Oliver
I was sleepy all day, so I had only a vague idea what the teachers were talking about during the lessons. Today was the deadline for the literary contest, so I had to finish Eksjö Syndrome last night, and I also had to return Bird Box to the library because someone was waiting for the book - which meant that after sending Eksjö Syndrome, I stayed up until three a.m. to finish the book.
Honestly, first I wasn't even sure I wanted to read it so much, but after fifty or so pages I realized this story was amazing, probably one of the best books I have ever read. It had a very dark atmosphere, and the writing was very straightforward, though it seemed to skip the parts that would have let us know what the characters were feeling. Two of them had a very close relationship, and I expected them to at least say or do something about it after a while, and I felt a strange hollowness when the book ended and there was still no sign, no clear statement about what happened between them.
As if nothing happened at all.
Well, I could say I was thankful the book kept me busy so I didn't have time to think about Mr Morton and his messages, but those two characters' relationship actually reminded me of ours, as non-existing and hopeless as it was. I was lucky that after finishing the book I was so tired I basically fainted. When a few hours later the alarm clock woke me up, I felt an inconquerable urge to throw it to the other end of the room, but then I just rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling for a while.
I was not as miserable as I seemed, I kept telling myself. These feelings I tried to fight down were just temporary, and after a few days I will barely remember Mr Morton. And he can have a normal life, just as he wished, and with whoever he wanted to.
I suffered the whole day from not being able to completely believe it. Elle promised to pick me up after the period ended, but first I had to go to the library, which seemed a good idea, something that could possibly turn my attention away from him.
I returned Bird Box, and decided to look for another book. Or a few other books.
First I checked the New Releases shelves, hoping to find something less dark than my last reads, and there was a book that caught my eyes immediately. It had a strange cover: it showed a forest and a figure that looked like a monster, but we could only see the back of it. I read the description and it turned out the book was actually about trolls, and was written by a Swedish writer. I had no idea how to pronounce his name - it was Stefan Spjut, but after struggling for a while to figure out how I should pronounce the "s" I decided to let it go. I couldn't think of any other Swedish writer I read before, and the plot seemed interesting, so I decided to give it a try.
I walked to the sci-fi shelves, which was in the other end of the library. I loved this place because usually nobody else was around, and the place was like a small living room with tables and armchairs, well-hidden by dozens of shelves. I still remembered how surprised I had been a few years ago when I had found out the library bought most of the sci-fi new releases, even the hard sci-fi books that only a few people read. I picked up books by authors like Hannu Rajaniemi and Paolo Bacigalupi thanks to this library (and the sci-fi fan librarian or librarians who bought these kind of books), so after a while it became my favorite place.
I was wandering around among the shelves with Stallo by Stefan Spjut in my hand, randomly reading the plots of books, but surprisingly I didn't find anything else I wanted to read. I almost gave up when I heard a conversation, and even though I couldn't make out the words, I was surprised someone was here except me.
I stopped, and listened for a while, considering what I should do. I could have continued searching for a book, but it felt strange that someone broke into my "private space", because the main thing I loved about being here was being alone, not disturbed by anyone.
The people's voices became louder, so I finally decided to only pick up Stallo, and I went to the librarian's desk. Or, to be more precise, I intended to go there, but after stepping out from behind the sci-fi shelves, I was stopped by someone. He was way taller than me, and basically pushed me over - I had to grab the edge of the nearest shelf in order to not fall to the ground.
"Oliver, I'm so sorry!" He reached out his hand and helped me regain my balance. I looked up at his face, and I froze.
I couldn't believe it was Mr Morton, not again.
"Are you after me?" I grumbled, freeing my arm from his grasp.
"I was just..." he uncertainly waved towards the classics shelf. "Uhm, I was just looking for a collection of Shakespeare dramas."
Of course, what else would he be looking for? I did the best I could to hide the book I chose behind my back, and I wished with full of my heart it had a simplier cover. Preferably with no trolls on it.
"Didn't you find it?" I looked at Mr Morton who still seemed to feel terribly awkward. I wondered if it was because of the messages he sent, or just because he so didn't want to meet me.
"No, I had to put in on hold," he answered.
I nodded (though I was pretty impressed by the fact Shakespeare was still that popular), giving him the chance to excuse himself and leave. But he was still staring at me, instead of getting the hell out of here. I didn't move either - something that I deeply regretted a minute later.
"What are you reading?" he asked, peeking at the book behind my back. Well, that was the moment when I regretted I didn't escape as long as I had the chance.
"Nothing," I said.
Mr Morton raised his eyebrows. It was such an obvious lie.
"I mean, it's not exactly for school," I corrected myself. I felt sweat running down on my back. Come on, social relationships aren't that complicated.
Well, I can't say Mr Morton made it any easier. Probably it was the first time he looked directly into my eyes since what happened in his office, and he even smiled a little.
