Leather and Strawberries

4

Charlotte

She was glaring at me.

I kept my gaze fixed to my science book, trying my best to look anywhere but the girl behind me. I turned around in my seat, flashing a glance at her. Damnit. "What?" Taylor hissed, her eyebrows pulling together. A blush crawled up my neck, "nothing," my eyes dropped to the floor.

I stared at my notes, attempting to make sense of the symbols scattered into the page. Usually, I was a great student and could keep up with any topic though I didn't answer many questions. Taylor's eyes burned into my back, I shifted uncomfortably, my ears filled with white noise making it impossible for me to concentrate.

A paper ball dropped onto my desk.
I unwrapped it, smoothing it out, it read:

your friend payed me a little visit.
-taylor

What did she do?
-Charlotte

basically accused me of being a bitch.
-taylor

Are you?
-Charlotte

To that I got no response. I tried to focus on the lesson but all I could picture was Taylor's green eyes staring into mine when I saw her behind the bike sheds. I knew I was a lesbian but I'd never had a girlfriend. My mind wandered to various girls in my class. Vicky? That brought images of going to parties with her and hangovers. Definitely not. Brooke? Netflix and chill, long make out sessions. Maybe. Taylor? All nighters, beach walks and debates. The thought sent a little shiver of pleasure through me. Wait what?

The bell rang, jolting me out of my confusion. I scrambled to stuff my books into my bag, I dashed out of the room, my cheeks red and my heart beating unnaturally fast. Shit, fuck, shit. Finally coming to rest in the school library, I thumbed through various novels, trying to decide on something to read.
"I figured you'd be here."

I turned, my back pressed against the book shelf my breath hitched, "Taylor," I breathed. She fiddled with her bangles, "I wanted to talk to you," she confessed. Nervously I peeled away from the shelf, coming to stand next to her. I awkwardly folded my arms, "talk." A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth before it smoothed back into her usual frown.

"Do you think I'm a bad person?" The question came out in a rush.
I flinched, "no."
"Liar," she didn't sound angry, more defeated.
"I don't know anything about you," I protested.
"Exactly. That's the issue."
"What do you mean?"
"Do you know what people say about you?"
"W-What?"

She thrust her face close to mine, "they call you the freak. The crazy girl. They say something happened to you last year, what did you go through Charlie?"

I stepped backwards, shocked at her abbreviation of my name and her expression. It was soft, almost like she really cared. I forced myself to turn away from those tantalising green eyes, "I think Eli was right," my voice shook, "you really are a bitch."

I barged past her and sprinted down the stairs into my best friends arms. My breath came out jagged, I couldn't breathe, couldn't see through the tears streaming down my cheeks. Images flashed behind my eyelids, food in the bin, tape measures, vomit, scars. I cried until my throat was raw and I had no more tears to give.

"It's okay," Eli whispered into my hair, "everything's going to be fine."

But it wasn't and it won't be. Nothing will ever be okay again.