Pawprints Chapters 1

Chapter 1

They all have it so easy, the people around me. Most of them don’t know what true pain is. The twisting and bending of your very being into something else…something that yields no control. My story is a long one. One that will not be believed for a moment by you or anyone else, that’s alright though, as long as you know my story. I don’t need some pompous creep to walk up to me and tell me I’m wrong or right. I know what happened to me is real, so you’re opinion is irrelevant. I was in eleventh grade. Junior year, just one more year to go and I was free. First period I sat in English, staring at the board, the hood of my black zip up sweater blocked off my peripheral vision. So I didn’t have to pay attention to the people flicking pen caps and erasers at the back of my head, to hell with them anyway. That zip up hood hid the fresh bruises on my arms, not like my elbow length gloves didn’t already. They were black as well, with small cartoonish skulls that smiled up at me. Kind of like a little kid when someone farts. The bruises pulsed, taking turns, it was a normal feeling, for me at least.
The English teacher walked past as I stared down into my book, pretending to read Hamlet though I already had a copy at home, worn out from use. The teacher, Mrs. Helder, flicked my hood back and I sighed as my frizzy out of control hair started sticking up in every which way, much like the left over branches and leaves of an abused sapling. I bent over reaching in my bag as a rubber band flicked past my head and pulled out a thick hair tie, taming the wild beast that sat on my head like a nearly irremovable parasite. Short hair made me look like a boy so I let the reddish brown frizzy curls fly every which way.
As I sat up I felt eyes boring into the back of my head the kind of look that hatred was birthed from. The sheer loathing that anger and betrayal blossomed in. I knew who it was but looking at him would have just given him more reason to chuck stuff at my head. I knew he was two seats back and that he smelled like to much cologne and hadn’t had breakfast. I knew that he was trying to dig a shard of glass out of his ear at that very moment because his parents never ceased fighting for one night. I knew James Anderson or ‘Jimmer’ as most called him was absolutely my worst enemy. Inside and outside of school, I was a person a fox didn’t like. I knew I shouldn’t look back at his narrow face and uneven teeth and gleaming green eyes. So filled with the sharp knowledge that he was more annoying then a really, really stubborn leach that sat right between your shoulders where you couldn’t reach it. I looked back anyway, past Alex Everzon’s dark brown hair and blue eyes and right at the conniving little fox, he just smirked at me. Oh if I could leap over Alex and ring his neck I would have. I turned back around taking deep calming breaths as my ears perked and I listened to the clock tick away. Desperately hoping the class would be over.

“Just ignore him, he’s an ass anyway” I heard whispered into my ear from behind, though it was loud enough to be spoken as if in a casual conversation.

“He’s your friend” I whispered back to Alex, looking down at my book. He sat back and did whatever Alex’s liked to do. After another ten minutes the bell rang, piercing my ear drums and making me wince. It was both my favorite and least favorite part of school the noise. The bells were shrieking, the chatter of ‘oh my god did you hear that Amy…’ drove me absolutely nuts, though each bell signaled that I was closer to being further from the torture two seats back. I stood the skirt that had bunched up in my lap; over my jeans was plaid red and black and fell down over my backside as I pulled up my heavy backpack and quickly slipped from the room. First period was always the worst. I was tired; Alex was behind me, Jimmer behind him. I was simply thankful to leave that room no matter the joy I took in reading. The rest of the day would be a breeze…or so I thought. I heard someone approaching, I could tell Jimmer’s breath by now and this wasn’t him. It was Alex.

“What do you want?” I muttered as I approached my locker and stood before it fingers flicking out the combination before I tugged it open. He still hadn’t spoken.

“How’d you know it was me?” He asked a bit taken aback and confused.

“Lucky guess” I muttered. At least he smelled decent, like cinnamon.

“Err…okay…um I was…wondering if you had a day where you weren’t really doing anything…say, Saturday? It’s your birthday right?” he asked and I sighed and shook my head.

“Busy” I muttered. Rule number one in life. Don’t get close to people, anyone, if you do you make friends. Friends crack the diamond hard shell around your heart and soul and plunge a knife in your back. I’m not stupid, so I don’t have friends. Well anymore that is.
The entrails of my locker consisted of my IPod, long-board which almost didn’t fit and math junk. It was the least used thing I ever had. Lockers were annoying, mostly because cute boys tended to creep up on you and ask you out. I didn’t need Alex, couldn’t need him. It growled at me, that completely aggravating underlying instinct that commanded my life. I sighed poking around in my locker to maneuver my math things out. Knowing full well Alex was still there.

