When I wake the next day, I feel deflated. Not only because of my fight with Jake, but because today is Tuesday, and Tuesdays are therapy days.
It isn't that I don't like the concept of therapy. I think for some people it works well.
But for me, I hate it.
I hate the way my therapist, Muhammad, looks at me. I hate the squeak of the leather chair every time I move. I hate the smell, and the silence, and the way people seem to think that therapy and everyday life are separate entities; that if I reawaken old wounds there, they'll stop throbbing the moment I leave.
The thoughts make me groan and I slide from bed and pull my uniform on.
I can hear Peter's heavy tread in the kitchen, Sylvia's melodic humming travelling down the corridor, echoing and then cutting off with the click of the bathroom door. The hairdryer starts up and I throw my clothes on more frantically, spurred into hyper speed by the possibility that I could leave the house before Sylvia emerges again.
In a few brief minutes, I'm ready, and I grab my bag and thump down the stairs, yelling a quick goodbye to Peter as I barrel past, his grunt of surprise muffled as the door closes behind me.
When I reach the end of the street, I slow, drifting beneath the shade of a tree near the bus stop to wait for Jake.
The sun is already burning, sweat condensing along my spine, and I squint against the glare, hoping Jake will appear soon.
Two buses pass before he does.
His bruises have grown worse overnight, making a storm of his skin, and I can't help but grimace when he reaches me.
"What?" he snaps.
A group of boys from school are leaning against the paint-chipped aluminium seats, their eyes raking over Jake with varying degrees of curiosity. I shoot a glare in their direction before replying.
"Are you sure you want to go to school today?"
Jake tries to roll his eyes, but they're so swollen that the movement only makes him flinch.
"We're already at the bus stop."
I look at my feet, kicking at the dust.
"We could wag. Head into the city."
Jake stares at me, and the words he screamed last night ring through my head.
"I'm fine," he says, voice tight. "Stop worrying about me."
I try not to notice the complete lack of life in his voice, try to blur out the reds and blues and greys that swirl across his skin. Crafted shapes of violence.
He'd wanted this. He'd wanted worse than this.
"Are you—"
The bus pulls up and Jake pushes past me, jumping on. For a moment, my head rushes, my vision blurring with despair. But I just turn and follow him, hoping that whatever darkness had wormed its way into Jake's system will leave soon.
...
"Claudia!"
I've just stepped off the bus, Jake following behind, when someone calls my name. I look to the right and find Aleisha walking along the footpath.
She raises her hand, waving hello, and I can see an albino patch running down the inside of her arm, bright against her dark skin.
"Aleisha, hi," I say, somewhat flustered that she's acknowledged me, let alone remembered my name. "How are you?"
"I'm good."
Her eyes focus behind me and I follow her gaze to find a curious Jake glancing over my shoulder.
"Is this your brother?" Aleisha asks.
"Yeah. Aleisha, this is Jake. Jake, Aleisha."
"Wow," Aleisha says, eyeing his bruises. "I see why you jumped the fence yesterday."
I grimace, expecting Jake to redden with anger, but he just stares at her, and I can tell from the way his brows furrow that he's about to ask something completely and utterly inappropriate.
"What's wrong with your skin?"
Yup. There it is.
I'm seriously considering inviting Lewis Kozak over just to change the subject, but before I can, Aleisha replies.
"I have vitiligo. It causes the loss of skin pigmentation. I'm Indian, so it's more obvious on me than it is for some others."
Jake's still staring, oblivious to the laser-gaze I'm attempting to zap him with.
"I've never seen anything like it before."
Aleisha shrugs.
"I know it's ugly, but I've gotten used to it."
Her voice is calm, smooth like water, and it makes what she's said somehow so much worse.
Jake jerks like she's dumped a bucket of water over his head, and his eyes saucer as he realises how inappropriate he's being.
"Oh, no. I don't think it's — I wouldn't call it — It's interesting. I like it."
Aleisha smiles, no accusation on her face as Jake continues to stammer.
"Okay," I interrupt. "We should go, Aleisha. We don't want to be late."
I grab her arm, directing her away from my dumbass of a brother before he can say something even worse, but then I turn back to him.
"Please be careful today," I say under my breath, hoping I'm not pushing the barriers he's set between us. "Please."
And then I fall into step beside Aleisha, walking around the corner to the entrance to the girls' school.
For a while, we walk in silence, and I'm beginning to worry that Jake has offended Aleisha beyond repair when she speaks.
"Your brother's face looks really bad."
I glance at my feet, kicking a rogue tuft of grass.
"Yeah, he didn't have the upper hand in the fight yesterday."
Aleisha nods, her gaze far away. "I'm sorry. It must be hard to see someone you love like that."
The words are tranquil and heartfelt, and I let myself bask in them.
"It is. It's his own fault, though. He hasn't dealt with the move here well. Neither of us have, really."
"I know what you mean. Having to move cities is never easy, especially after something traumatising."
There's something in her voice that makes me suspect she's talking from experience, but I don't want to push it.
"By the way, Jake wasn't trying to offend you back there," I say. "He was just curious. He doesn't really have a filter."
Aleisha gives me a tired smile.
"Don't worry, he didn't offend me. I prefer it when people ask. Usually, I can see people wondering what's wrong with me, but they say nothing. It's frustrating."
"Oh." I look at my feet, flashing back to my reaction to her yesterday. "Did it bother you that I said nothing?"
"No. There are different looks. Some people look disgusted, others sympathetic. You just looked."
I glance away, thinking of the burns running up the left side of my torso, wondering if I'll ever accept the parts of me that society deems imperfect, the way Aleisha clearly has.
"I don't think it's ugly, by the way," I say. "And Jake doesn't either, I could tell. You shouldn't presume that's what people are thinking."
Aleisha smiles at me, but there's something sad behind it. "Well, you're both quite unusual then, because normally, I'm right."
I open my mouth, about to protest, but we've reached the school gates and Emmy has spotted us and is running over.
"Hi ladies," she yells. "Look at you two bonding. So cute! How's Jake's face, Claudia? Have you seen Lewis's? It looks awful! We have to do a distillation in chemistry today, by the way. I hope you're good at them, Claude, because I am not."
Emmy reaches us and she shoves her way in between, linking her arms with both of ours. Aleisha and I glance at each other over her head and smile, letting Emmy lead us into the school, chattering the entire way.
...
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- Skylar xx