Jack of Clubs (BxB)

8: Chiseling For The Truth

"And so that's..." I was vaguely aware of the fact that the history teacher was droning on about some sort of revolution or something, but I was doing the absolute worst job on the planet of paying attention.

There was a lot on my mind, and I felt like I was constantly playing a game of jenga with it all. Every time I addressed one of the subjects of distress in my mind, I pulled a block from the tower. The further along I went, the more unstable my mental health became. Eventually, I was probably going to have a breakdown, but I still managed to convince myself that the tower would remain intact.

I did end up trying to cover the bruise on my neck, because I genuinely had no idea how to explain it to anyone. But after rummaging through my mom's belongings and turning up without any sort of makeup that seemed to be for covering things up — because I really had no idea what I was even looking for — I was then forced to try to find something within my very limited wardrobe that could cover it.

Once more, it seemed to be in vain.

So all I could do was wear the biggest sweatshirt I owned, with the tightest crew neck underneath, and hope that it did something to conceal the ugly mark. Which was a sorry attempt, because my mom noticed it almost instantly.

She grabbed the collar of my shirt and forced my chin up so that she could get a good look. I knew that I was about to stare death in the eyes again when she figured out that it was a bruise. Which wasn't far from the truth, because she did immediately bombard me with questions and yell for my dad to come see it too.

My parents were different people with very different responses. My mom was beyond worried, begging to know how that happened to me. I just told her it was an accident, and nothing more. Of course, she still wanted to know the full story. I wouldn't give her much to work with, and my dad wasn't trying very hard to find the answer. He didn't seem to care a whole lot, only telling me to be more careful.

That was tolerable, because at least my mom was forced to eventually let it go.

It was a lot harder to explain the whole thing to Millie, because she knew who's house I was at on Monday. It meant that there was only really one logical explanation for who could have caused it. And she pieced that together faster than the speed of light.

I did the best I could to calm her down, trying to explain that it wasn't necessarily Sam who did that to me. That it was a part of the thing I couldn't tell her about. She went from trying to process everything on her own, to bombarding me with questions. But I stood my ground, because at least Sam was right about that. If I brought Millie into it, I would never forgive myself. The notion was only made more clear after nearly losing my life.

Eventually, she was able to take in a deep breath and start to cool down a bit, but I still felt like a horrible friend. I knew that what I was doing was for her benefit, but it was still frustrating to watch her stress over me and not even be able to adequately assure her that I was okay.

But I was also aware of the fact that Millie's relationship with virtually everyone in her life was complicated, and the one thing that I always felt like I could provide her with was a decent friendship. Which was a particularly hard kick in the gut to deal with when I wasn't even able to give her that much.

However, I was being a good friend. It just didn't feel like it.

On a slightly different note, there were other reactions I received in response to the mark on my neck. The problem was that people took one look at it, then at Sam, and the rumors began to fly. I wasn't entirely sure what they thought, given how weird it was to have a bruise on my neck of all places. But people noticed the fact that I got into the car with Sam on Monday, and that was enough for them.