I think I was shocked. He looked at me with such an intensity that if someone asked me where we were standing right now, I probably wouldn't have been able to answer. Or I would have said I didn't care. Which was more or less true. Together with the fact that I hated him. I really did, because after what he said, after all those messages he shouldn't have looked at me like that. If you don't love someone, be consequent.
"Oliver, I have never said to my students that they should only read classics."
I guess that was the last sentence I could bear. I shook my head, and looked at him with disgust.
"I'm sorry, but I have to go," I said. "But I loved talking to you."
I sidestepped him, and took two or three steps towards the librarian's desk, but he stopped me with grabbing my arm, and pulling me back. I almost fell over again.
Well, I had a feeling I will never reach the librarian's desk. Longest journey ever. Mr Morton might have read Odyssey too many times.
"What?" I hissed at him. It was kind of strange to hiss at someone who still hold my arm, pulling me way too close to him.
And what about his "we could have a normal life, but only separately" speech? Not even mentioning that we would need an expert to find out whether we were actually separated at this moment.
"I just don't want you to hate me," he said. "Do you think it's normal that we can't even have a conversation?"
Oh, come on. How many times did I hear that?
"What makes you think I want to have a conversation with you?" I asked, frowning. "There is nothing left to say. I just wanted to find a book that I can read in the afternoon, but I wish I stayed at home and watched a series instead."
He stared at me for a moment, probably trying to figure out whether I really meant it.
"I'm sorry I offended you," he said finally, letting go of my arm.
I wanted to leave, and now I actually could have left, but my legs didn't move. That was it? He was sorry? For offending me? He didn't fucking offend me, he made me more miserable than I thought it was possible and now he was complaining for not being able to have a conversation.
"You don't need to be sorry," I shook my head. I felt the urge to say something more, as if I haven't finished it yet, though I had no idea what was missing. Still keeping the Swedish troll-related book hidden, I backed away, then when I felt I was far enough from him, I turned around and basically run to the librarian's desk.
Five minutes later, with the book in my backpack, and out in the parking lot, breathing in fresh air, I felt a little better. I actually thought I will get better.
Since Elle was already ten minutes late, I checked my phone. Maybe she got bored of waiting for me, and went to buy a coffee or something like that.
"Hi, Oliver," a tall guy emerged in front of me. He wore a leather jacket, and I immediately realized he was part of the "troubled" group: students with alcohol problems or even worse, some of them already had a criminal record.
Uh-uh, it never meant anything good if one of them thought you have something to discuss.
"Hi," I answered, trying to buy myself some time. He must have seen on my face that I couldn't recall his name, because he reached out his arm.
"Connor," he said, while I reluctantly shook his hand. "I guess we haven't talked before," he added.
It gave me hope that he at least didn't seem to be furious, on the contrary, he looked at me with almost sympathy.
"Look, I'm sorry I have to tell you, but Elle is sick," Connor continued. "Jack had to drive her home, and he asked me to pick you up."
Uh, okay. It seemed better than anything else I suspected when I saw Connor approaching me, though I was a little nervous about Elle.
"What happened to her?" I asked.
"Jack said it's probably the flu," Connor frowned.
I nodded, but didn't move. My brain just processed the information that Connor wanted me to get in his car, so he could drive me home. I mean, I hoped he was going to drive me home, and not somewhere else where he could dig a hole for my body, and make me disappear forever.
What if Elle didn't even have the flu? What if it was a trick?
"I don't want to cause you any problems," I said. "I can take a bus."
"Are you kidding me?" Connor leaned closer to me. Dangerously close, if you ask me. "What do you think Jack would do to me if something happened to you while you're on my watch?"
I didn't say anything, because I honestly had no idea what Jack would do to him, and I had also no intention to imagine it.
I remembered that I saw Connor many times with Jack, so it actually made sense that he asked Connor to drive me home. Still hesitantly, but aware of Connor's determined expression, I got in his car. He nodded, and opened the door to sit beside me.
"Do you like music?" he asked, but he didn't wait for my answer. He searched among the CD-s, then picked one and inserted it in the CD player. I wasn't too surprised when I heard a rap song that was quite popular nowadays, though I couldn't recall the name of the rapper.
Connor started the engine, but before we could have left the parking lot, someone hit the window on his side. I flinched, and even Connor froze; someone was next to the car, banging on the window.
"What the..." Connor said, and rolled down the window. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" he shouted out.
Someone opened the door on my side, and dragged me out of the car. I heard Connor shout something like "Leave the kid alone!", but it had no effect on the guy who got me out the car. He pressed me against the side of the car.
I could finally see his face: he was at least ten years older than me, wearing black clothes and a cruel expression that didn't promise anything good. A long scar crossed his face from his forehead until the corner of his mouth, making his smile even more scary.
