Prom- Trixya

Chapter 11

Trixie POV-

Back in Katya's bedroom she loosens up slightly, at-least compared to at school. Her eyes are less sharp and she seems to be a little less on edge. When it's just alone I can see she isn't really all that mad, more sad and frustrated. It was hard to tell before, she masks all of her emotions so well, but it clear as day now. She almost looks afraid. I'm not sure what of.

We sit on her bed, her leaning against the headboard, me against the wall next to her. I can tell she feels awkward, I don't know what to say to help. "What's been going on lately?" I ask.

She sighs. "You've heard everything that say about me at school right?"

I shake my head. "No. What are they saying?"

"You really haven't heard anything?"

"No."

Her whole body relaxes a bit. "Fuck."

"What?"

"I thought you were mad about it." She replies. "But it turns out you haven't heard what they said they told you and now I have to tell you myself."

"I'd rather hear it from you than them. They probably have it all twisted." I say.

"Sorta." She mutters. "But most of it is partly true."

"What is?"

Katya shakes her head and looks at the ceiling. "All the stuff about my old school and things. I had to leave. It's kinda a long story."

"If you want me to listen I will." I tell her. "But we don't have to talk if you don't want to."

She takes a minute. "Just please don't tell anyone."

"I won't." I assure her.

Katya takes a breath in and holds it for a moment. "I had to leave school because of substance abuse. I got admitted to the hospital for a long time and rehab too, and once I was cleared for school I couldn't go back there so I came here instead."

Her hands are shaky and she picks at her fingers while she talks but for the most part she's pretty composed. "I um." She stops there, looks up at the ceiling to stop tears from falling.

"You're okay." I remind her, nudging her leg slightly.

"I know. I just hate crying." She says, laughing a little bit through the tears. I give her a second to collect herself before she keeps talking. "I got off on the wrong foot, and my friends and I started doing just like weed and stuff. Sometimes we drank. And then I got all caught up in recreational drugs. I did meth, coke, anything I could get my hands on really."

"How is it now?"

"I've been clean for a little over 6 months."

I nod. "Good."

"I said some really bad things to some friends and so when I would call obviously they wouldn't come over. I called someone, my best friend at the time, during a long bout of euphoria and they called the cops. And while they were on their way I had a massive heart attack. If she hadn't called the cops I'd be dead."

I can't imagine what it would be like if that had happened. For her friends to have lost her, and if I had never met her. Things would be so much worse. "I'm glad you're okay." Is all I can really think to say.

"I never went back to my old school."

"How come?"

"Once I got cleared for school we were already a few weeks into senior year and I felt like my friends and everyone deserved to finish without the stress of having me around." She replies. I can see the hurt in her eyes, see it festering just behind them. She really believes she's too much stress to have around.