WHEN I TOLD Patrick I had a 7pm flight, let's just say it was the first mention of my departure. To anyone.
After Retribution de Patrick, I made my way to the car park with Marc at my side. Our arms would brush occasionally, hinting at a double-edged attraction on the verge of becoming something potent. That was when Marc popped the question.
"What did you mean when you said you had a 7pm flight?"
I didn't deign to reply at first. I wanted to take in as much as I could before I left this town for good. Central High was something I'd known all my life, along with the people who frequented the institution.
It was a plain building - nothing out of the ordinary, but it was a functional one. It focused on convenience rather than aesthetic value. I'd spent a huge portion of my teenage years at Central High. I could call this place home, but it wasn't quite. It certainly had its shortcomings, but it also had its quirks. And I grew to cherish them.
The skies were like dishwater, murky. It filled our guts with foreboding.
"What did you mean? Are you leaving?" Marc pressed.
I let out a shaky breath. "Uh huh," was all I could manage.
A long beat of silence followed. "What? Where?"
I finally turned to look at Marc - which was a gigantic mistake on my end. Because I'd conveniently forgot how my heart can sometimes be a peach to Marc the fruit knife. I could feel tears pooling in my eyes, not disimilar to the way they pooled in Patrick's eyes, moments prior.
"What the fuck," Marc went. Firm hands grasped my shoulders, imposing something of a death grip which pressed against my collarbones. "Are you kidding? What's happening? I have so many questions. Andie, talk to me."
"I'm leaving, there's nothing to discuss." I wanted to sound strong. But all I managed to accomplish was to sound pained.
"Why the fuck did we just terrorize that little girl for then?" Marc sounded bewildered, like he couldn't wrap his head around what he just did. It had this unspoken 'what the fuck did I waste my time on' undertone. It was scary. My heart thrummed - Marc was so big sized - in that moment, I felt what Patrick might have possibly felt.
I gulped. "To teach him a lesson."
Marc's laughter was so sardonic, mirthless, it raised a lump in my throat. "Teach him a lesson? Fuck, I can care less about what he does to anyone. I only did those things back there for you. Everything, Andie, everything is for you."
"I'm sorry."
"Do you begin to fathom how much there is at risk, for us?" Marc went on. He was furious, but he was manically grinning. It was the worst possible combination.
"We're troubled kids with criminal records. If the authorities so much as find out what we did, we get expelled. Do you understand? But I figured it'd be well worth it, because I thought we were a team and we'd endure shit together and I naively figured it'd all be worth it in the end. Is this a hard concept for you to grasp?" Marc asked. "Now ask yourself this. Why the fuck did I go through so much risk just now, if you're going to up and fucking leave? Not just me - I'm talking about me and all my friends."
I didn't know what to say. I have never heard Marc say so much at once before.
"I don't give a fuck about what the kids do in school, but now I gotta watch that your Patrick cunt doesn't spill beans so I wouldn't get in trouble for helping you 'teach him a lesson'."
"Marc," I pressed my lips into a tight line. "I wasn't the one who made this decision. Up until last night, I didn't even know I was leaving."
He heaved a heavy sigh, broad shoulders slumping down. "Whatever."
And then he was gone. Marc walked with this swagger to his gait, one that added to his appeal and his overall manliness. I stood on cemented floor, watching his retreating form. The first raindrop fell on the tip of my nose.
Then the second, and third. And very soon, I was a lonely form in the car park amidst the heavy downpour.
✖️✖️✖️
I resembled something of a drowned cat when I stepped through the front door.
"Andie," my mother greeted, her features painted the color of shell-shock upon gleaning my physical state. "Did you not have an umbrella?"
I sighed heavily. "Let me take a quick bath. I'll be down in twenty."
My house was luxurious, it was bathed in grandeur. I lived with polished granite, crystal chandeliers, along with mirrored hallways reflecting mahogany picture frames displaying entrapped moments. Fresh flowers adorned our end tables, Persian rugs, Vietnamese porcelain and our Grecian themed garden existed as a testament to how 'wealthy' my family was.
