Black Diaries

02. First Blood

Later, other people—like my parents, his parents, and a series of school psychologists—told me I shouldn't have done what I did. They told me that Sam had to go to a special clinic, because my actions had caused something called "scrotal hernia."

Personally, I rather liked the sound of the term "scrotal hernia." It had a certain ring to it. But when I laughed out loud at being told the news, my parents sent me to extra sessions with the school psychologist.

"Maybe that will teach you to suppress your violent impulses and behave reasonably, young lady," my father told me, sternly. He didn't seem to find scrotal hernia funny at all, for some reason. Parents! They have no sense of humor. Still, for their sake I tried to suppress my liking of the term.

A pity, really, because other than Sam's scrotal hernia, I didn't have much to make me laugh these days. I was a blubbering mess.

"Cassidy! Get out of bed and to school now! You're already half an hour late!"

I ignored my mother's voice and crawled deeper into the safe little cave I had built under the mountain of cushions and blankets on my bed. No one would find me here. I could roll up into a ball and let my broken heart bleed out in peace.

"Cassidy!"

God! She knew I hated to be called by my full name! But she still did it anyway. Clamping my hands over my ears, I tried to shut her out and find some measure of peace. It didn't work for long. Through the blankets, I heard the muffled noise of heels clacking over my bedroom's wooden floor, and a moment later, my protective shield of blankets and cushions was ripped away.

"What are you doing there, Cassidy?" my mother demanded. At least I supposed it was my mother. All I could see from down here was a gigantic mother-like figure looming over me threateningly. "You're not still bothered about your tiff with that boy, Dan?"

"Sam," I mumbled, shielding my eyes against the sudden light. "His n-name is S-Sam."

"Yes, yes, of course. But you've got more important things to think about than some boy from school."

"Dammit, don't you think I'd like to be able to not think about him?" I half-growled, half-sobbed. "It's just... why do boys have to be such assholes?"

"Mind your language, young lady! Get dressed and go to school right away!"

As you might have noticed, my mom isn't really the understanding type.

It took a few weeks, but eventually, I stopped crying. After a little more time, I stopped thinking of a certain pair of deep green eyes, every time I saw a green traffic light. When Sam returned to school after the end of his therapy, I found I could actually tolerate him being within a hundred miles of me without bursting into tears. I didn't even feel the need to give him another scrotal hernia. Tolerating him was made easier by the fact that the first time we met in the school corridors, he turned white as a sheet, clutched his crotch protectively and ran away in the opposite direction.

That was the first time I smiled again for weeks. Really smiled.

Dan and Sam's other soccer buddies wouldn't speak to me anymore, of course. Neither would most of my female friends, which I thought really unfair. Over time, though, I found new friends, and realized that even after Sam, there was still a reason to go on living.

And I found out how right I was about that the day I met Matt.

❤☠❤☠❤☠❤☠❤

"Hey. Is this seat taken?"

I looked up... and up... and up... till I finally reached the face of the boy standing beside my desk. Though "boy" was hardly the right word. Though I bet he wasn't older than seventeen, with his strong chin, and light black stubble covering his cheeks, he looked like a man already. His eyes, thank God, weren't green, but rather as blue as the summer sky, and just as brilliant. They drilled deep into me, to the very core of my soul.