2.3 | Notorious ✓

04 | unconscious

0 4

u n c o n s c i o u s

When I returned home that day, Molly saw the signs. She could read me like an open book, I could hardly ever hide anything from her.

"I know that look," she observed, placidly, as I helped her stack the dishes into the dishwasher. "And your usual bunch of friends couldn't possibly be the reason, so spill - who's the new guy?"

"What new guy?" I returned, calmly, letting out a slight yawn. I was pretty much exhausted, since Callum had had to drive me back to school so I could pick up my car and then drive myself home after that. "And what look?"

She smiled. "Scout, we've lived together for how many years now? Four, five? The only times you had that look on your face was when you told me about Callum Wright. So? Who's it this time?"

Molly had legally 'adopted' me since the age of fifteen, but she was more of a confidante than a mother. In fact, in between her odd cravings and pregnancy mood-swings, she behaved almost my age.

"Well," I said, quietly, wiping a clean cup with the cloth. "It's Callum."

"Him again?" Molly looked thoroughly surprised, albeit very pleased. "What are you two now, dating?"

"Molly!" I yelped, appalled by her straightforwardness and hardly able to stop the blush that rose to my cheeks. "We're hardly even friends. We're just - " I paused, because what were we anyway? What was really happening between Callum and myself? I hadn't a clue. " - we're simply acquaintances who've always got each other's backs."

Yes, that was the safest answer I could come up with at the moment. It would've been presumptuous of me to assume anything more. Presumptuous, and dangerous too. And although Molly didn't seem to believe a word I said, she had to live with the answer, just as I had to live with the precarious place I had situated myself in.

I was reminded once again of the situation I was stuck in when Dave called later that night. I'd already expected it, because you didn't just go out fraternising with the so-called enemy and not get called out for it.

"I just want to know why, Scout," he said, his voice sounding more curious than annoyed over the phone. "I mean, why him, of all people? You know how much Jason hates him."

"I know that," I murmured, leaning my head against the pillow on my bed, and gazing up at the ceiling. "I just - I guess I feel sorry for Callum, that's all."

Dave snorted. "You feel sorry for him? Scout, who's going to feel sorry for us then?"

I remained silent for there was no rational answer I could give to his question. What could I even say? That I was feeling sorry for them? I was, but I was also sorry for Callum, sorry for everyone who was somehow or other involved in Hell Week, sorry for the stupid hierarchy that popularity created, sorry for the triviality and superficiality in high school.

What were we going to achieve from this anyway? Was Callum going to put 'Survived Hell Week' on his resume in the future? Or was Jason going to go for a job interview and say 'Oh, I got my revenge on all those who bullied me in high school'?

No. There was nothing achievable, nothing attainable from this week. It was just physically, emotionally and psychologically draining. So. Exhausting.

The pause grew into a vast, all-encompassing silence that engulfed us whole, and at last, Dave had to break the silence.

"Scout, I - " he seemed hesitant to voice his thoughts.