retrograde.

;fourteen

chapter fourteen: girl, i'm trying
to make you bend.

        Monday morning, I hitch a ride from Blake. A decision I didn't really want to go through with, but I figure it's better than riding public transportation and risk being seen and questioned. I know it wouldn't really matter because people at school would see me anyway and then that would lead to questions, but I prefer getting a pep talk from the maturest (I use this term very loosely) friend I have at the moment. Caden is out of the equation because he hasn't seen my face yet, and that's just a different situation I'm not ready for.

As for the physical conditions of my face goes, the swelling is gone. But I still have a black eye, my lip is still busted, but not bad looking, and I get recurring headaches every now and then that I associate with a concussion but probably not worth stressing over. My body, however, is covered in bruises that have darkened, but not faded. Some are small, like the reason for it is the toe of someone's boot, and the others and fairly large. This of course was brought on by kicked repeatedly in the same place and being stomped on at terrifying pressure. I just know they're going to be permanent if not leave some sort of parting gift before they heal.

He's outside my house at seven twenty. My parents are gone for the day, and Caden is being a lazy bum and is lounging around in the living room. When I heard the TV on as I came downstairs, I mentally prepared myself to be bombarded with questions. But I soon see that he's passed out, most likely unmoved from his position from the night before.

I climb into Blake's truck and throw my bag down on the floor beneath my feet, and strap my seatbelt in. While the song blasting through the car is one I recognize to be of Mac Miller blasts unsuitably loud for this hour, he's currently eating a Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwich as if he hasn't seen food in years.

"Didn't know if you wanted one or not," he says. "So I just bought you a granola bar. I know you skip breakfast a lot, so." He finishes with a shrug.

By the way he words his statement of me skipping breakfast a lot, it makes it seem like I'm intentionally doing it. But that's really not the case. I just never have time for it in the mornings. The reason for this is because I'm always getting up too late. Always. And we're not talking about five minutes behind schedule or anything, I literally sleep through my alarm. I set it to its highest sound setting and put it under my pillow, and occasionally I might wake up from it, but more often than not during those times I literally roll over and go back to sleep. By doing this, I can't risk being late to school by eating, and landing myself in detention because of it. So, until lunch, I run on a giant heap of nothing.

He doesn't pick up Reed or Eli, mostly because he's pressed for time, and I'm secretly happy for that. I don't want to face Eli right now because I know he's going to throw a million questions at me after he decided to give me space because of the whole Reed thing. Reed, on the other hand, I have absolutely no desire to see him. He disrespected Violet, and I have nothing to say to him because of that. He hasn't even apologized. He never does for any of the things he does.

The entire fifteen minute drive, Blake is speaking to me words of encouragement and that if anyone asks, I'm training to be an MMA fighter and the bruises and other wounds were the result of my hard work. It's not one of the worst idea he's given, if we're going to be honest, Blake has come up with stupid-er things in the past.

I manage to go unnoticed by everyone until second period when Violet stops by my Health class - a lesson in which we're talking about the dangers of online bullying - and motions for me to come outside through the window.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, and step outside. As soon as Violet sees me, her arms are wrapped around me so tight that it irritates the bruises on both my ribs and back, and I wince in pain. She quickly lets go before looking up at me with sympathy in those pretty brown eyes of hers.