The Monster Under the Bed || Kickthestickz

Dinner

My breath hitched in my throat as he dragged his cases to the only other bed in the room. The wheels screeching against the thick set wood. Tall. Skinny. Green eyed. Pj Liguori. "Hey, umm, Christopher right? I'm PJ." He takes some long strides forwards and stands at the foot of my bed, hand out stretched, ready to be shaken. What was he doing? He hates me!

Pj Liguori is a bully. He is friends with Jonah. For years of my life I have run panting, out of breath and terrorised from his hateful comments. If I'm not running from Jonah, I'm most likely running from Pj.

My stinging eyes glance down from his face, to his hand and back up again. Tentatively I feel my arm start to lift. I clasp his strong hand in my own and he gives it a firm shake. "Whatcha' drawing there?" he asks. I close my book with a sharp snap and slide it behind me, out of view. He sighs and closes his dreamy, green eyes. "Listen," he starts. "I know that you hate me. And I know that you'd probably rather pitch yourself off of the school roof than be in a room with me right now, but I want you to know: I'm sorry," I feel my bed dip down as he shuffles into position next to me. "I really truly am. I don't think I ever realised what pain I actually caused you until... well, until earlier today. If you hadn't have said something back to Jonah in the car park, I doubt this would be happening. But I really want you to know that I couldn't be more sorry right now if I tried." My brain can't process it. He sits there his face eager with anticipation for what I'm going to say next. Am I going to accept his apology? Or am I going to turn away and ignore it? Obviously the latter, I think as he gets up knowing he isn't going to get a reply and starts pulling against the zip of his suitcase.

"Here, let me help you with that." I say, shakily as the heels of my shoes clonk noisily onto the floor whilst I walk over to him. My knees crack as I bend down and take the small metal of the zipper in between my fingers. The soft noise of the zip shoves the silence of the room out of the window as I pull my hand round undoing it all the way.

"Uhhh, thanks," he murmurs shocked at what I have done. I give him a short smile and begin to help him unpack. The repetitive job of lifting items from the case and placing them neatly in his drawers carries on for a while, accompanied only by the sound of our shuffling in the silence. T-shirt, jeans, socks, t-shirt. The silence is uncomfortable, but not unbearable. After twenty odd minutes I hear the breath rush into his lungs as he starts to speak. "I noticed your posters. They're pretty cool. Fall Out Boy, Blink-182, pretty awesome. I like Pokémon, too. You can even-" He stops speaking and opens his messenger bag, fumbling around for something inside. "Here, take a look at this." He stretches out his arm and hands me a toy plushie.

I say "Charizard," as I smile down at the little stuffed creature in my hand. "I have a Pikachu. Wanna see it?" I run over to my bed and grab the soft fluff that is my own plushie.

"Whoa! Collector's edition!" He practically shouts as he takes from me, his eyes transfixed upon it's face. "I always wanted one of these!" He hands it back and I tuck it safely back down between the smooth cotton of the bed sheets. "Christopher," he hesitates. "I'm going to sound like an absolute prat, but its dinner in ten minutes and I'm going to sit back with Jonah. This is a horrible thing for me to do, but I need to fit in, you see? I need you to know that anything I say or do from now on, anything undermining or rude, I do not mean any of it. It's just who they are. I like you Christopher, I really do. You're actually pretty cool. But I've known them too long to turn my back on them now. I hope you understand?" I gulp and nod, turning back to my bed. I pick up my school shirt and throw it over my shoulders, doing up the small, round buttons hastily. This feeling in the pit of my stomach, its hurt. Sure, I've felt worse before. But for a moment, did I actually let myself believe that he would sit with me at dinner? Why do I always hope?

Pj does walk down to dinner with me though, he looks brilliant, as always. His fitted white shirt tucking gorgeously into his skinny, black trousers. The way his tie does up perfectly to his top button, not a wrinkle in his collar that is folded so precisely that it fits the exact shape of the one on our blazers. Even that looks great. I had struggled with my tie, so he did mine for me too. That I was happy about. Even if he can't care about me now, he made it seem real in the dorm room.

Once our food is on our plates, it's always a roast on the first night back, we part our separate ways and I place my plate down on the wooden table. I stab my potatoes with a fork and shove the crunchy outsides into my mouth. I bite into it and feel the fluffy, warm insides burst into my mouth.

Suddenly, my entire front burns as students laugh and chortle at the hilarious joke that was obviously just pulled on me. I look down to see my whole entire dinner pushed onto my lap. The brown gravy seeping through my clothes and burning the skin underneath. Frozen in shock, the pain begins to escalate. It is running through every pore in my skin until it's too much to handle. I tear out of the room leaving the taunts of my peers behind me. Sprinting up the stairs I tug my tie apart and rip it from my neck. The door bursts open into my room and I claw my scalding shirt off of my back. My trousers come next. Wrenching the from my legs and tossing them as far from me as possible, hoping some of the pain would go with them. How can gravy be this hot? I jump in the shower and pull on the lever making water spring from the head. I douse myself in the cold, not caring that I'm still in my boxers. It doesn't look too bad. Only red marks. They'll sting for an hour or so. I've had worse.

I shut off the shower and head into the bedroom. The cool handles of the old wood drawers feel nice against my hands as I pull out some fresh underwear and a pyjama top. I sling them on quickly and pick up my shirt from the floor. "How on Earth am I gunna get this clean?" I inquire to myself. Sighing, I turn back toward the bath room and run some warm soapy water into the basin. I shove my shirt into the water and leave it to soak for five minutes. Grabbing the nail brush I begin to scrub at the shirt. Tackling each section individualy.

After a couple minutes slaving over my shirt, my fingers are prunes and hands aching and tired. "I'll take over if you want?" Pj's voice echoes through the bathroom. I didn't even hear him come in. I find his hands gently pushing mine out of the bowl and taking the brush from my grasp. "I smuggled you some dinner," he whispers before starting on the shirt. "It's on my chest of drawers. I don't know what vegetables you like some I got you some of all. There's also some gravy, which I promise not to push over you." I smile at his thought and thank him, heartily devouring every scrap of the food he brought.

"How did you get it?" I ask. His friends would suspect something was up if he just happened to take food up to his room.

"I went up for more. Jonah, by this time had gotten bored with my incredibly slow eating and left me to it. Taking Lincoln and Oakley with him. So as soon and they were gone I grabbed the plate and brought the food here. Thought you might be hungry."

"Thanks," I stutter.

"Don't mention it. I'm sorry about what happened. I couldn't stop them. Jonah just got up and did it. It was Link's idea. If I could have stopped them I would, but you know my situation, I-"

"Its fine, it's done. You can leave that as well, I'll take it down to the laundry room tomorrow and wash it. Put it in the machines," I motion to my sodden shirt whilst taking a chunk of parsnip into my mouth. Pj smiled and starts ringing it out. The bubbles seep from it and splash into the water below. He places it onto the radiator and walks from the room, taking a sprout from my plate as he goes.