The Bird

Three

I was in the basement with my guitar, getting ready to work on a tune for a new song I wrote. I had only just sat down and adjusted myself on the stool when, as soon as my arm rested on the curved edge of the instrument, I felt a stinging pain shoot through that spot - the same spot I had fallen on yesterday at James's house. I tried my best to ignore it, but only lasted ten minutes before I was compelled to go upstairs and look for a remedy.

I rummaged through the cupboards and drawers in my mum's room for a while before I eventually came across some sort of cream. It looked promising enough.

My mum walked in whilst I was applying it and when I looked up and noticed her, I almost dropped the tube. I didn't understand why it shocked me so much, however.

"Hey, darling, what happened? You got hurt?" she asked worriedly, walking towards me.

"Nothing much, honestly," I responded with a nervous smile. "Just knocked it somewhere, I think. I'm not sure where."

She took my arm gently and examined the area. She looked at me afterwards with a concerned expression. "Are you lying to me?"

I jumped to reassure her, "No, no, of course not! Don't worry, mum, honestly."

She didn't look convinced.

I rolled my eyes and said, "I'm not getting bullied. I'm being honest. Stop worrying so much."

The last time I told her about my issues at school, we ended up moving. Worse, not before she'd called up the principal to complain, then called up the parents of my bullies and also told off a teacher for not being 'aware' of it. That had resulted with the bullying getting worse because then, since I had been the reason for a handful of the 'popular' kids getting detention for the rest of the month, the whole school had started to turn against me.

Needless to say, it hadn't been dealt with well. Thus, there was no surprise in the fact that I no longer reported back to my mum about my issues at school.

She pursed her lips and the worry lingered in her motherly gaze, but she did not continue to press on the subject. "Let me apply that."

* t i m e s k i p *

James came into class at third period, his eyes bloodshot and heavy bags screaming of sleep-deprivation were prominently showing beneath his unfocused gaze. He was disheveled in every way; his hair was sweeping to the left of his head as if trying to remove itself from his scalp, and I guessed he hadn't had a glance at his appearance between waking up and arriving at the entrance of the classroom where we were currently having a History lesson. He barely seemed to be alive telling from the way he looked around the room for an empty seat.

Ignoring the three front rows, he found himself an isolated place at the back corner of the classroom - the seat right behind mine. The teacher didn't bother to acknowledge James's entrance since it was basically routine now that it was already halfway into the school year and he'd been doing this every other day.

Barely five minutes went by since James had arrived and he was kicking the back of my chair, trying to get my attention.

I turned around and he jerked a thumb in the direction of the classroom door.

A few minutes later, I found myself stuffed inside the storage room with James's killer breath blowing in my face and my back pushed up against a rack of cleaning supplies.

At least, the smell of detergent slightly reduced the intensity of the stench of James's breath.

He was standing close to me, but his eyes were fixed on mine as if he had something to say, for once. "Do you know why I'm pissed off, Wyle? You do, don't you?"

I could barely get words out for how suffocating the stench of his breath was, hitting me directly in the face in big waves as he took breath by raspy breath. "You were drunk, James. I didn't mea-"

"See, this is why you're so difficult. You always make a big deal about everything. I wasn't going to rape you, was I?"

I didn't respond.

"Was I?"

I shook my head 'no' to avoid infuriating him further.

"You like me, right? Don't you?" He leaned closer, and I could almost feel a genuine sense of sadness in his tone.

"Of course!" I exclaimed, trying to convince us both. Inevitably, a nervous laugh escaped my lips and I tried to look away, but the close proximity wasn't helping.

He put his hand on my hip and slipped it under my school shirt. I didn't say anything or try to move away; I was simply glad that he wasn't drunk this time.

The repetitive voice in my head that was saying, 'You have no choice. You have no choice. You have no choice...' was what kept me from saying a word or moving a muscle as he continued to roam my body. There was an old, rusted wristwatch sitting on one of the paint-buckets and all I could do was glance at it every few seconds as the hands inched slowly onward.

I tried thinking about how the hands moved and how old the watch might be, maybe it belonged to the janitor, maybe someone was learning about molecules right at that moment in the class next-door... Anything to distract myself from the smell of yesterday's alcohol on that guy's breath and the disgusting texture of his palms as they pressed against my skin.

***

A/N: Published one day early (I'll be out tomorrow)! Sort of a short chapter, I feel. Sorry, if you feel the same - I'll try and put more content into future chapters. :) Don't forget to like, comment & follow! Also, share the story if you're enjoying :3 - not you, Skin, lol.

Update schedule (officially): Sundays