Chapter 18 | Cat Fight Alert
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After Noah had taken me home yesterday, I had snuck into the apartment successfully, making a quiet run for it to my room. He'd also told me to give him my fathers set of keys to the Jeep and a key to our apartment for the time being, so I did with little hesitation.
Ever since then I've locked myself in the room, sitting down on the bed and staring at nothing. I am normally one to pace when stressed, but right now my body isn't up for that. So, by default I am forced to sit while my mind races the speed of light. I have so many questions running through my head.
Who was that guy?
How did he find me?
Did he have a motive to do what he did?
Should I have ignored Noah and my ignorant self and told the police?
Soon enough an hour had passed. My stupid alarm rings annoyingly, signaling for me to get up for school. I had been awake the whole night, so it doesn't really do much.
I know today is guaranteed to be a horrible school day. If my muscles hurt as much as they do getting out if bed the entire day, I'm sure it will takes years to get to each of my classes.
I could try convince my mom to let me stay home, but I can't. Something would slip and she would ask for a reason why and be all nosy. I already know I can't keep a secret, so my big mouth would tell them with a mind of its own. It doesn't have a filter.
With a strangled sigh I get up, and almost immediately Noah's shirt drowns my body down to my upper thighs as I stand. I spread my arms out, momentarily gazing at its comical appearance on me.
I can faintly smell his essence in its fibers, but I don't allow myself to bask. Carefully, I pull it off my body along with the basketball shorts.
I know I can't put them in the dirty clothes without my mother noticing, so for now I just throw them under my bed. After I change into loose sweatpants that won't irritate my battered skin, and I'm about to wear the only crop top long sleeved shirt I own to cover my cuts when my eyes notice something folded on my dresser.
Curious, I limp over to see what it is. A note lies on top of it, reading in neat, slanted handwriting: Wear this, you uncultured swine who only owns a single long sleeved shirt.
I stare at the slip of paper, intrigued. How did he know I only own a single long sleeve? I mean, I guess it's a little obvious if you look into it. I came from Florida and I wouldn't have worn that stupid crop top if I had something longer to cover my stomach. But still, it's not something I'd expect him to remember.
I fold the note and slip it into my pocket, then divert my attention to what I assume to be a shirt. When I pick it up and unravel it from it's neat folds, I'm looking at a white Champion T-shirt. It has the logo on the right upper side of the shirt and the letters Champion are written on the right sleeve.
Unable to contain my smile, I pull it over my head. It's a better fit than I imagine it to be and sure enough covers every battered inch of my skin. The sleeves are even a little extra long, so I can pull them over the punctures on the palms of my hands.
There's nothing I can really do with my face. They're some minor scratches, but if anyone asks I will just tell them some lie I'd create on the spot. I know it's a bad idea, but I also am aware applying makeup will be extremely difficult if I can barely move my arm without soreness bursting in the throbbing muscles.
While opening my mouth into a big yawn, I quietly open my door and pad into the bathroom. When I see myself in the mirror, I'm shocked, reeling back at my reflection in disgust. I knew I looked bad but I didn't think I looked appalling.
My hair is completely frizzed, and fragments of leaves, burs, and dirt are still present in the long strands. To complete the super model type look, underneath my eyes are very prominent dark circles, screaming that I need sleep.
I knew I looked like I just crawled out of a sewer and rolled in damp brown dirt―which half I basically did― but my tired self doesn't give a care. I just brushed out my hair the best I can manage and throw it into a messy bun.
"Kirsten, hurry up!" Yells my mother from the kitchen. I respond with a groan, but do grab my backpack and walk down the hall to the door. I try my best to conceal my limp, knowing if she notices it I'll be questioned until I'm blue in the face.
As soon as she saw my tired face, she raised her eyebrows before shaking her head. "Next time, no friends over when you have homework," she says in a stern, familiar motherly tone I have grown accustomed to over sixteen years.
"Yeah, yeah," I mumble. My eyes involuntarily close as I walk out of the apartment, but they soon snap open as I'm hit with bitter air. It awakens my sluggish mind for a moment, and in that second of awareness, I remember something important.
I didn't get the chance to double check Noah brought the car back. If he didn't I'm so dead.
At that very moment, my mother decides to walk out of the apartment before me. I shrink back and wait for the millions of questions she has in store for me if it's not there, but instead she strides completely past me and down further into the parking lot.
She turns her head to check if Im coming as she walks over to the car that thankfully is parked relative to the same spot it was before I left.
"Are you coming or staying there sleepyhead?"she calls.
I really want to stay home and lie in my bed for the rest of the day, but as all actors say the show must go on. "I'm coming," I reply croakily.
*****
As soon as I walk into the school, I know something's off. Even my sluggish senses can pick up on the whispers and nods going my way, more than usual that is.
"Hey," squeaks a soft voice from beside me. I lazily turn my droopy gaze to it. Carolynn looks at me pitifully while raising an eyebrow.
"Didn't sleep well?" Her strawberry blond ruler straight hair sways on her back as we walk to my locker, brushing my arm a couple times.
