(Chapter Image / Summer)
The following night, I had trouble sleeping.
I was tossing and turning, a horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach as I recalled someone's face, their smile, the way they looked at me.
Who was it?
I just don't know. I could see their green eyes and hair right in front of me, yelling at me, telling me over and over again that they know!
What do you know?
I sat up, cold sweat on my head. I pressed the back of my hand to my forehead, and was disgusted when I felt the beads soak the minuscule hairs on the back of my hand.
I looked around me, and the room was empty, apart from my room mate, who slept soundly on the single bed beside mine.
I got up, walking along the creaky floorboards and to the bathroom, where there was a clock on the wall.
I walked in - it was nice and cool. The window had been opened wide, probably by my room mate.
I was thankful for that.
I locked the door behind me and walked to the centre of the room.
I stared down at my backpack, shoes and coat, all neatly placed in the bathroom's corner, ready for when I would make my great escape.
From here, from the city. From everyone.
I looked at the clock. Eleven p.m, well past everyone's bed times, even the oldest kids in this rotten place.
I glared at the room around me. Gleaming white. It was obvious that me and my room mate got onto our hands and knees to scrub around.
It was time for me to leave, but not before I got some things done.
I lifted the loose tile at the back of the bathroom, where a small book lay.
It was hidden for a reason.
If anyone ever found it, I -
A soft knock on the door interrupted by train of thought.
It was my room mate, Sally. I recognised her voice. I mean, who else would it be?
"Yes?" I called back, quite quietly.
She spoke back. "Are you okay?"
"Yes. I'll be back soon." I said, bluntly.
I heard her shuffle away. "Oh, okay."
She was so nice to me.
I heard her bed covers shuffle and her head hit the pillow.
I then crouched back down to the lifted tile space when I was sure she was gone, and picked up my little book.
"Why are you making that crying face all the time?"
Iza pulled a sour face at me when I asked her this, as if I was crazy.
"Crying face?" she responded. "What, do I look like I'm sobbing?"
"No," I said. "You just look sulky all the time. What's the matter now?"
She genuinely looked offended. I knew, however, that she was hiding something, as she lowered her head and pulled her bag right up her back.
We trailed under the pink trees, and I stopped her.
"What is it?" I asked, my hand stopping her from taking another step.
She looked up, eyes blank and dull. "You really want to know?"
I responded sharply. "Why do you think I'm asking?"
She exhaled slowly through her nose.