It wasn't something I'd ever complained about. Up until last night, I'd underestimated the power of money when it came to uprooting people from lives they'd known for 17 years. The future that tomorrow promised was a daunting one, but I was learning to expect the unexpected.
I definitely took more than 'twenty' in the bathroom. It showed in my mother's impatient facial expression. Her hands shook when she poured tea into two teacups. I gingerly took the seat across her.
"When I first held you in my arms, I had high expectations. Perhaps more so than the ones you imposed on yourself," my mother started.
I blew gently on my own tea, not daring to intercept my mother.
"But even adults can learn a thing or two," her eyes met mine. They were blue, electric, and cold - like ice. It was a different temperature from the blues of my own irises. Marc always said my eyes were like the ocean.
My mother's voice became slightly strained as she continued to speak. "In any case, the past is in the past. It's not somewhere I want to revisit."
"I'm sorry, Mother." I gulped.
"We try our best to fix our past, and we look nowhere but the future. I'm not the best mother around, I'm hardly there for you - but Andrea, I try my best to be. Our mistakes don't define us, it is our future that defines us. This is why I think it would only be suitable if we transfer you to a better school."
"Thank you, Mother."
"A school that would place you amidst people of your kind. One that is renowned for upholding stringent virtues, on top of birthing individuals with self-respect and respect for others. I pray and I hope Richmond Park Academy would be sufficient to curtail your wild streak."
"Thank you for giving me the opportunity to grow, Mother."
My mother offered me a tight lipped smile. "You can thank me when you finally yield good grades and form connections with people who will help you in the future. This isn't entirely your fault, we as parents should have foresaw the incompetency of public schools. We can only hope you grow to be a useful individual to society with what little time you have left in school."
"Yes, Mother. My flight is in an hour."
She again, smiled. "María has already brought your luggages to the car. There is no rush, Andrea. Your father's private jet can and will wait."
"Let me at least change into something nicer," I smiled back.
My mother's smile did not waver. "By all means."
Conversations with my mother was always suffocating. Air beyond the dining room was fresh, rejuvenating and not at all polluted with the cloying sweetness of my mother's perfume. I could see where my mother was coming from. My father and her, they wouldn't have climbed to such great heights if it wasn't for their 'dispel the weak and work towards greatness' ideology.
I didn't know what to expect at Richmond Park Academy. When Mother highlighted that I would be amongst 'people of my kind', she really meant to say that the school fees were overpriced, hence Richmond Park Academy filtered out poverty-ridden scum. I didn't know what to expect.
Throughout high school, I avoided the middle-to-upper class like plague. If there was one thing I learnt from living in a rich household, it gets old. Thus the past few years of my life saw me in acquaintance with the downtown kids. It was the term adults used when referring to kids with inevitably fucked futures.
But these downtown kids, they were accepting. They took me in during my darkest times. And I became the likes of them. I found in them sincerity, altruism and solace otherwise absent in the bourgeoisie demography.
My parents lost their minds when they found out I'd been draining my bank account to fund activities like betting on cage fighters, gambling and purchasing an Ecosse Superbike (something my parents had sold upon knowing of it's existence).
As part of my transformation (read: punishment), Mother had consulted Grandmother (read: most anal, most religious, most conservative woman on this planet) for advice. Grandmother who came over last night, took one look and shook her head.
Quote, unquote, "Her clothes must go. Along with that ridiculous hair color and her cosmetics. God made us in his own image. To adorn your physical attributes with nonsense like 'cosmetics' and 'piercings' is a direct slap in both your parents' and God's faces. Her androgynous nickname must also go."
I walked into my house as just 'Andie', dressed in streetwear, features caked and contoured to perfection with make-up. I was an attractive individual, one with an aura of mystery that piqued the interest of most males on school grounds.
I left my house as Andrea Schaeffler (namesake of Saint Andrea the martyr), plainest Jane in town, bespectacled and freckled for the first time in over a decade. Grandmother - bless her soul - had gone shopping for my new clothes. This was another thing money could do, it could change your entire wardrobe in a day.
I resigned myself against the leather seats of the chauffeur-driven SUV. Perhaps, it was time to stop fighting. If this was what maturing felt like, then it must be time to be a less disappointing version of my parents' daughter.
So I resolved to change. For the better.