Bully Proof

Chapter Twelve

"Kiley!" I heard my mom scream from downstairs, jolting me up and out of my sleep, which caused me to fall off of my bed.

I got up with a groan, putting the covers I was entangled into back on the bed and yelling, "What?"

"Claire wants to see you," she answered. "Come down here."

I looked at my phone screen and saw that it was 8:13. I could have been sleeping. "Just send her up here," I replied, plopping back on my bed and shoving my face into the pillow.

I heard the stairs creak, so I turned my head sideways to look at the closed door. My eyes fluttered shut, and I almost fell back asleep, but a knock startled me out of my dazed state.

Why is she knocking? She never does that. I opened my eyes, looking to see if she even opened the door. When I saw that she didn't, I said, "Umm," and I paused, "come in?"

The door squeaked open a little, and I could see Claire peeking into the room. I waved her in, and she opened it some more, still hesitant, but not all the way. I saw her look to her left, probably hearing Mom walking up the stairs, and she finally entered the room, staying in the doorway.

"Your eye," she gasped, but then shook her head, as if she was telling herself to not go there. She changed the subject as she sniffled, on the verge of crying, "I take it my dad told you everything?"

It took me a moment to process what she said. There were tears in her eyes. She never cries.

"Uh, yeah, uh, he did," I whispered.

A tear slid down her left cheek, and she looked down at her feet while pleading, "Why did you do this to me?"

My eyes narrowed upon hearing her words, but a throb of pain quickly made my eyes widen back to normal. I thought of all the things I could have possibly done to her that could have made her cry. I could maybe think of two. I thought of all the things that she could have possibly done to make me cry. The list started with my eye, which I could only imagine was starting to bruise. I made it a point to not look in the mirror. I didn't want to see it. I didn't want to be reminded of it. I didn't want to be reminded of Claire.

"What do you mean?" I asked, trying to speak in a gentle manner, not raising my voice whatsoever.

"You. You did this. You made me like this. It's you. It's your fault," Claire cried, and I grew more confused. She croaked out, more tears pooling in her eyes, "Why?"

"What are you talking abo---oh," I realized, sitting up in the bed and patting the empty space next to me.

Claire left the doorway and cautiously sat next to me. I looked at her face and confidently told her, "There's nothing wrong with you. There's nothing wrong with being gay" I bit my lower lip, thinking about my next words, "The things you do, though, how you act, could some touch-ups."

She sobbed, letting go of her tears as she broke down, continuously clenching and clenching her fists. "My brain controls what I do," she spat out. She stood up and began pacing around the room. "My brain is what's wrong with me. It causes all of my problems."

"Think of your brain like a piece of paper," I collected my thoughts. "Right now, it's all crumpled up. You can't write on it because it's crumpled, but it can still be used. You can still smooth it out and write on it. A broken piece of paper, a broken person, however, has a completely soaked piece of paper for a brain. A paper that's so wet that picking it up rips it. It sticks to the floor. A piece of paper that can't be written on again." I paused for a moment, hoping that my lack of speaking had caught her attention before continuing, "No one has that kind of brain. Everyone has a crumpled piece of paper, but the degree of how crumpled it is varies from person to person. Every piece of paper can be flattened again. You are not broken; you don't need to be fixed, but you can just use a little smoothing out."

Claire swung her fist up as if she was about to punch the wall, but she stopped herself at the last second before bringing her right arm down to her side. I noticed that her tears had subsided in her anger, although her face was still red. "So you're saying," she paused, her Adam's apple bobbing, "that I can be a good person?"

"With a little guidance, I think you can. You don't know how to flatten out your paper. If someone show's you how, and you want to flatten it out, I think it can be done," I smiled, the corners of my lips coming up only a little.

"Thank you," Claire uncharacteristically said.

My smile faltered, becoming a small frown before I informed her, "That doesn't mean we're all buddy-buddy. We can talk if you need me to, but you can't expect me to be your friend."

"I know," Claire sighed as she headed to the door. She turned around, looking at me. Her cheeks had paled in color, back to their usual state. Some tear stains resided on her cheeks, but I knew that they would disappear soon. She continued, a frown barely visible on her face, "Goodbye." She then walked out of my room, walked down the stairs, and left the house. She didn't even mutter a word to my mom.

I felt as though that was our last goodbye, and the thought had me giddy and sad at the same time. I wanted to see who she would become once she got the help she needed. I had faith in her, mainly because I knew that she was a very determined person when she wanted to be, but I couldn't forgive her just yet, if at all.

I took our last parting words and pushed them to the back of my mind. It was 8:37. I was going back to sleep.