As the adrenaline rushes from my body, leaving me cold and shaky, I half wonder if I’ll need to puke by the time I make it to the bathroom. I never was able to finish my lunch.
Aside from the nearby custodian, a few teachers make the trek between offices, classrooms and their lounge. Not a single one even bothering to notice how roughed up I am, much less stopping to ask if I’m okay. The occasional stray student I pass here and there ignores me just as adamantly.
I want to scream out, “Haven’t you heard!? The Elites won! They made their point! And now I’m working with them! You can admit that I exist again!”
It’s just as well. I’d rather not be seen in my current state. But then…
I feel a sudden hard tug to my side as another body pushes past.
“Watch where you’re going, cunt!” A guy spits at me as his shoulder bumps into mine.
Wow, I guess word does travel fast. Guess I’m out of exile after all. Which is a relief, but I don’t know if being held hostage as a bargaining chip in my father’s charades with the Elites is any better.
His choice of words are ironic, I think with a half-hearted chuckle to myself. I actually don’t have to watch where I’m going anymore. The Elites are doing that for me now.
The reality of it is daunting. Wherever I go, they can find me. There’s no escape now. No retreat. No hope of losing them. They can show up anywhere at any time and continue my torment.
For the first time, I notice all of the safety signs around the halls. Yellow a-frames cautioning for wet floors. Print outs alerting us what to do in case of fire, flood or tornado. Even a few posters warning of the dangers of unprotected sex and STDs.
But nothing that could have prepared me for any of this. Nothing that tells me what to do to stay safe from the Elites. And from my father.
Once inside the bathroom, I don’t even bother looking at my reflection before bending over the sink to take in handfuls of cold tap water. It’s stale, but anything is better than this dry, hot, iron taste. Toilets gurgle with refilling water behind me as I look across the pink soap specks dripping down the sink.
The simple task of washing my hands becomes meticulous and important. Any small little chore to make me feel in control. I move through the motions slowly and carefully.
Fucking absurd. I glance up just enough to notice my hair sticking out in every direction, matted into nests. My skin is blotchy and bruised around my bloody, ripped uniform. And here I am, washing my hands of all things, like it’s the most important thing in the world.
Get it together, Ophelia. You’re cracking. Don’t let them get to you.
When everything falls still and silent again and I’ve turned off the faucet, I hear the faintest whimper from the corner stall.
“Hello?” I call out timidly, convinced whoever it is won’t answer me anyway. I’m too newly released from exile.
Two feet appear with a plop under the stall door as the lock slides slowly, faintly covering the sound of sniffles. Finally, the door opens, and I see Lilly standing there with black mascara circles under her bloodshot eyes. Her cheeks shine with wetness under the fluorescent lights.
As upset as she looks, I know I have to look worse. And I’m kind of glad. I can’t help but feel angry as I remember the way she ignored me right along with everyone else. I had my ass beat when I stood up for her, and she couldn’t be bothered to do the same for me in return. I hope my bloody and bruised image makes her feel remorse.
But she stands there frozen and blank, not saying a word, and I can’t tell if she’s angry with me or just afraid.
14
Chapter Fourteen
The moment the Elites left me, I slowly sank into a pit of numb hopelessness. Too overwhelmed to fully feel anything. But now that Lily is standing in front of me, my heart surges with emotion. Hope. Maybe she can help. Whether she can or not, I need to talk to her. She’s the only one who can even begin to understand any of this.
I contemplate telling her everything. All that I’ve learned about my father and his ties to the Elites. How they think I am somehow their key to getting him to leave them alone.
I can feel the desperation rising too quickly in my hot chest. If I pounce on her like this when she’s already upset and hasn’t been speaking to me for over a week, she’ll shut me out. I have to tread lightly. Handle this carefully.
I calm myself down and focus. My hand reaches for the faucet again, turning it on to muffle my voice as Lily walks over to the row of sinks. Her movements are rigid, her head and shoulders pointed straight ahead as she tries to avoid eye contact with me.
“You ready to talk to me yet?” I offer, extending my hand to give her some paper towels.
She snatches the crumpled tissues from my hand, huffing toward the mirror without a word. “That’s the last thing I need to do,” she barks.
“Why? What are you talking about?” I ask, blotting my own bloody lips. “What did I ever do to you?”
“Oh, absolutely nothing, Ophelia,” she sings in a resentful, sarcastic hum. “You’ve only ruined my entire fucking life!”