“Um…how about Sunday?” he asked and I shook my head.

“Saving starving children in Antarctica” I muttered flatly closing my locker and starting to walk away...

“But there are no kids in Antarctica…” He said starting to follow me.

“Exactly” I muttered leaving him behind and disappearing into the throng of annoying preps, depressing Goths, and over egotistical jocks. Half heard rumors buzzing in my ear like a beehive of annoyance. Only these bees didn’t have any stingers. I trailed through Math, U.S. History, Art, Lunch, Science, and P.E, without another Alex incident. Good, maybe I had deterred him. I didn’t need some wide eyed boy trailing after me wanting only one thing.
Happily I slipped into the hallway at the last screeching bell, taking a deep breath through my nose. I could smell the sharp scent of cinnamon, though it was fading. I crept to my locker and opened it quickly, keeping an ear out for Jimmer’s rigid annoying voice. Knowing my tormentor wasn’t far away. He never was far away. Slowly I dared to pull out my long-board and IPod, tucking my IPod in my pocket as my frizzy hair started to hang in my face. I shook it away and stretched a little before kicking my locker shut and slipping toward the front door of the school. As soon as I was outside I was thankful of the fresh air and chirping birds, thankful I didn’t have to sit there with anymore people, thankful I could finally escape and be alone. Or at least I pretended to be. I might know that there’s no such thing as a friend, or that a boyfriend was out of the question but that didn’t mean I didn’t long for contact, person to person. Nobody liked me, no one liked me at all. I was that strange girl with mahogany eyes that silently pretended to do her work and ignored those around her. It was best that way. I hadn’t let a person in since my thirteenth birthday and that’s how everything was going to stay. I didn’t need people, and people didn’t need me.
I jogged to the edge of the school long-board and heavy backpack in tow, as soon as I reached the pavement though I dropped the board gently on the ground and gave it a nudge, standing atop it and instantly finding my balance. The small hill that the school rested on was the perfect fuel for the elegant cousin of the skateboard. Crouched a bit, gaining momentum as the wind tickled my cheeks. I adored riding; it was the one thing that was consistent. If people were in danger when around me then I had to find something to do…right? So I rode. The sound of the wheels on the pavement drowned out almost all the noise from a passing car until it was a few feet from me. It got kind of close, but it didn’t matter the Ford Focus went right past without a problem.

“Casey!” Someone called and I looked behind me throwing off my balance and landing myself face first on asphalt at about four miles an hour. I could feel my skin tearing away and my eyes warm up with tears as I took everything in, dilating, all my senses leaping upward in sensitivity. I could smell the asphalt and grass and pansies, I could see the dirt particles move as my long-board slid into the ditch, feel the burning pain on my cheek and below my eye magnified times about five. Then I was looking at the sky, smelling fresh, fear laced air and seeing the clouds, so lucky to be so far away. I rolled to a stop and slowly sat up; I was aching everywhere, between bruises from earlier to these scrapes and my stupid hair I probably looked like a hobo. Oh well.

“Wow good job Corbin” Jimmer’s stupid mocking voice chuckled in the distance as I heard a skateboard slip up and felt a warm hand on my face before I got a good look at who it was, Alex…again.

“Case, Casey are you alright?” Alex asked me concerned and tossing a disapproving look at Jimmer. I nodded.

“I’m fine, now get off of me, leave me alone” I muttered pulling away from him and clutching my own cheek. I could do this myself. It had been Alex calling for me; it had been Alex trying to capture my attention fully and completely. He was the one who made me fall even with how great my balance normally is. I stumbled to my feet and away into the ditch ears perking for any sounds of muffled laughter, which of course was there, Jimmer’s. Was Alex just picking on me now? Or was he really that stupid to keep trying, did he not understand I wasn’t interested or at least pretended not to be? It was pointless for him to keep trying, even if he only wanted to be my friend. Though he wanted more, I could smell his hormones rolling off him.
I pulled up my long-board, besides some grass tangled in the wheels it was fine. I don’t know what I would have done if it had gotten damaged. It was pretty sturdy, but it could have gotten beaten up and if it had I never would have forgiven him. Slowly I painstakingly climbed the ditch. Alex reaching down to help me up quickly got his hand swatted away. I didn’t want his help. Call me bipolar, but I didn’t, I just wanted Jimmer to stop chuckling at me. He knew what I was thinking, knew why I couldn’t reach toward other people. He knew exactly why I had cut myself off.

