Beaten, chapter 3
Al and I hurry across the yard, round a brick wall in the corner, and find Billie Joe and Mike there.
“Hey Lyra, Al,� they nod. Billie Joe chucks a pack of Camels at Al and me. I try to catch it with my left arm – the arm that isn’t bruised – and miss. Billie Joe raises an eyebrow. Mike looks confused. I pick the pack off the ground hurriedly and light up – again using one hand.
“There’s a notice up about the talent show,� Billie Joe says. “We going for it?�
“Yeah dude!� I grin. “It’ll be awesome… Sweet Children making their live debut!�
“Yeah… so long as you can concentrate long enough to get the chords right!� Billie Joe cracks at me.
“Hey!� I swat him on the arm. Without missing a beat he pokes me hard in the right shoulder, and I double up with pain.
Billie Joe looks defensive. “Shit, dude… it wasn’t that hard…�
I catch sight of Mike – he’s looking at me strangely. Without a word he chucks his cigarette on the floor, and puts his hand under my armpit, supporting me. “I’ll take Lyra inside… you stay and finish.� The firmness in his tone is unmistakable, and Billie Joe and Al shrug uneasily before Mike half-leads, half-drags me away.
He grabs my cigarette from me, and throws it backwards, with a kind of savage, driving toss. We don’t speak all the way across the yard, but I can see the muscles in his jaw are clenched, and can feel his arm clutched a little too tightly around mine.
We step into the hallway, and he steers me into the boys’ bathrooms; there aren’t too many people around yet.
He turns me to face him and lets me go.
“Show me your shoulder.�
“Why?� I feign innocence, but know it’s useless. He looks at me for a long time, before whispering, “You know why.�
I swallow uneasily, go into a stall, take off the T-shirt, cover my front with it and face Mike. The bruise has worsened since I dressed this morning; now the colors vary from a deep red center to blotches of purple, yellow, gray and navy. It’s spread over the whole joint, and Mike gives a gasp of horror, running his fingers gently over the injury.
“Fuck,� he breathes softly. “That… that BASTARD did this?� He looks incredulous.
I bite my lip; there’s no use lying to Mike. I nod gingerly, miserably, waiting for his reaction.
He turns away, paces for a few seconds, then, without warning, smashes his hand into a sink.
I shove my shirt back on, wincing, run out, and catch hold of his other arm. “Mike!�
He is silent for a moment, then; “Why do you LET him?� he shouts, rounding on me.
“People will hear!� I plead with him, casting a cautious glance at the door.
“Why do you let him beat you?� he says, in a quieter tone, but with barely controlled anger. “You could report him; you’ve got bruises as evidence. You could get away from him!�
“And then what?� I reason. “Get put in some Children’s Home on the other side of California, never see you again?�
“It would be better than staying here and getting treated this way!�
“My father is a lawyer, Mike – trying to sue him would be suicide for me.�
“He’s a monster!� he emphasizes.
“I’m all he’s got left!� I counter.
“You mean to say you love him – actually love him – when he does this to you?�
I feel tears building up. “He’s lost,� I sob. “He doesn’t know what to do with his life; both his wife and his unborn child died in one fell swoop! He loves me – he doesn’t know how to deal with me properly…� I realize how stupid and flimsy it sounds.
“You’re coming to the nurse.� This isn’t advice.
“You’re not going to tell her?� I gasp, horrified.
“I’m not lying for you, or telling the truth. You can make up your own story. Keep on kidding yourself.� He says this with such venom that I flinch, and he notices.
“Ly, I can’t deal with seeing you like this.� He pulls me into a gentle hug, avoiding the shoulder. “You’re my best friend, and I want to help you.�
�I’ll solve it,� I mutter. “Let’s go, c’mon.�
Sighing, he picks up my Eastpak for me, and taking my arm, leads me to the nurse.
“Hey Lyra, Al,� they nod. Billie Joe chucks a pack of Camels at Al and me. I try to catch it with my left arm – the arm that isn’t bruised – and miss. Billie Joe raises an eyebrow. Mike looks confused. I pick the pack off the ground hurriedly and light up – again using one hand.
“There’s a notice up about the talent show,� Billie Joe says. “We going for it?�
“Yeah dude!� I grin. “It’ll be awesome… Sweet Children making their live debut!�
“Yeah… so long as you can concentrate long enough to get the chords right!� Billie Joe cracks at me.
“Hey!� I swat him on the arm. Without missing a beat he pokes me hard in the right shoulder, and I double up with pain.
Billie Joe looks defensive. “Shit, dude… it wasn’t that hard…�
I catch sight of Mike – he’s looking at me strangely. Without a word he chucks his cigarette on the floor, and puts his hand under my armpit, supporting me. “I’ll take Lyra inside… you stay and finish.� The firmness in his tone is unmistakable, and Billie Joe and Al shrug uneasily before Mike half-leads, half-drags me away.
He grabs my cigarette from me, and throws it backwards, with a kind of savage, driving toss. We don’t speak all the way across the yard, but I can see the muscles in his jaw are clenched, and can feel his arm clutched a little too tightly around mine.
We step into the hallway, and he steers me into the boys’ bathrooms; there aren’t too many people around yet.
He turns me to face him and lets me go.
“Show me your shoulder.�
“Why?� I feign innocence, but know it’s useless. He looks at me for a long time, before whispering, “You know why.�
I swallow uneasily, go into a stall, take off the T-shirt, cover my front with it and face Mike. The bruise has worsened since I dressed this morning; now the colors vary from a deep red center to blotches of purple, yellow, gray and navy. It’s spread over the whole joint, and Mike gives a gasp of horror, running his fingers gently over the injury.
“Fuck,� he breathes softly. “That… that BASTARD did this?� He looks incredulous.
I bite my lip; there’s no use lying to Mike. I nod gingerly, miserably, waiting for his reaction.
He turns away, paces for a few seconds, then, without warning, smashes his hand into a sink.
I shove my shirt back on, wincing, run out, and catch hold of his other arm. “Mike!�
He is silent for a moment, then; “Why do you LET him?� he shouts, rounding on me.
“People will hear!� I plead with him, casting a cautious glance at the door.
“Why do you let him beat you?� he says, in a quieter tone, but with barely controlled anger. “You could report him; you’ve got bruises as evidence. You could get away from him!�
“And then what?� I reason. “Get put in some Children’s Home on the other side of California, never see you again?�
“It would be better than staying here and getting treated this way!�
“My father is a lawyer, Mike – trying to sue him would be suicide for me.�
“He’s a monster!� he emphasizes.
“I’m all he’s got left!� I counter.
“You mean to say you love him – actually love him – when he does this to you?�
I feel tears building up. “He’s lost,� I sob. “He doesn’t know what to do with his life; both his wife and his unborn child died in one fell swoop! He loves me – he doesn’t know how to deal with me properly…� I realize how stupid and flimsy it sounds.
“You’re coming to the nurse.� This isn’t advice.
“You’re not going to tell her?� I gasp, horrified.
“I’m not lying for you, or telling the truth. You can make up your own story. Keep on kidding yourself.� He says this with such venom that I flinch, and he notices.
“Ly, I can’t deal with seeing you like this.� He pulls me into a gentle hug, avoiding the shoulder. “You’re my best friend, and I want to help you.�
�I’ll solve it,� I mutter. “Let’s go, c’mon.�
Sighing, he picks up my Eastpak for me, and taking my arm, leads me to the nurse.
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