Trying To Endure

Chapter Fifty-Two

SONG: The Neighbourhood - Sweater Weather

Trigger warning: references to sexual assault, self-harm, suicidal thoughts.

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April Levesque

I calmed down, felt mortified and told them I cried because of Mike. My body is drained of tears. Good. I can't be asked to cry again, and my head hurts too much.

In Psychology, Derek and I sitting next to each other, a grouped roar vociferate in the hallways. The protest started. A couple of our classmates stand, their chairs squealing and crashing to the desks or walls behind, startling neighbours and the teacher. They unravel posters, mounting the tables, holding it up high, my illustration flapping in the entering breeze. At the front, Rhett and his mates curse in irritation.

The protesting classmates unzip their jumpers, exposing shirts printed of my art. They leap off the tables. The teacher hollers at them to not move. Ignoring, they wrench the door open, the cries, objections and yells vibrating inside. The protestors, of all colours including the fair, bypass us. I catch a glimpse of opposite doors opening, teachers stepping out to see what the commotion is.

"Piss off," Rhett hollers at them. It is too thunderous to hear his insult. "Man, they need help. Camila was hurt and they're not accepting the truth!" Sensing my stare, he gyrates, his lips curling into a sinister threat of repeating the threat. I unconsciously cup my neck. "You're a feminist, April."

"Yeah," taunts Hunar. "You think this is acceptable?"

He's trying to rile me. I ignore him, focusing on the elapsing protestors.

"What's the matter?" he taunts. "Something on your mind?"

Lips tremble, my eyes smoulder. Are they still pinning me to the ground, crowding me, laughing around me, laughing above me?

Derek plays with his pen, judging those boys. "Being a feminist is being human," he retorts. "It means you have common sense, which is clear that is what you are lacking. Perhaps you should consider that as a reason for doing so shit in your exams."

He swerves to me. "I am going to join them. I do not like the idea that a prison guard killed him. Bodie had the right to a fair trial, both alive and dead. Would you join me?"

Go on, Miles's eyes seem to say, give another reason for me to say hi. Revisiting Derek, his broad shoulders sag, disappointed. Mr Ahmed ripostes, commanding Derek to stay. He grabs his bag, swinging it over his shoulder and merges with the protestors, five students duplicating after.

I don't feel safe. Not when Rhett keeps grinning at me. Not when he is in the same room as me. Hunar winks.

I felt it soaking through his jeans. Fire scorches my throat and lungs. They tore me apart. There were eight of them — or eleven? I need my friends. I chuck the books into my bag, heaving it up and storming out of the classroom, calling Derek's name. Where did he go?

The enclosing pack of wolves, the enclosing pride of lions. I zig-zag through the humanoid labyrinth, searching for my friends, my brother, Derek again. Signs beautifying the ambience, sweat trickles down my neck — every person I crash into holds Bodie's face, a reflection of the dead on the living, the whisper and hiss of his ghost.

It broke me so much—My tears of pain are tears of shame. Somehow, that is more excruciating—I don't understand how I can break down all over again as a day passes.