Chapter 8: Chapter Seven

I didn't even have the energy to beg Irene to not make me go on that trip. I couldn't muster up the words, I was so tired. Instead I fell on the floor in front of my room, Milk danced a little as he saw me and ran into me, looked up at me and stared for a moment, shoved his snout into my chest, and then looked up at me again. Sometimes I felt like he could see when I was sad, that he was concerned.

Colby came out of his room and saw me, blinking. "You alright?"

I nodded because I didn't have the energy to answer questions.

"Okay." He nodded. Glanced at Milk and then at me. "I don't think mom brushed his teeth this morning, she had too much to do."

I nodded, realising as I wiped my hot face that I was crying.

He didn't know what to say, I realised, he was younger than me after all. His big brother was sat on the floor outside his room crying. Embarrassing.

"Want me to brush his teeth?" He asked, shifting uncomfortably.

I nodded and finished petting Milk before slowly getting up.

Milk struggled for a moment, unwilling to follow Colby, which I appreciated more than I should have. He barked loudly and Colby sighed, taking him to the toilet with him. "Come on boy, let me brush your teeth."

Each room had a toilet connected to it, like I said we weren't poor exactly, but we still weren't the kind to have money on hand to pay for things, we didn't get an allowance we had to ask for money and guess who was less likely to get any?

In the past I always had to get Colby to agree with buying something I really wanted so that he would ask Irene instead. One time I'd heard Irene from upstairs, get irritated with Colby and sigh loudly. "Stop letting Elliot manipulate you into buying useless things. Don't listen to him." And Colby had come back upstairs and simply shook his head, and after that wouldn't ask for me anymore.

I wiped my face with my hand and headed into the toilet. Afterwards I put my hands on the counter, where the sink was, where the mirror faced me, and looked at my reflection.

Half of my face was red, like someone had slapped me over and over, and my ear had scabbed over. Other than that I only had the fading bruise on my face from before.

I looked at the razor on the counter.

I picked it up and felt my blood begin to run cold as I fiddled with it, eventually breaking it to remove the blade.

It was thinner than I thought, and more flexible.

My eyes filled with fresh tears, so that they stung and blurred my vision.

I put it against my skin but couldn't push. It wasn't that I didn't want to die, it really wasn't, I was just so afraid of dying.

So afraid of dying that my hands shook, and I opened my mouth, screaming out a silent scream, I never made a noise but I was in agony.

Please God, strike me down, let me feel a blast of lightening take me out, wipe my existence out of this earth. Stop my thoughts forever. I want peace. Please God. Please. If you exist, please. Please take me away. Please do something, anything. Don't make me live this life.

I looked at my blurred reflection in the mirror and licked my lips, left the razor on the counter and went to bed.

Didn't undress or brush my teeth or wash, just curled up under the covers and fell asleep before I could drag another unhappy thought to the surface.

Sadness felt like a cold weighted blanket on my skin, wrapping itself around me, freezing me.

~⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣~

The three days after that weren't easy even though comparatively they were pretty quiet.

It might have just been laziness but I felt myself becoming increasingly more fearful of going out, even just to take the trash out.

It was stupid really, I got bullied at school but the worse it got, the more afraid I was of leaving the house, as though the guys that messed with me were everywhere, hiding in my front garden and in the trees.

One day I'd be bound to this room, the failure of the family, fulfilling everyone's prophecy for me. I would curl up completely inside myself and burn out the rest of the world. I wouldn't leave the room ever again.

It almost sounded blissful. It would probably be a relief to never have to talk to anyone again, no more disappointment.

Even taking Milk on a walk became harder for me.

But I still went to school. I still want to class. And in the corner of my vision watched them chuckling off to the side of the class, watching me with looks that showed so much inconceivable pleasure in my being marginalised and humiliated.

Even though they didn't do anything for a while as the trip loomed ahead like a nasty blister waiting to happen, I still felt tense, and when I went home, I still felt sad.

It was like it was ingrained in me, to feel humiliated and mournful when I headed back, so that even if nothing notable happened I would still felt the weight of the long walk home, every step dragging along the uneven concrete slabs.

I argued with Irene again, begging her, honestly begging, that she let me stay in a hotel or something, that I could stay at a friends house instead. She knew as well as I did that I didn't have any friends, no one had the guts to stick around me for long, and became frustrated and pulled my father in to tell me I was going and that was that.

I didn't tell them about being sellotaped to the desk, I couldn't tell anyone because the shame lit me up from the inside.

I sat for a while and wrote in my diary the morning before leaving.

The world is a bad place. No one really likes anyone. It's not just me alone in it. Everyone pretends to be happy, pretends to like each other, pretends to be kind when they'd sell you to the wolves in a heartbeat.

Sometimes it seems like the only way to make friends is to drag other people down, make them hurt and take pleasure in hurting them, make them suffer. If I died they could all laugh about it, or somehow make it their macabre secret and bond over it like they were the main characters in their own black and white graphic novel.

