The Test

Eleven

The memories hit me like an onslaught, bombarding me with their blinding force. On the way back to the main barn, an unseen hand knocks me down and I fall to my knees, cowering behind a bench in the courtyard, rocking back and forth with no escape from my internal pain. 

He backs me against the wall, arms coming up to block me in, to make sure that the only thing I can see is him, the hatred in his deep-set, piggy eyes, the curl of his sneering mouth, the cruel laughter spewing from it. “Don’t you run from me,” he warns, watching in delight as I shrink back against the wall of the school, nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. “Please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Don’t hurt me.” 

The boy, older than me and built like a linebacker, just laughs. “You’re going to have to beg,” he taunts, still sneering. They’re going to make me plead not to be hurt- take away every shred of my dignity that could possibly be left. I shudder. “No,” I say defiantly, and the boy looks round at his friends and laughs; “Ha,” he mocks. “She won’t do what we say. Well, we’ll just have to make her.”

 His hand pulls my hair, jerking my head up like a puppet on a string. “Go for it, Mike,” he says to someone behind him. A hand rears back and punches me, square in the face. The last thing I hear is their laughter, before I’m falling, down into darkness, before I hit the ground. 

My own screams pull me back to consciousness, and I wrestle against the hands holding me like someone possessed. “Let me go! Please!” I cry, still half locked in memory, and just before the hands around me go slack I realise the face I’m looking into is Luc’s, brow furrowed with concern, eyes haunted. “Anya,” he whispers when I abruptly stop struggling after seeing his face, and I let him pull me into a hug, burying my face in his shoulder, my whole body shaking withterrified sobs. ‘What the hell happened?” he asks, angry. Not with me. I draw back to look him straight in the eye. “Cal kissed me. And tried to feel me up.”

He is pure rage. “What?” I nod. “Oh my God,” he breathes, pushing my matted hair from my face. “What happened to you?” he asks then.

“It…sparked some memories…” I trail off, unwilling to relieve them. “Some boys beating me up in the schoolyard and stuff…nothing major.” I laugh weakly. “You know.” I try for a smile. “Why did we rescue him again?” 

Luc shakes his head and sighs, not looking at me, and my smile dies. I realise a second later that he’s pushed up my sleeve and is looking at the bruise on my arm, a deep throbbing purple in the shape of fingers. I swallow and avert my eyes hurriedly, looking instead over his shoulder. It takes a while for my eyes to focus, and I wonder how hard I must have fallen, since when I woke up after apparently having passed out, I was lying on the ground. When my eyes finally do focus, however, they focus on her. 

“You,” I spit, lunging towards her. I don’t get very far, though, because Luc has pinned my arms to my sides and is forcing me back. “Anya, Anya, stop,” Luc murmurs in my ear, and I go limp. “You’re deranged,” Alina says, disgust in her voice.

I laugh, a hollow sound. “No. Your brother is deranged.”

“Anya.” Luc’s voice is quiet but insistent. “Stop.”

But I’ve only just started. My words blur together in my head, and come out as one stream of mush amid the re-emergence of my tears. 

“And it was all Zach’s fault because he left me without saying goodbye and I got left alone with him trying to find Zach-” 

“Shh, shh, it’s ok,” Luc murmurs softly, pushing the rest of my hair away from my face and gathering me into his arms. “You don’t have to be alone with Cal anymore, I promise. I’ll protect you.”

“I don’t need anyone’s protection!” I scream, trying to push him away. 

A sardonic laugh erupts from Alina. “Hate to break it to you, hon, but you clearly do.” she laughs again. Luc glares at her, but I try to lunge for her once more, opting for more…forceful measures. 

Luc sighs and guides me up to the loft, sitting me down on the edge of his bed and standing in front of me, arms crossed and glaring. 

“What?” I ask, matching his glare. 

He exhales. “Oh, nothing. Just you trying to kill Alina!” 

I’m angry now, as well. “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m such a bad person for wanting to hurt at least someone connectedto the person who hurt me, am I?” I stand up, defiant. “I thought you were on my side.”

“I am.” the answer comes without hesitation. “Always. But - you can’t just do that, you know? You can’t just…attack someone with no warning.”

I laugh bitterly. “Tell Cam that. He did.”

Luc flinches. “Oh.” 

“Yeah. Oh. You can’t have it both way, Lucas. You don’t want me to attack anyone? Fine. Well tell that to the person who attacked me!” I push him hard, in the middle of his chest. “Hypocrite. You. Are. Such. A. Hypocrite!” My hand lifts up to hit him, but he catches it and links our fingers. “Hey, hey, whoa. Don’t hit me. I’m on your side, I promise.” he laughs. “Hey, if you want to blame anyone, blame your precious Zach. He’s the one who started all of this by not saying goodbye.”

“Again, hypocrite. You did that to me too.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I did. But I apologised.”

“Well, Zach isn’t here to apologise, is he?” I huff.

Apparently, this finally breaks Luc’s patience. “Stop defending him!” 

Silence rings around the tiny space, and it’s lucky the door and room are soundproof, because that was so loud people downstairs would be able to hear it. I don’t react. I just say quietly; “What?” 

Luc’s voice is quiet, hoarse; soft simmering anger. “Stop defending him. He’s hardly been here for you. He never defends you. It’s like he doesn’t care about you at all.”

“How dare you say that?!”

“Has he ever once told you he loves you? Ever?”

“No, but-”

“There. He doesn’t love you,” he says, a little petulantly.

“Just because he hasn’t told me he loves me doesn't mean he doesn't love me,” I point out. “In fact,” I say slowly, woods forming in my mouth even as he idea forms in my brain; “In fact, all you’ve ever done is restrain me. You’re trying to stop me being who I am because you’re petty and jealous and - argh!”

I run from the room then, the thought only forming when I’m at the bottom of his stairs: I’m always running rom things. Running from my problems. Running from everything. 

The thought strikes home with its bitter truth even as I run across the courtyard and to the upstairs section of the main barn, down the corridor and into my room, where I fling myself on my bed and start to cry.

~