The school day dragged on, seeming longer than usual. I sat in math class, feeling uncomfortable that just the week before my math teacher had tried to kill me. I shuddered at the thought, squeezing Mason's hand under the desk. The replacement teacher who stood at the front of the class would glance my way every so often, being momentarily distracted from her lesson. Like everyone else in town, she had heard about what happened to me and pitied me because of it. Everyone knew that Mr. Miller had murdered Sophie, and then gone after me in a sick and twisted revenge plot. The only thing they didn't know was why, but none of them were bold enough to ask me. Instead they just stared and then glanced away when I looked at them. As if avoiding what they didn't understand, and unwilling to bring the topic into light.
Maybe I didn't give them enough credit. Despite their fixed stares they were being respectful and giving me the space that I needed to recover. Today was my first day back after all, and while I knew the rumors had been circulating none of them had gotten back to me, yet. My dad had driven me to a therapist two towns over just to be sure that I wasn't going to have a mental or emotional break after what had happened, and to make sure no one would comment on my need for a therapist. They were still always looking for a story, and weren't respectful enough to keep any information to themselves for longer than needed.
Mason on the other hand had been great. All day he had walked me to and from my classes, ate with me at lunch, and now he had switched seats with Brad so that he could be near me in math. I think it was the first time Brad had ever done something for someone else, where he wasn't rewarded in any way. I was thankful because just being in Mason's presence comforted me. I hated to admit it, but it seemed as if he felt guilty for what had happened to me. No matter how hard I tried to convince him that it wasn't his fault, he would never forgive himself. He pointed out that he should have taken me home, and I would remind him that he had offered to take me home while I had turned him down. It wasn't either of our faults because Mr. Miller was going to find any chance that he could to take me. I was just grateful for Mason and all that he had done to help me.
There was no way that he could have known what was going to happen to me; no one could have. Besides, even if he had walked me home, eventually Mr. Miller would have gotten to me or John. I was just happy that it was me, and that I had a way to contact Mason for help. I wasn't sure if John would be that lucky, especially if Mr. Miller had taken his phone as he did to me. Mason should be proud that he had given me the walkie-talkie. It had saved my life, and that's what he should be taking credit for. Not taking the blame for letting me walk home alone. After all, it wasn't the first time he had saved my life either. I was pretty sure that the days he had saved me from being hit by the car on main street were other times where he had saved me from Mr. Miller. Maybe his first plan to kill me had been to reenact the way that his wife had been killed; poetic justice of sorts. When that didn't work, he had to change his tactic. I guess the arrow that he had initially done on Sophie become a way for my mom to know who was doing it, and why.
I shook my head lightly, ridding myself of those thoughts as the bell rang signalling the end of the day. I reached down for my bag, but Mason grabbed it before I could, slinging it over his shoulder with his. I sighed, knowing I could at least carry the bag on my own, but thankful for his action since my wound was still healing, and lifting my bag this morning had caused the scab on my arm to rip open slightly. I stood, and he held my hand firmly in his as we headed out toward the main entrance. I did my best to ignore the whispers of gossip that were floating around us. A few pointed to the bandage on my wrist. I was sure someone had claimed I was a cutter by now and that some of them thought I was going to commit suicide like Sophie. I rolled my eyes at the thought. Rumors were always ridiculously stupid.
All I wanted to do was go home and curl up in bed. I just wanted forget the world around me, and give myself a few moments of solace away from the nosey townspeople. I knew I couldn't sleep lately, and all I wanted was to catch a restful night's sleep and return to my old self, but I didn't see that happening any time soon. I had been wanting and trying adamantly to get a full night of sleep since he had taken me, but I couldn't no matter how hard I tried. I just couldn't get past it. Every time I closed my eyes I thought of Sophie, or Mr. Miller, and each thought became increasingly more disturbing than the next.
I forced those thoughts from my head as I tried to focus on anything else, even the rumors that were spreading like a brush fire around us. Once again someone pointed to the bandage on my wrist, and it started to itch again. My mom said that meant it was healing, but it didn't make it any better that I'd have a reminder of what transpired. While the arrow that had been neatly cut into my arm was now scabbed over, it was still prominent. The cuts had been so deep that the scar would forever be a reminder of what had happened. I didn't want that, but for now I kept it wrapped in gauze so that I couldn't see it. Maybe one day I could get a tattoo to cover it up, but for now I'll have to just keep it hidden from myself so that I wouldn't be forced to relive the emotional and physical pain I had gone through when I received it.
