My Love, My Drug, My Release

Chapter 51: The Secret's Out

It's amazing what you can do when you don't have any other option. When I woke up the day after the party, I felt worse than death, as depressed as I was dehydrated- lips cracked, throat raw- but I didn't want to gert up, didn't want to face the world. Eventaully I did, crawling out of bed and stripping out of last nights clothes, slipping into an old, holey t-shirt and sweats. 

Paul had already left when I came downstairs, pouring myself some cereal. Linda was eating and omelet at the table, staring off into space. I wondered if she knew what her husband had done last night, or if he'd managed to spin some spectacular lie. 

"How are you feeling, my love?" 

"Shitty." I waited for her to respond, but she didn't, eye glazed over. "I don't want to go back to St. Peter's, not ever."

"Well you have to."

"Please don't make me, mum," I begged, sitting down across from her."

Linda sneered, the expression jarring on her usual kind features. "You think you can call me your mother and make me do whatever you want. You're a master manipulator, just like your father, and just like Paul." She inhaled and exhaled shakily, taking a long drink of orange juice I could tell she spiked with vodka from the potent smell. "The school year is almost up; once exams are finished, we'll discuss sending you somewhere else for Year 11."

There was no question in her voice, no room for discussion or debate, and I returned to my room. My anxiety kept me pacing well into the night, and I didn't fall asleep till it was almost time to wake up again. I knew I wouldn't be able to do it, couldn't face Rosemary and Gally and Thelma. I'd vomit up a kidney if I set foot on that campus.

And yet I did- he car felt like a hearse, my uniform like a shroud- but I made it, and it was worse that I could have ever imagined.

Since Saturday, it seemed the whole school had learned what I was, what I'd done, and they veered away from me like I had leprosy, whispers following me everywhere I went. I tried to catch a set of friendly eyes in each of my classes, but found none; I'd never felt more alone.

"Still haven't found a suitable length skirt, I see."

I stopped short as I entered English class, the block I dreaded most since I sat next to Gally, looking at Mr. Grant with wide eyes. He hadn't said a word about my uniforms since I found out he was Denny Laine's cousin, and I couldn't imagine why he'd brought it up now of all days. "I'm sorry sir, as I've said, this is the longest option they have in my size."

He approached me, lifting up the hem of my button-down to reveal my skirt's rolled up waistbands. "It might be regulation if you unrolled it."

"It's too big, it would fall down, then I'd certainly be out of dress code."

The class snickered, and I couldn't help but smile, relishing that, for at least a moment, the masses were on my side. Mr. Grant, sensing he'd lost the favor of the room, gestured for me to take my seat, but not before muttering, "See me after class."

I trudged towards the back of the class, sitting next to Gally as always. He didn't look up at me, didn't acknowledge my presence, scribbling away in his book. I planned on waiting until after class to talk with him, but I couldn't take being so close to someone I'd cared so deeply for, someone I'd hurt possibly irrevocably, without doing anything.

I passed him a note reading: Are you upset with me?

He looked up, blue eyes narrowing with a cocktail of emotions, rage and disgust chief among them, before passing a new note back: Yes.

Obviously he was pissed, I'm such a fucking moron. What can I do to make it up to you?

Nothing, leave me alone.

I'm sorry I cheated, but I care about you.

He read the note slowly, nostrils flaring, before scribbling a reply so aggressively I thought his pen might tear through the loose leaf, before passing it back to me. The paper nearly flew off my desk due to the force with which he chucked it at me, but I snatched it up at the last minute, unfurling it hastily: I don't care that you cheated on me, I suspected you were sleeping with someone else for a while, it's who you slept with that upset me. The fact that you had sex with a girl isn't just disgusting, it's immoral, it's sinful.

Bile shot up from my gut to my mouth, but I swallowed it down, the bitter taste making me shudder. I looked over at Gally, expecting him to be back to ignoring me, but instead found him glaring, upper lip pulled back with revulsion. This was the last thing I'd expected him to say. He didn't care that I'd cheated on him, he hated that I was gay or bi or whatever I was. 

I could compartmentalize people hating me for the myriad of stupid decisions I made. I know I hurt people with my actions, but it felt strange to imagine hurting people just by existing, that my very identity could be offensive.

As soon as the period ended, Gally made a beeline for the door, and I didn't attempt to chase after him. He made his feeling quite plain, and I didn't the power or desire to sway him.

"Lorraine," Mr. Grant said, gesturing for me to join him at his desk.

Ugh, I'd almost forgotten about my English teacher's reignited vendetta against me. After everything I'd already gone through today, I didn't feel like dealing with him, but I didn't have a choice. "I'm sorry about my skirt, sir, but it's not my fault they don't make ones for girls my height."

"I don't care about your uniform, Miss Foxwell."

"Then why did you make me stay after class?"

He leaned in almost conspiratorily, but the gleam in his eyes let me know he wasn't on my side. "I know your secret."

My teacher had been at Paul's party as Denny's guest, so it made sense he'd know about my lipstick on Thelma's mouth. Judging by the speed with which the news of my sexuality spread through school, I'm sure all the teachers knew. "I'm into girls," I said flippantly. "Who cares?"

"Not that secret, the other one, the one concerning your step-daddy."

The bile came up again and this time I couldn't swallow it back down, bending over to spit up a mouthful of hot, acidic fluid into the bin, hacking up a bit of drool and wiping my mouth before standing, meeting Mr. Grant's eyes. He didn't seem to care that I just vomited in front of him, leaning back against his desk, lips pursed, amused. "Who told you?"

"That doesn't matter."

"What do you want from me."

"I'm not sure yet," he said with an effortless shrug as though he didn't hold the fate of me and my family in the palm of his hand. "I haven't decided yet, but when I figure it out, you'll be the first to know."