out of the building without shedding a tear, which was excruciatingly painful to hold back. The thought of finally seeing my parents after yet another few days of orphan-like life gives me a little spring in my step. In the parking lot, my mother awaits me in her car. It’s tradition sort-of-speak that she gets me from school the day she comes back from her business trips. I’m typically elated to see her finally back, but she’s talking on the phone. And by the looks of it, she’s in a very heated argument with someone. I’m going to bet my life that it’s my dad…
My mother doesn’t even acknowledge my entrance. “Why the fuck do you care, Jer? You’re barely home!” she yells into the device in her hand.
I would rather just walk home if this keeps up…But I’m too impatient to prolong my meeting with Cham. It’s, now, the one thing I’ve been looking forward to all day...
While my mom screams at my father, I lie down in the back seat, so not to bother their ‘conversation’.
“It’s called making money, you ungrateful prick! Something you wouldn’t know about because all you do is screw your assistant!... Don’t lie to me!... If it happened once, it’ll happen again!”
Please make this stop, I think. This time, I can’t stop the tears from falling. Lucky they’re silent, so I don’t disturb my mom’s phone call.