I heard the sounds of fighting from the other side of the car, and based on the fact that Connor didn't come to help me, I had to suspect he was dragged out of the car too.
"Now sweeties," the guy with the scar said. "It's time to talk."
"I don't think so," Connor said. "I fucking don't know you, and I'm not in the mood to make new friendships."
"Maybe you will change your mind," the guy with the scar said, tilting his head. "You do remember Malcolm gave you two days to decide, don't you?"
I had no idea what was going on, but Connor must have been better informed, because he grumbled and said:
"You do remember how to use the calendar, don't you? We still have one day!"
"Malcolm prefers to remind his business partners of their duties, just to avoid misunderstandings." He shot me an amused look. "And I think this boy is cute."
I wouldn't be honest if I said the way he looked at me didn't make me nervous, but I did my best to stop my hands from shaking.
"Are you serious?" Connor asked. "We are in the parking lot of a school. If you hurt him, the cops will be here in five minutes. I'm sure Jennings would be happy to see you again."
"I kind of miss Jennings," the guy with the scar wondered. "He was a great pal, it's a pity he turned out to be a traitor. Since then, Malcolm is a little more worried about the people working for him. I have to make sure that incident never happens again."
"He will evetually run out of people," Connor said. "Especially if he keeps shooting them."
The guy with the scar frowned - I could tell he didn't like what Connor said. Then his muscles eased, and he smiled. That was something I didn't like.
He clenched hia fist, and punched me in the face. I had a feeling that something like that was coming, but I was still surprised how much it hurt. I bent over, but the guy grabbed my arm, not letting me fall to the ground.
Connor shouted something, but I was so occupied with the pain that I couldn't make out the words. Before I could have reconstructed what happened, the guy hit me again, this time in the stomach. I bent over even more, trying to minimalize the parts of my body he could hit the next time.
"I hope the message is clear," the guy with the scar said. "Malcolm is waiting for your call." He raised hia fist again, and I closed my eyes.
I was waiting for the hit, but nothing happened. When I opened my eyes again, I saw the guy looking past me, lowering his fist.
I looked in the same direction, and saw Mr Morton approaching us. I think he quickly measured the situation, and judging from his expression, for some reason he thought it was a good idea to walk to us.
"Is there a problem here?" he said, stopping a few metres away from us. He put his hands casually into his pockets.
Problem? No, I was bleeding for fun. I had it scheduled every Thursday night.
"No," the guy with the scar said with a blank face, stepping away from me. "Absolutely nothing. We were just talking."
"About what?"
The guy let out a brief laugh.
"None of your business. Anyway, we were about to leave." He turned to Connor. "We will see each other. Don't forget what I told you."
They walked back to their car, got in and drove out of the parking lot at full speed. Mr Morton followed them with his eyes, still not moving.
I wiped my face with my hands. My whole body was trembling, and when I looked at my hand, I could see it was covered with blood. Great. So much for my charm.
Mr Morton walked to me, gently touched my face and turned my head towards him. He let out a sound that indicated it looked at least as bad as it felt.
"What happened?" I was not sure he adressed the question to me or to Connor.
"I guess they wanted to rob us," Connor answered, shooting me a warning look. He stepped next to us, and grimaced.
Come on guys, my face couldn't be that bad.
"If they were robbers, why did he say you will see each other?" Mr Morton asked. He still didn't move his hand from my face, and I started to feel a little awkward about it, though neither him nor Connor seemed to notice it.
"I don't have a clue either," Connor raised his hands in defense. "This was the first time I saw these guys."
I was pretty sure that was not true, or at least not completely true, and I saw doubt in Mr Morton's eyes too, but he probably decided to leave it like that because he nodded and turned back to me.
"We should put some ice on it," he said. "Otherwise it will get even worse."
"I will take care of it after driving him home," Connor nodded.
"You are not going to drive him anywhere," Mr Morton said in a surprisingly harsh tone. "I don't think it would be a good idea after what happened."
"I already told you I have nothing to do with that," Connor argued. "I can take him home safely."
"No. We will find some ice for him, than I will bring him home," Mr Morton said. "I don't want any more trouble today, not even by accident or thanks to people you claim to not know."
Wow, did he mean he was going to find some ice in his office? For a moment I didn't know why I was unable to breath: because of the pain or because of what he said.
Oh my God, I was worse than those annoying characters in romance novels.
"All right, if you think this is the best solution," Connor said, but he narrowed his eyes as if he really didn't like the idea. Jack was probably a terrible boss if he was so unwilling to alter the plan.
Mr Morton took my bag without a word while we were walking back into the school building. When we reached his office, he fished out of his keys from the pocket of his jeans, and opened the door. I didn't even dare to look into his eyes, so I just sat down at his desk, and waited until he got some ice from the refridgerator that stood between his and the chemistry teacher's desks.
