A Million Hiding Places {Completed}

Prolouge: Before....

Tragedy is never a thing to be taken lightly. It is never one to be selective of its victims; never one to stop and think about who it’s affecting. It lurks here and there. It picks on the weak and the strong. It flitters in and out of every subconscious, bringing up painful memories or pushing forward horrible thoughts. Perhaps it is our capability for making tragedy that makes us human... Or perhaps it is something else?

Our ability for tragedy depends on what we have to lose; how much we put on the line. So I sacrifice nothing, knowing that another blow would kill me; knowing that I am the cause of it all... It stops me in my tracks, just as I am about to get close. And sometimes, I am grateful. But others, I wish and I hope... But I can never bring myself to do it...

Maybe it’s my own silly paranoia? All I know is nothing’s happened in a long time... And I plan to keep it that way.

                                                                                 ~~~~~

Harley

“Harley James!”

My head snaps up from my desk, where I have been slyly pushing my pocket knife deep into the soft wood of the desk, chipping away at my name. I see the teacher out the front, her face red and shining with a thin layer of sweat. I roll my eyes, knowing I haven’t done anything in a long time to deserve that look.

I push the pocket knife back into my sock, wriggling my foot until it falls into place, resting against the arch of my foot. I raise my eyebrows at the teacher. “Yes?” I ask tapping my converse clad foot on the marble floor in time with the song that is stuck in my head. I flick my head to the side, forcing my fringe above my eyes again.

“You’re wanted.” She says, waving a white board marker in my face as she steps closer to my desk. From here I can practically smell the sweat dripping off her body. Her large body blocks my view of the rest of the class, but even I’m smart enough to know that none of them are actually doing their work. They’re all listening, some of them probably recording it, hoping something worthwhile will happen.

“Are we talking in the pants or what?” I ask, smiling up at her. “’cause I’m not into no kinky stuff...”

The teacher shuffles uncomfortably as the class snickers behind her. She clears her throat, her neck wobbling with the movement. “By the principle.” She leers at me, liking (more like loving) the idea that going to the Principal’s office usually means being expelled. When I don’t move, she leans forward further, her hot coffee-smelling breath raking over my face. I grimace and try not to breath, turning my head away from the sickly smell. “Now, Miss James.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going...” Jeez!

I slip off my seat and slide my bag over my shoulder, making my way to the door, swaying my hips as much as possible. I turn at the door, give the class a wink and march out like I’m going for my death sentence. Which I probably am.

The last time I was called to the Principal’s office was the time I got caught slashing tires in the parking lot during third period. I’d had three weeks in-school suspension and a week of helping in the school library after hours. That hadn’t really affected me much; it wasn’t like I’d been expelled again. Marcus and Jodie hadn’t been happy though about getting another call from the school to come and pick me up.

The door in front of me was shut, which was usually a tell-tale sign the person behind it was waiting for someone. In this case, it was me. I walk in, not bothering to knock, before settling myself into one of the provided seats in front of his desk. He looks up, raising his thick graying eyebrows before frowning at me. “Miss James.” He sighs, pushing back on his chair, stretching. He glances behind me, noting that I hadn’t shut the door behind me again. “Shut the door please.”