"Nope," I grumble through another yawn before roughly running a hand down my face. It be great if I could make a solid minute without yawning and keep my eyes open without the strain right about now. The coffee I made sure to drink this morning didn't help, and now thinking about it, I'm pretty sure I accidentally made my mom's decaf.
"I like your shirt. Oh, and where did you get that scratch on the corner of your lip?" She questions quizzicaly, her profound eyebrows arising.
"I fell and landed on a pile of burs. Graceful, I know," I reply bitterly. I leave it at that, purposefully not going into depth. She doesn't need to know why exactly that happened.
She cringes, giving me a pitifull expression. I think she's about to say something else, but at that same moment Taylor scrambles towards us from somewhere in the hallway beside us and is in between us in an instant. She almost slams into me before she skids into a stop.
"So did you guys actually do it?!" Both of her hands fly to her mouth, muffling an audible gasp. "I didn't even know you liked him, but I mean he is kinda hot. I get it."
I look at her as if she had taken a bite down the middle of a Kit Kat bar. "What the heck are you talking about Tay?"
"You know, it," she replies in a whisper.
I throw my hands up in the air, slightly annoyed. "Wow you really clarified everything with those three words."
"Victoria is freaking because of this. Like freaking," she continues, as if she hadn't heard my sarcastic comment.
After realizing I'm probably not going to get anything from this worked up Taylor, I turn to Carolynn as we make it to my locker, giving her an exasperated expression. "Do you understand whatever she's talking about?"
She nods solemnly, biting her lip anxiously. However, she doesn't elaborate.
Trying to stuff down the rising irritation due to the inability to wring whatever they're talking about out of them, I bite my tongue and slam my locker shut. I pivot and face them with crossed arms, but before I have a chance to coax more information out of them, I notice the gradual accumulation of people around us. I'm clueless as to why until I see the off-brand Meghan Fox strutting our way, meanwhile shooting me a death glare.
Of course. What is it this time?
It doesn't take long for me to put the pieces together. As Victoria walks closer, I notice she has something clutched in her hands, a crumpled piece of fabric.
It is a dirty, worn out, pink hoodie.
My dirty, worn out, pink hoodie I wore yesterday at Noah's house.
"Kirsten!" Victoria screeches, nostrils flaring as she finally reaches me after her little cat walk.
Instinctively, I rear back away from her, causing an oddly wicked smile to spread on her lips. It quickly disappates however, morphing into an malevolent sneer as she remembers why she's here to yell at me.
"Cat fight alert," someone mutters, a randy hidden in the throng of spectators.
"How dare you! You are a filthy homewrecker, you don't know how to keep your hands off of him! I thought it was clear that he was mine, but I guess you decided to ignore my generous warnings to stay away," she thunders.
She leans forward with each word she said, and from my angle I can see a vein protruding from the side of her neck from the effort she puts into saying the words.
I lean away, expression a mix between disturbed and puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
"Don't play stupid. I know where you got that scratch from," she persists, blue eyes bulging out of their sockets as she gives me an overpowering glare.
"I'm not playing stupid, I have no idea what you're talking about."
She rolls her eyes, probably not buying my story.
"Everyone here knows you slept with Noah," she says, so vehemently spittle flies in my direction.
Her sentence doesn't register for a hot minute. I'm too focused on the disgusting substance now on my shirt, trying to rub it away with my fingers.
"Say it, don't spray it," I mumble. After that, I hear a couple giggles from the crowd that must think this is a reality TV show.
"What are you? A little kid? You speak like an idiot," she retorts.
"Well how else can you understand me?" I snarkily comeback.
With a gasp of outrage, she pushes me by my shoulder. I'm not expecting it, so I have no time to save myself before I roughly stumble into my locker, which emits a loud crashing sound. I grit my teeth, trying to fight off the complaints of my aching body as I recover.
I'm not in the shape to fight with her. As much as I hate it, I'd lose if I give into her wants.
I take in a deep breath, recollecting myself from the anger threatening to take over my inhibitions. Then, trying to be the bigger person, I sidestep her and try to walk away from the situation.
Bad move. She refuses to let me leave, kicking at my thigh to rouse me. Her pointy stilettos hit better than she thinks, for she hits right in the center of my injured thigh.
I can't control what happens next. My leg gives out on me, and soon I'm face to face with the floor as my body slams with it's hard surface.
By now I'm fighting to keep a flow of tears at bay. My leg is in agonizing pain, and I'm pretty sure she reopened the scab.
It gets worse. An unexpected blow hits me right in the waist, making the part of my body as well explode with pain.
I don't know how these people know to kick me there, it's almost as if I ironically have a flashing neon sign over my bruised waist saying, 'THIS IS MY WEAK SPOT, KICK ME HERE!' With any more luck I would have a broken rib.
I can hear Taylor and Carolynn yelling at Victoria, but by now I'm writhing in pain, eyes squeezed shut. I don't know what's happening. The room is spinning and I'm fighting the urge to vomit.
But then I hear Victoria gasp.
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