"It might hurt a little," he said, pressing the ice to my face.
I hissed and tried to back away, but he leaned forward and kept the ice on my face.
"A little?" I murmured.
"I'm sorry, Oliver, but without ice it will look awful." He paused. "Did you know the people who attacked you?"
"I have never seen them before," I said, skipping the part where the guy with the scar mentioned someone called Malcolm. According to him, Connor knew Malcolm, so he must have also had an idea about why I was beaten up, but I didn't think it would be wise to start talking about Connor's and Jack's issues. In case I wanted to keep the rest of my face.
"I think that's enough," I said, trying to move my head so the ice wouldn't touch it. It was at least as painful as getting punched.
"You should leave it for a few more minutes."
"Okay, but I can hold it, I'm not sick or anything," I said.
"Someone just beat you up," Mr Morton said. He stepped back, but I could still feel how tense his body was.
"I noticed," I said.
He stared at me, as if he was trying to figure out if I was mad at him. Then he turned away, and grabbed my backpack. Before I could have said a word, he opened it, and pulled out Stallo.
"Hey, that's mine!" I protested.
"I'm just taking a look. You were hiding it in the library, and I was curious why."
"Then you should ask me," I snapped at him. "Isn't it what normal people do? Average people?"
He stopped reading the summary of the book, and stared at me with disbelief.
"Are you really using my words against me? You may like it or not, but what I did was right, Oliver. And I don't want to start this conversation again."
"Me neither. The only thing I want is to go home."
"Your face needs a little more time," he said, turning his attention back to the book. "Trolls? Seriously?"
"Yes, and I also read about mermaids. When I was younger, I even thought Edward Cullen was hot."
"Is it... a joke?" he seemed confused.
"No," I shook my head. "I think you are a little like him. Your nose." I touched my nose, which proved to be a bad idea because it hurt like hell. And it didn't even made sense since I had no idea how my nose looked like momentarily.
Mr Morton's face darkened.
"I haven't even heard about this writer," he said. "Stefan Spjut... He must be Swedish or something like that."
"Yes, he is Swedish," I nodded. "I would offer to lend you the book, but last time it didn't really work out." I could have been prouf of myself, because there wasn't even anger in my voice. If I thought it over, there wasn't really any emotion in it.
"That was me," he said.
"What?"
"I lent you that book."
"Thanks, my memory is good enough to figure out that," I snorted. Most of the ice melted by now, so I threw the rest in the rubbish bin, and got to my feet. "Would you take me home?"
"Sure," he said, putting back Stallo into my bag. He looked at me frowning when he handed it back. "But I wanted to ask you something."
"What?" I guess I was a little freaked out.
"I'm almost completely sure that Connor knows the people who attacked you. I believed you when you said you have never seen them before, but there is still something I don't understand. Why were you with Connor in the first place? I saw when they dragged you out of his car."
Uh-huh. That was a hard question. I hesitated, not sure I should tell him Elle and Jack were a couple. He would be even more surprised by that than by me sitting in Connor's car.
"My sister dates one of Connor's friends," I said finally, after realizing I didn't give a fuck what he thought.
"Jack?" he narrowed his eyes.
"How do you know?" I stared at him. I was so shocked that for a moment I even forgot how badly my face hurt.
"I saw them together a few times," he said. "I was a little worried about Elle. I could never imagine her with someone like Jack, and I don't think he is a good influence for her."
"I'm pretty sure my sister is not an idiot, she can chose who she wants to be with."
Mr Morton sighed. He looked tired, which I found funny because it was me who was rejected, then didn't sleep more than two hours and got beat up in a parking lot.
"I'm sure of that, Oliver. The only thing I'm saying is that you should be cautious."
"Who? Me or Elle?" I was more than confused.
"Both of you," he met my gaze, and it finally clicked in my head. Holy crap, was he thinking about two couples?
"Connor is not... I'm not..." I stammered. "Elle was supposed to drive me home today, but she got sick, so Connor offered to take me home. That was all. Though why any of this would be your business I have no idea."
He looked relieved. "I thought..." he started, then stopped as if he realized it wouldn't be a good idea to finish the sentence.
"What did you think?" I looked at him questioningly.
"I was afraid you did something unwise because you were disappointed."
"Disappointed by what?!"
He tore his gaze away from me, not able to meet my eyes.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he said.
"If you really think I would date someone like Connor who is not even interested in boys just because you said you don't want me, at least be brave enough to say it out loud!" I realized that I was yelling at him. "And no, I'm not disappointed. I'm over it. I'm over you."
He pursed his lips into a thin line, but didn't say anything. He picked up his car keys from his desk, and headed to the door.
I followed him, thinking about whether it was a mistake to say I was over him. Maybe it was.
And it sure was a lie.
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