“Jimmer, shove your bushy tail where the sun don’t shine, and Alex, thanks for the offer, but I don’t need anyone” I said sternly before turning and letting my long-board hit the pavement.

“Well…just let me-” I cut him off, again batting his hand away as he reached to wipe the hot blood off my face.

“No” I growled turning before taking off. It was for the best. My Mom had always told me something. ‘You always have a choice, even if you don’t like what there’s to choose from’ I chose to avoid and evade at all costs.

The wind stung at the wound on my face as I moved. I wasn’t feeling as sensitive anymore, which was a good thing since my bruises had stopped pulsing and my body’s attention had turned toward the missing scraps of skin on my face, arms and legs. I rode home, carefully, listening to the sweet sound of the wheels on the pavement loud and reckless in my ears, a mix of scents brushing into my nose. Lavender and dying leaves, wet dog and freshly cut grass. Wafting toward me from where I used to call home. Slowly I stopped at my house. The dog and lavender and grass were in the next yard over, not mine.
My house had gone to hell since mom had died. The white paint had faded to grey; the shutters sagged at the pitiful dirty windows. I had tried to clean up once…but as soon as dad saw…well…that’s where the bruises often came from. He avoided hitting my face and neck, just in case someone saw it and I told them. I should tell them anyway, but then they’d take me to a foster home, and I would have to leave Michigan, or at least I’d have to leave Dayville, Michigan. I couldn’t do that. Op out, it was wrong and hard to accomplish in my ‘family’. Zeek had done it, barley, and only because he managed to find a relative who had moved out of Michigan a while ago, lucky.
My house hadn’t been my home for three years, almost four, three long years of pain, torment, sorrow, and depression. I remembered when mom was alive, how she would chase after Cory and I as we ran about in our underpants, rolling in poison ivy and not caring. I remembered all the times I sat on that front porch and watched cars go by with my mother and big brother as we ate dollar store popsicles in the heat of summer. I remember when I was eleven and Cory curled up next to me in bed whimpering and crying out for help. I remember running to get mom and dad and leading them to my brother who let out a scream of pain. I remember my parents locking me in the bathroom and telling me to hide in the tub and to never come out. I remember Cory, leaving, the day after mom died for college, leaving me alone with this pain and dad.
Sighing I trailed into the house, slowly, knowing what was to come. I sniffed the air as I slid inside and smelt the stinging stench of liquor but it was staling. I also smelled vomit…dad was in the bathroom, I could hear his breathing, deep and slow…he was asleep. There would be no reason to fear him for now. Couldn’t stay, couldn’t leave. What to do? I had stopped thinking about that a long time ago.
I dropped my backpack in my bedroom before going to the bathroom and checking my scrapes. The one on my face was the worst. Blood trickling down my cheek and spattering onto my sweater, I took a washcloth out of the dryer behind me and doused it in peroxide before cleaning it up, getting the blood off my face and making sure it had stopped bleeding. I found some old gauze and medical tape, though it’d probably give me an infection I didn’t really have anything else to use. So I pressed the gauze to my cheek and taped it there, ignoring the sperm donor that was resting beside the toilet asleep as I tended to the wounds on my legs and arms, cleaning myself up before going to my room.
I kept my room spotless, wouldn’t you? If you lived in the place I did? I did the laundry, I did the dishes if I knew I could get away with those last two, I made the food, I took the beatings, and lastly, I deserved each bit. Slowly I looked around my room. My bed, with its purple sheets and blankets a soft green pillow, sat loyally to comfort me in my ‘bad times’ my desk at the foot of it had a ruffled old book that clearly stated ‘Book Of Legends’ on the front. And beside that rested my calendar, the half moons of every month circled, waxing and waning. Those were the days I feared most. My room happened to be barley large enough to contain all my things.
That’s when I heard it. Very loudly, though the bathroom was on the other side of the house. Dad got up.