The Rules of Survival (Mercer #1)

RoS Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

I spent the rest of the day holed up in the girl's bathroom.

Not because I was fearful of Rafe and Diego descending to finish me off in the halls between classes, but because I knew Mr. Jacobs would be on the hunt. One look at the state of me was all he'd need to confirm my involvement. The only doubt I could see him experiencing was over whether I'd wreaked all of that havoc alone, or with help.

The bathroom was dank and reeked of stale sweat and weed. I wouldn't be surprised if there was enough second hand smoke lingering in the joint to give me a slight buzz. Graffiti covered every flat surface – the mirrors and sinks, toilet stalls and doors; even the linoleum floor was intemperately decorated.

Tags ranged in color and intent, some displaying heartfelt messages like I'm going to fuck Jose over winter break while others weren't so feel good, such as Julie Kingston = new species of whale. Wobble, baby, wobble. Something scribbled in black ink beside the mirror drew me closer. I realized I was staring at an old list of names under the header TOP TEN GUYS I'D DO. Number one on the list was Justice Montoya. Kalen was on there too, at number five.

I snorted in derision. Justice hadn't even attended Lincoln, and the last time he'd been enrolled in any high school was when he was fifteen. Somehow him making the cut didn't surprise me in the least. I wondered if he knew he was the object of many girls' fantasies.

"Not that his ego needs the extra stroke," I muttered under my breath, and started the arduous process of cleaning myself up.

My tattered shirt was a lost cause; less white, more muddy brown and bloody red. I stripped it off and used it to mop up the blood smeared across my face. The stinging cut above my left brow was still leaking, fine ribbons of crimson threatening to run into my eye.

Please don't need stitches, I chanted over and over in my head.

I wet a corner and jammed it up against the cut, hissing as the sting intensified. My head was positively pounding, the ache so fierce it was making me squint. My free hand roamed gingerly over my scalp. I was amazed I had any hair left. Cruz had been going at it like an aggressive housewife would attack her weed infested garden.

The fingers of my right hand were swollen and uncooperative, and my ribs were so tender breathing was something I was actually conscious of. A split lip and a bruised cheekbone completed my inventory of visible injuries. There wasn't much I could do about the bruise or my lip, but I was hoping if I parted my hair a certain way and left it down, it would at least cover the horrible gash.

By the time I stopped the persistent dribble of blood from my brow the final bell was ringing. I cleaned my dirty arms as best I could, tossed the shirt into the overflowing trashcan, and made a face at my wet, grungy jeans and v-neck tank top. I couldn't wait to peel them off and throw them out as well.

With my hair partially covering my left brow, I dashed from the bathroom and made a beeline for the exit, not stopping until I was out of the building, past security, and on the footpath where I coincidentally collided with Mycha. He was peering into the throngs of students, and it became obvious he was searching for me when I elbowed him in the ribs and he nearly fell over in shock.

"You are going to be the death of me, I swear to God," he fumed, his entire face drawn into a severe scowl.

I'd never seen him quite this angry. Not even when Scout broke his Rubik's cube by throwing it out the bedroom window in a tantrum when they were younger.