The Outcast

11- Faint

MY CHEEK HAS a large bruise on it.

I touch it hesitantly, wincing as my fingers brush lightly over it. You'd think it would he better by now. I mean, it's Monday today.

It's been three days since I got this bruise, three days since I spoke to Jordan.

Five days since Louis asked me out.

And around six or seven days since I last ate properly.

The aggressive, constant rumbling in my stomach has faded to a dull ache. Always there, but not as bad. Just, in the distance.

I don't own foundation so I can't cover the bruise up.

"Mum?" I call hesitantly

"Yes sweetie?" she asks, poking her head in

"Do you have foundation?" I ask

"I do but it's not really your colour." She says doubtfully

"But mum, I can't go to school with this on my face." I groan, gesturing to the huge bruise on my cheek.

Note to self: if dad is ever sober again, convince him to take up boxing because he can punch damn hard.

"You can try it honey but it won't look good." mum says

She gets me the foundation and I try it.

Two problems:

1- it hurts like hell to brush it over the bruise and

2- it really doesn't suit.

Oh and it's raining. Just to add to my problems.

"Look, why don't you have the day off?" She suggest

"What? Alone, in a house, with dad? After this? No thanks." I scoff

"Suit yourself." she shrugs

"I'll just say... I ran into a tree?" I say

"No. Say you were hit with a ball or something if you want."

"Okay, I'll say that."

"Bye sweetie." she says, kissing my forehead

"Bye mum." I say before turning back to rub the foundation off

-

When I reach the front door, dad's there too, waiting.

"Hello." I say coldly

"Cass, what happened to your face?" he asks, reaching for the bruise

I flinch away.

"You don't remember?" I ask, pushing past him and walking out

"No." he says

I turn around on the driveway and face him. He's sober, for once. And can't remember what happened. But I can.

"You happened dad. You punched me." I snarl, tears pricking my eyes

I turn and walk up the driveway, not turning back.

I hope guilt rips him to shreds. But it probably won't. Why feel guilty when a few beers will wash away the pain completely?

The rain is cold and pelts into my back, soaking my crumpled, white school shirt.

When the bus arrives I'm soaked to the bone. I trudge onto the bus. I flop down in an empty seat and ignore the giggles coming from the year seven bitches at my soaked figure oh, and t bruise proabably.

I plug my earphones into my phone and start listening to Mess Is Mine by Vance Joy.

It's halfway through when an earplug gets plucked from my ear. I whip my head around, ready to crush the annoying twelvie who thinks they're funny when they're actually being an annoying bitch.