It's cold outside and I hate it there. What if I go to university and they're like that there too? What if they're worse?

And I still won't have the guts to kill myself then. Because I'm so afraid. So scared. Save me, someone something somewhere, save me. I can't save myself.

Milk wanted to play while I wrote, and kept shoving his toys at me, angrily huffing as I didn't do anything with them.

I couldn't tell if he just wanted to play or if he was trying to distract me, if he saw the tears welling up in my eyes, hot and stinging.

He kept following me to the door and climbing over the baby gate to try to follow me to school, that was a habit of his but he was trying extra hard the past few days. Maybe he knew something was wrong when I left the house and came back exhausted and worn out, or maybe he felt like I wasn't giving him enough attention and wanted to hang out more.

I nuzzled his face against mine before leaving for school, and fed him extra treats, Milk was the only one that deserved that.

~⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣~

On the day the trip I brought snacks.

They knew why I'd brought them. When they came up one by one and grabbed from the plastic corner store bag, casually grabbing the contents and taking it back to their seats at the back of the coach, I didn't move and barely acknowledged it.

When Patrick came up and lingered for a while, then grabbed my backpack, opened it up and grabbed my energy drink, I didn't say anything to him either. Sat and waited for him to leave, looking down at my book. He didn't go though, and eventually I looked up at him.

He smiled, a weird smile.

I didn't react, didn't want him to see the fact that I was both sad and angry and both of those emotions were not working symbiotically together, but instead clashing with wild bursts of energy, playing a game of tug of war in my mind, racing each other, battling with no end in sight. Was I more angry, or was I more sad? Did I want to roll over and simply give up and let people walk over me, or did I want to punch him until his face looked like he belonged in the Avatar.

He stood there for a moment longer, then turned and headed back to his seat without a word.

The coach stopped about ten minutes in to sort something out with some of the luggage in the compartment below the vehicle, there was the general assumption that they were sorting out the weird banging against the side of the bus.

I hadn't realised Victor was on the bus until it stopped and he got up to switch seats, tossing his backpack over his shoulder casually, moving through the central path.

The coach was pretty packed, it wasn't the large kind, and although I was relatively sure any kid Victor asked to trade with him would have traded he seemed to be looking for an empty seat, of which the only one was next to me.

He looked a little unsure as he noticed the empty space between me, hesitant, and I felt myself curl up a bit inside in embarrassment.

He had to weigh the pros and cons of sitting next to me, because for most people no matter how high up the food chain you were sitting next to me was a sure-fire way to get crisps and other things pelted at you from all sides for a laugh.

Victor was different, he wouldn't get that, but if he hung out with me enough I knew they'd start to see him as prey too, I was sure of that.

I devalued everyone around me.

After a moments deliberation he approached, smiled and pointed at the seat. "Empty?"

I nodded, a brush of butterflies inside as the guy sat down, his arm brushing up against mine. I glanced at him, and then looked away, then looked at him again when I thought he wouldn't be looking, secretly admiring just how handsome he was, and was met with a slight glimmer of a smile in his returning gaze.

I cringed inwardly, heart beating a little fast. "Um, why did you change your seat?" I asked, my voice was quiet these past few days.

I made my voice sore because I cried real hard when I got back from school after the tape incident, like a four year old girl I wept into my pillow and balled up my fist at the wall, I really wanted to punch it but I thought it through, through my anger and tears, and considered that they might see the marks on my fist. Maybe the boys would realise I'd punched a wall from that, or the teachers would think I'd punched someone. Then again I might just break my knuckles.

I was full of anxiety lately, it felt like it was humming around me, a thousand voices constantly glittering in the dark.

Even an action as spontaneous as punching a wall felt impossible, like I was frozen in place. Always fearful.

"My seat was wet." He looked at me. "I didn't realise until I put my coat in my backpack."

Something about the way he looked at me made me feel weird and I shifted nervously, looking away. I was concerned that my face warming up meant there was a flush showing on my cheeks.

"Oh okay."

He scoffed. "Got a problem with me sitting next to you?"

I looked back in surprise. "No!"

He relaxed, a knowing smile on his lips as he leaned back and looked down at me, we were a mostly similar height but his his head was tilted back a bit. "Okay cool."

I felt anxious and giddy with him next to me, so I stayed alert while he watched a show on his phone, occasionally peaking over to look at it.

He smiled and took off an earphone. "Wanna listen?"

I shook my head fast. Share earphones with him? I glanced around the bus, they seemed preoccupied, but the attention would be on us fast if we did that. Good as snogging in this school I swear.

I fished out the last remaining snack I had, some crisps, and offered them to him tentatively, feeling shy.

He didn't notice at first, saw them, took his earphone out and frowned. "That's yours don't worry."

I stared at him.

He opened up his bag and pulled out a party bag of crisps and held it up, "Got some." He laughed, reaching over to ruffle my hair.