The only thing that made the experience livable was that Mr. Miller was now in prison for murder, and attempted murder for his confession on the cliff. While my mom had gotten some backlash from the confession Mr. Miller had given, it wasn't as bad as I thought. She had supposedly taken the blame for it, but I wasn't so sure I could trust her word after what I had just gone through. I would never know if she was telling the truth, or just keeping a very shocking piece of information to herself. It would take time, but we would see if I could learn to trust her again.
Mason said his parents had worked out their issues with the infidelity, but my parents were still trying to figure out what to do. They didn't want to split up and put John and I in the middle, but I thought that's what was best. I wouldn't be able to move past the lies and deception that my mom had created. Frankly, I only saw it ending in divorce, especially since my dad hadn't come back home except to be with me in the hospital. He was taking a commute between the new place he had gotten for himself to see me, but other than that he didn't stay with us.
I sighed heavily at the thought as we exited the building. The sun was glaring down on us, pushing away the dark clouds that had been covering our small town in rain since yesterday morning. I looked around to see if my dad had come to pick me up, but only took notice of the faces of my fellow classmates as they watched me like a hawk. The weight of their stares made me feel uncomfortable, but I knew that it wouldn't last for long. I was the newest hot gossip, eventually they would move on to something else though I couldn't see anything topping a solved murder case, a Math teacher killing students, and Mason's father and my mother's affair. Maybe one day, but I would always have the reputation as the girl who had survived a psychotic, revenge driven, math teacher. I smiled softly. At least I had survived. For now I just had to stick through the rough patches that came after the attack. At least I had Mason by my side.
Even after hearing what happened to me, Mindy hadn't come to make sure that I was all right. Even though I had been the one to end our friendship, it hurt because if the roles were reversed then I wouldn't have hesitated to make sure that she was okay. It just showed me what kind of friend she really was, and made me all the happier that I had ended it when I did. Though I couldn't stop myself from looking for her, and hope she would at least check on me.
I glanced at each of my peers, and the respective faculty as they shuffled the kids out of school for the day and either toward home or after school activities. Everyone seemed to have a livelier spring in their step now that the sun had come out. The entire day they had been sluggish, and depressed from the events that had occurred. I had heard the shock of everyone around us as they came to offer me their sympathies. I kept my mouth shut on where they could put their sympathies. They didn't do me any good and they all did it to keep face in the town. They were shallow, and demeaning to a survivor, and even worse to Mason. He had been bombarded with questions, followed, pursued, and eventually a reporter broke into their house. He took a bat to the guy, and the cameraman thinking they were intruders; he hadn't been sleeping well either. I think he was just too worried about me.
For now it seemed as if we both were starting to move on. The first step was always acceptance and everything from that was still an uphill battle, but it became smoother as we worked together. Eventually our town would heal, and we'd learn from the experience. We may be a little more leery of outsiders joining our town, but a little caution never hurt anyone. Paranoia kept most people alive, especially when being chased down as the next victim in a murder. If I hadn't been paranoid when this had all started, then I would most likely be dead now.
Though as I looked at those around me, who had already began to heal, I knew it was a farce. I glanced down at my bandaged wrist while Mason and I walked toward home. He was making sure I got home safely now, even though the threat had been eliminated already. I knew he was doing it to keep me safe, but the longer I looked at my bandage, and knew what was hidden underneath, I knew I wasn't safe.
Everyone around us was probably thinking, I'm glad it's finally over, but I felt as if it would never truly be over, and I sensed that Mason felt the same way. There would be constant reminders, such as my scar and the memories of what I had lived through, and there would be stories written about this for years to come, whether they were in the papers or even used in books. Hell, maybe we'd even get our own movie. I let out a breath of laughter at the thought. Maybe then they could figure out what was really going on in our sleepy little town, because the more I thought it over, the more uncomfortable I felt. I had an ominous feeling that there was still more to come, and that once again I would be in the center of it, fighting for the truth and maybe even for my life.