Sniffling, I placed my trembling hands on my thighs and forced myself to look. My body tensed when I saw the claw marks the monster had left on my skin.
Dark purplish fingerprints were imprinted into my flesh. They looked bad, but I knew they paled in comparison to the damage the monster inflicted inside of me. On the parts I couldn’t see in the mirror.
The scariest part of it all was that I thought a small part of me might be starting to like it, which didn’t make any sense because IknewI didn’t. I hated the monster, and I never wanted to go to sleep at night because I dreaded him crawling into my body. But lately, something strange was happening inside of me—a horrendous pulsing feeling that made me feel sick.
It was growing deep down inside of me and got worse whenboyslooked at me. Especially Hugh. When he looked at me, it grew so strong, it felt like I had another heartbeat in my belly. The worst part of it all was I thought I mightlikeit.
I wasnota good person.
Crying harder now, I balled my hands into fists and hit myself in the head repeatedly, hoping and praying I could somehow erase the bad thoughts.
I’m bad.
I’m bad.
I’m bad.
My fists continued to flail until I grew exhausted from the effort it was taking to bludgeon myself. Still trembling, I clenched my eyes shut and dragged in several deep breaths, desperate to steady myself before the bell rang.
“This seat taken?” Startled from the sudden intrusion, I turned to see Joey Lynch take a seat on the grassy embankment beside me. “Why are you crying, kid?”
Sniffling, I quickly batted the tears from my cheeks and cleared my throat. “I’m not.”
He arched a disbelieving brow but made no further comment. In his hands, he held a battered-looking Discman.
Instantly distracted by his presence, I turned my attention to the sound of music drifting from the tiny earbuds in his ears. “What are you listening to?”
He didn’t respond; instead, he took his right earbud out and handed it to me. When I pressed it to my ear, it took me a few seconds to register the song blasting as Michael Jackson’s “They Don’t Care About Us.”
“Found it at work,” he explained, holding the Discman up. “Boss was chucking it.” He shrugged before adding, “Just in case ya assumed I lifted it.”
“Why would I think you stole it?”
He shrugged but didn’t respond. Instead, he took a quick glance around us, scoping out the area, before retrieving a rolled-up cigarette and lighter from the pocket of his school trousers.
Intrigued, I watched as he wet his bottom lip before placing the cigarette in his mouth and lighting the other end.
“So.” Joey took a deep drag of the cigarette and then seemed to hold the smoke in his lungs for an extra-long beat before slowly exhaling. “Feel like naming the culprit yet?”
“The culprit of what?”
“Your tears.”
“No, because Iwasn’tcrying,” I snapped, attention riveted to the strange circles of smoke he exhaled from his mouth. “You know, you’ll get expelled if the teachers catch you with a cigarette in your mouth.”
His lips twitched. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” I replied, scrunching my nose up when the sickly sweet smell invaded my senses. “That doesn’t smell like a normal cigarette.”
“Because it’s not,” he mused, sounding like he didn’t have a care in the world. He took another deep drag and exhaled slowlybefore adding, “We all have our ways of getting through the day, don’t we, kid?”
“Yeah, but you’re only in sixth class.” I frowned, feeling confused. “You won’t get into secondary school in September if they catch you taking drugs, Joey.”
His green eyes flicked to mine in challenge. “Are you going to rat me out?”
“No.” I shook my head. “I know how to keep a secret.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled another cloud of smoke. “Me, too, kid.”
