Why You Shouldn't Lend A Bad Boy Your Clothes

Chapter 4

When I woke up the next morning, the first mistake I made was to prop myself up on my right hand.

With a muffled screech, I fell back into my pillows, hoping that I hadn't ripped the scratches open again. Knowing better this time, I swung my legs out of the bed and got up without putting too much pressure on my hands.

Then I quickly got ready and ran down to have breakfast, which was my second mistake.

My parents and my sister were still there and of course, the first thing my mom noticed, were the bandages around my hands.

"Jules, what did you do?" she exclaimed in a high-pitched, alarmed voice.

That was my mom, always assuming the worst. When I was younger I used to sleep-walk at night, crying and talking incomprehensible stuff, and for over half a year she had been convinced I was possessed. Hell, if my dad wouldn't have stopped her she probably would've brought me to a priest for an exorcism.

"It's nothing, mom," I sighed, pouring milk over my cornflakes. "I just cut myself on some shards at work yesterday."

She was still watching me suspiciously while I started eating. "Julian, you know that you can always talk to us, right?"

I tried hard not to roll my eyes.

Luckily it was then that my dad took her hand and said: "Honey, relax. He knows."

"Does it hurt?" my little sister Maya asked, her eyes wide and her mouth in an o-shape.

With one of her little hands she carefully touched the bandage. For a four year-old little girl something that was covered with a band-aid was the worst thing that could possibly happen. Little did she know that real pain was felt on the inside most of the time.

I smiled at her. "It's okay, Maya. It's nothing bad."

She frowned and pushed a strand of her strawberry blond curls out of her face. "Do you want a syringe?" she asked, her voice dead serious and pointed at her kid's doctor kit that she had gotten for her birthday.

I wrinkled my nose in faked concern. "Will it hurt?"

Maya nodded with a sorrowful expression.

"Okay," I said and squeezed my eyes shut as she pulled out the toy syringe and pressed it against my shoulder. "Bring it on, doctor."

With an ecstatic laugh she watched as I playfully groaned in pain.

I ruffled her hair with a grin and got up. "I'm leaving for school. Bye then."

"Juley, do you have your lunchbox? Oh, and your water bottle?"

"Yes, mom," I answered firmly. "I'm not ten."

She shut her mouth and turned to my father for help. I knew that look. It said Andrew, how do I handle a teenage boy? Andrew, why is he always like that?

Without turning around again, I practically stormed out of the kitchen and left the house, my car keys dangling from my fingers and my bag over my shoulder. I had kind of a hard time driving to school, since the palms of my hands still hurt pretty bad, so I was happy when I finally rolled onto the parking lot.

It was still pretty much deserted (I had actually managed to come on time for once) and I couldn't see Nate or Emily anywhere yet. I didn't really have any other friends, so, as pathetic as it was, I sat down on the stairs to the building and pulled out my sketchbook to just doodle a bit.

Holding the pencil with my bandaged hand was a bit of a struggle, but somehow I managed. I didn't even really focus on what I was drawing, just on the feeling of the pencil scratching over the paper and the way it instantly put my mind at ease. Lost in thought I didn't notice Hunter approaching until he bended down and snatched the sketchbook from me.