My face remained hot red for the rest of the coach ride there, which was about a thirty five minute ride in total, but long enough for it to begin to come off as unnatural, staring with laser focus out the window, one cheek pressed against it, trying to remind myself of how absolutely depressing it was to be looking at the one guy I knew for a fact had a girlfriend.

~⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣︵⌣~

The coach arrived and everyone got off, the boys at the back leaving first, pushing in front. Victor got up and left but I sat and waited for everyone to leave before getting off, and as Patrick moved passed I was startled to see the absolute death glare in his eyes.

A glare that seemingly came out of no where, when he was apparently relaxed before and chilling like normal, now he seemed like he was suddenly ready to murder me. I pressed my lips together and looked down. Jesus that wasn't a good sign.

We were separated into the two groups like Mr Gardener said, and apparently he'd lived up to his promise of making sure I wasn't in Patricks group, even better, Victor was the other group leader.

The camp captains, as they called the employees, that were in charge of us were pretty young looking, one of them a lady called Emma Baring, which was proudly displayed on her patronising comic sans nametag, and a guy who stepped up to introduce himself as Brian, adamantly insisted we use their first names and proceeded to just smile broadly at us while she spoke and nodded every time Emma sought confirmation.

It started with a long droning explanation about how and why the place was founded while they took as on a tour of the camp, showing us around while she recalled almost certainly made up stories of broken friendships mending and the weakest kid learning how strong they could be at the camp, and the historical significance of various things

I felt a hard shove from behind as the teacher was taking us a little way into the woods where there was a lake that looked more like a very large pond, technically correct I supposed, with a bunch of do not swim and do not feed the ducks signs. If there were any ducks there weren't anymore, maybe they shouldn't have put up the sign.

The land changed in height quite a bit, and there was a moderately high bridge next to it

The land around it was muddy and I almost slipped twice, I nearly slipped off the path when I felt the shove, and hurriedly moved toward the front where she had stopped to speak, the students crowding up to her.

"Now this is a very special lake, and it's hard to see that without knowing its history. This is lake Ransom. It's been around since the Roman times, it has a lot of history..."

"Since the Roman times?" A girl called Amelia frowned dubiously. "How do you know it's been around since the Roman times?"

Emma wasn't offended by her sarcastic tone, instead she happily took the opportunity to go on talking. She seemed to employ the kind of inexhaustible optimism that made me very uncomfortable, as though there was something fake about it, maybe because I couldn't possibly understand feeling like that.

"This lake has been recorded in texts from as far back as the four hundred AD. It was visited by travellers as a good source of clean water back when the stream was still running through here, and in the middle ages knights would come to the bridge, not this one, this is a new one, the old one crumbled a long time ago..."

She went off on a tangent about how water erosion had most likely destroyed the stone left from the old bridge, despite it being a lake with relatively little motion, or that settlers would have used the stone for their houses.

"What did they get out of it?" Tariq asked, looking genuinely curious, and every one looked from him, back at Emma.

"Well, the reports are a bit varied... For some it meant a good crop for the autumn, some used it as a sacrifice to the spirit of the lake in exchange for safe passage through drought or war."

There were some hums of interest.

She practically glittered with happiness, continuing energetically. "And few people know this, but lake Ransom may not actually referring to the word 'ransom' as we know it, but probably to the old Latin 'redemptio'." She said it breathlessly, like it was a magical word that was going to bring our past pets back to life.

There was a little interest in that, not as much.

Eventually we headed on to the food hall, where all three meals will be searched. My stomach grumbled hard when I walked into the warm room, the scent of toast, eggs, bacon and beans travelling across the floor. There was another school's students filled in the room. chomping away, barely looking at us.

I squinted at them as we were leaving. They looked at least five years younger than us.

The rooms were okay though, rooms with two bunk beds each, a mini bedside table that had a socket and a reading light that didn't work and window with no curtains.

I wasn't alone, but no one in the room seemed to have any major problems with me. I considered that isolated from the rest of the boys I might even be able to muster up the courage to try to get them to like me. If I managed that, and Patrick saw I had a significant number of friends, I was sure he would back off, and his friends would too, eventually.

When one guy, called George, with a face covered in not-unattractive freckles and wearing hoodie about three sizes too big for him asked if I wanted to borrow a spare towel when he saw I didn't have one I accepted and smiled slightly at his back.

I was beginning to get some really good feelings about this camp. It might be daft, for kids, we might end up catching tadpoles with little scoopers and asked to write five similes to describe our day, but if I made friends ultimately... Yeah, I wouldn't mind that.

George held the door open while we were heading out, casually chatting with the guy still sitting on the top bunk, above my bed.

I had a warm feeling as I stepped out. Like I fitted in, I was normal.

[A/N] I can't ever really thank my patrons and Wattpad enough... Man I really like writing these books... And they make it possible. (˵ ' ᴗ ' ˵ )