Annalise

Chapter 18: I'll Tell You Later

I couldn't move my legs or arms, I just leaned my back against the wall. I positioned my head to tilt back as my eyes closed. I shouldn't let a person get in the way of my education.

As much as Ricky was a major reason in my reluctance to enter my second period, it wasn't the only obstacle preventing me. My mother paid no negligence when it came down to seeing her son come home with many injuries. The sight of Asher coming from the hospital with a bloody, swollen huge nose, a white hand cast, and wincing every time his fractured hand brushed against something... made my mother surround us with many unavoidable questions.

Questions that Asher answered without hesitation, feeding our mother fake lies about getting into a unsupervised fight in the boxing ring. He claimed his opponent was some random dude who was sure he would win a fight with him.

According to Asher, who was quick on a reply to the series of questions that our mom threw his way, 'who was this person?' and 'how did the fight get so out of control?' He smoothly released the words that were along the lines of, 'the guy knew he was losing and got his friends to gang up on me'.

He lied to her without batting an eye, making me curious on how much practiced he had on deceiving her. It also made me ponder on the possibilities of him doing that to me.

It was too difficult to stare my mother in the eyes. I knew what she didn't and not telling her made me feel guilty, but I had to pretend that I didn't have a clue on to what happened.

I pressed myself off the wall and straightened my blue flannel shirt, my sleeves rolled up to my elbows, and I observed my skinny blue jeans along with my black and white converse. This wasn't my normal attire, I would've slipped on a skirt and a top but my mind was lingering elsewhere.

I dug out my late pass from my first period teacher, who I was helping move some books. Of course, it only took five minutes of my time, my mom didn't need to know that the rest of the ten minutes that passed was me just having an internal fight with myself, right outside her classroom.

Before I could convince myself otherwise, I placed my hand on the handle and opened the door.

Mrs. Saint was in the process of writing notes on the board in black marker. Every student imitated her notes on their papers, their eyes immersed in the words being written out in the front of the class.

Her writing slowed down and eventually came to a stop as she took a peep over her left shoulder. Her eyes connected with mine as I shut the door soundlessly. 

"Nice to see you can join us," Mrs. Saint smiled, placing the cap on her marker, giving me a sign that she just finished up.

Every set of eyes seem to flicker on me, whether it was for a second or the entire time I've been standing, I could feel the attention spinning to me.

I took careful steps to my mom, holding the signed pass to her as she took it between her fingers. She didn't bother to examine it as she proceeded to fold it. Her eyes roamed my face before she spoke.

"We're just finishing up notes. You can take a picture of the board and copy everything down later," she says, walking over to her desk and lifting a paper.

She then sauntered back to her position in front of me, holding out a paper while I just stared at it, the sight triggering a memory of bloody stained prints. I instinctively glanced down at my hands, another unforgotten memory that would not remain suppressed, coming forth.