Trying To Endure

Chapter Four

Trigger warning: sexual assault. 

SONG: Nick Jonas - Jealous

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April Levesque

Edgewater Independent belongs to the Matthews Industry. Unlike traditional private schools, this one's aim is to assist those in need. They deliberately enrol the rich to tax them — flipping the false class consciousness into good use. Recently, they accepted the less fortunate using scholarships. Bodie Banks was offered one due to his talent in writing.

"Oh." Bodie Banks's shoulders sink as if he expected someone else. "It's you."

Overwhelming rage courses me. I want to see this man suffer. Hushed, I turn around—

"Have you seen Derek and Tanner Matthews?" he suddenly inquired.

He presumably wants Derek for the money. From what I heard, Derek gives the biggest amount of cash. Tanner, I'm not sure. "They're not here," I managed.

The sky is brilliant black, angelic and tremendous. The opulent neighbourhood is embroidered with prunus spires, cherry petals blotching the sidewalks like wedding aisles. Not so far away, the city's skyscrapers gleam, soft traffic honking a terrible tune. The night is so beautiful, I crave to have a minute of peaceful loneliness to gather my thoughts.

"Wait!"

Hands frozen on the doorframe, I peer over my shoulder. "Yes?"

His shadow stretches. "I want to talk to you."

My fingers drum the doorframe.

"Please," he begs. "And, erm, don't worry." He tries a smile, and it appears rather genuine and kind. "I won't bite." He cringed, perhaps wondering how distrustful it sounds because it certainly sounds suspicious.

"You expect me to believe that?"

He's briefly quiet, hooded eyes analytical. He looks homeless in a worn-out hoodie and flabby jeans hanging loosely around his hips, exposing a thick line of his boxers as if he bought the wrong size and couldn't afford to get another one, or a belt. Perhaps he doesn't care how he looks. His dreadlocks are tied into a low ponytail, revealing the sharpness of his jaw and cheekbones.

"I understand," he says slowly. "But I'm not the enemy here."

I swallow bitter, metallic, repulsive bile. He looked crazy and sick of need, said Camila. I told him to stop so many times, but he didn't.

I glance at the rooftop. They are too drunk to form a full sentence, let alone help. I want to slap myself. I don't need anyone to protect me. I can defend myself well — Dad is a lifesaver. But if Bodie attacks, is my strength enough?

Bodie follows my hopeful gaping. "Why are you friends with that crowd?"

"I'm not friends with those people."

He cambers his head, dreadlocks falling aside. "Your Prince Charming is." As if on cue, Roy laughs loudly at whatever Rhett said. "I can see why. You attract what you are. Hence, you are who you surround yourself with. Reflections of your subconscious."

"He's not friends with them. He's only talking to them to—to have good connections."

"So no one could piss him off, right?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He lazily shrugs, inhaling the vape. "Birds of a flock stick together." In the light, I distinguish a tattoo creeping on his neck, transparent beneath his shirt, on a shoulder he lifts. "Did Roy tell you about Ishaan Ali?"