[8] A Silent Scream

(Malory)

Mrs Bev is on the phone when I get to her office during break. She gestures to the seat in front of me but I refuse to sit. She ends the call and rests the phone down to look at me, smiling.

“Lloyd. How may I help you?”

“I’m here on Davidson’s behalf,” I tell her.

Over the weekend, I’d brainstormed what I was going to say to Ron and Olivia –and to anyone else who was inevitably going to ask about Kyle.

“Have you now?” She raises an interested brow.

“He’s sick. He won’t be here for at least another week.”

“Are you certain he’s sick?” She asks me. “Am I to just take your word for it?”

“Davidson and I are trying to cooperate. It’s difficult and he’s still a nut, but we’re trying. He told me he was sick. I didn’t want to believe him so I went looking for him. You know as well as I do that I wouldn’t ever vouch for him.” I assure her. “He’s sick.”

And that, kids, is how you tell a lie.

“It’s true that you’d never really vouch for him...” she says. “Very well, then. Thank you for the report. As long as he’s ill, your records will not be affected –especially seeing as you’re showing up for rehearsals. He will need to bring a signed excuse, however, stating that he was ill. Take that message to him for me, will you?”

“Sure,” I say. I leave.

Olivia and Ron are sitting on a bench outside the office, waiting for me. When Olive sees me approaching, she stands.

“So?”

“She said it won’t affect our records –as long as he’s ill. He has to bring a note though.”

Ron gets anxious. “I really think we should go the extra mile and check up on him... I feel guilty as the best friend.”

Someone hold this poor kid and wrap him in a blanket. He deserves a better best friend who would share important things with him. I don’t understand why Kyle never trusted him –Ron is one of the most trustworthy people I know.

“Don’t worry, Ron. I’ll keep an eye on him. After all, Bev seems to like the idea that I’m checking up on him. She thinks we’re actively cooperating outside of school. It works out in my favour. You’re doing a good job as the best friend already. It’ll be fine.”

“You piss him off, Malory,” he says. I feel kind of attacked. “You both piss each other off. And you checking up on him all by yourself does not make me feel any less guilty that I can’t help at all.”

“Okay, whoa. Breathe,” Olivia says, surprised by his change in attitude.

“We’re actually cooperating right now,” I say to him. “And anyway, Ron, it’s not like this is the first time in his whole life he’s gotten a fever. He’ll be fine. Jeez, you’re such a mom.”

He rolls his eyes at me. “Who’s going to be there for him if I’m not? You? His uncle?” The way he says it makes me bite my bottom lip. I can’t help myself. “The one who leaves the country for two weeks at a time and returns for two weeks at a time, regularly? Some kind of family, Kyle has. No wonder he doesn’t trust people when they’re genuinely trying to be there for him.”

“He’s on two-week rotations?” I inquire, curious. “What does he do?”

“He’s an investor in the Forex market. Deals with foreign exchange, stocks, commodities, real estate, oil, all that jazz. He goes all over the world, apparently –to seminars, workshops, whatever the hell. He’s never home. Always busy. You’d think you’d have a little more free time making all that money. I guess he works extra hard.”

Maybe if Kyle’s uncle is gone I can help him. I can go over to the house and help him.

“That’s the most I know. Kyle told me that quite a while ago. I don’t know if things have changed,” Ron says.

“So the brat doesn’t tell you when his uncle is leaving or not anymore?”

He scoffs. “Na. I don’t bother to ask, usually. He’s the one who decides to make a random statement about it sometimes. After all, he’s the one who avoids the family topic.”

The bell rings for the beginning of fifth period. Olivia beams at the sound.

She switches her glances between Ron and me saying, “I’ve got math now, I’ll see you both at lunch.”

“Okay,” Ron and I say simultaneously.

We watch her hurry off.

***

(Olivia)

My parents didn’t find out that I’d been out with Ron, but they did find out I wasn’t at school anymore. The lecture and punishment that followed was unpleasant. It’s nothing I’m not used to, but it’s becoming unbearable the older I get.

I appreciate the fact that they’re trying to grow me up along the straight, narrow, good path or whatever, but there are things I want to do that I will never get to do as long as I’m living under their rules. Things I’m going to do someday regardless of what they say. Nothing’s going to change that.

I bend the corner and there’s a crowd of students blocking the entrance into the corridor that leads to my classroom. I push through them, bumping into Adrien on the way.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” I say, cringing as I finally make it through the crowd.

Adrien scoffs. “Slow down, relax! You don’t have to try that hard!” He yelled to my back as I scurried away.

Huh?

I turn to look at him but I don’t stop walking. “What?”

He grins toothily at me and my heart stops for a moment. I realise I’ve stopped moving. He shakes his head and gestures for me to go on, so I giggle and roll my eyes, walking away. Gosh, I really hate being so awkward, slow and clueless when it comes to boys.

***

(Malory)

Ron has ignored me for the entirety of the last period. Sixth period rolls in and we’re in English class writing essays. Ron is unable to concentrate. He rips a page from his notebook and it alerts me. Seconds later, he passes me a note.

Sorry about yelling –R

No biggie. I get it. –M

How the hell would he get so sick? Two weeks off? Must be quite the fever. –R

I reread the message try to convince myself that I’m keeping Kyle’s secret from him because he’d go into cardiac arrest if he knew Kyle got beaten up so badly that he looks like a rotting grape.

According to him, ‘I look and feel like shit and I am supposed to sit in a classroom for eight hours and listen to a teacher talk about things I can find out on my own? I’ll just stay here till I’m better.’ –M

Olivia’s in his class, maybe you can ask her to keep notes for him. –R

She’s probably copied the notes and has them stacked already. She’s that organised. –M

You should carry them for him next time you see him, then. –R

Duh –M

You’re going through a loooooot of trouble for your sworn enemy, Lloyd. That’s pretty admirable –R

He’s worth my good record. I don’t really have a choice. –M

Touché –R

He turns back to look at me for a moment and offer me a smile. I smile back before sticking my tongue out at him and silently scolding him to finish his essay.

***

I’m sitting in the middle of my Monday evening book club meeting, but I can’t concentrate. Whatever the rest of the group members are saying sounds like muffled tones to me. A flashback crosses my mind of Kyle’s pained expression as I kicked him away from me –the day he pushed me against the lockers. There was genuine pain in his eyes. He was suffering. I had made the pain so much worse with one kick.

I feel my heartbeat speed up and tears welling up in my eyes. I feel nauseous.

The thought that he endures that kind of mistreatment from someone else regularly crosses my mind and I get the chills imagining his face –frightened eyes, frantic breathing, a silent plea to stop... stop... stop... I somehow find myself feeling the pain on my own skin.

I can’t bear the thought of seeing Kyle helpless. I’ve never seen Kyle Davidson genuinely helpless or afraid. I never thought I would want to or have to. I remember how he had shaken me aggressively, begging me to listen, begging me to leave. He was afraid of something; of someone, of... his uncle?

I inhale deeply and exhale in one sharp breath.

“Mal?” says Leslie, the leader of the group.

I snap out of my thoughts. “Yea?” I reply, a little too suddenly.

“Are you feeling okay?” She asks.

Do I look sick?

Is my anxiety starting to show? That can’t be good.

I look around and notice that the rest of the group is staring at me.

“Yea I’m... I’m fine.”

“You look a little pale. Would you be okay for the rest of the meeting?” Leslie asks.

What am I doing? I should be focusing! Like always!

“I... Yea. Yea I’ll be okay,” I say, forcing the words to be true. I shuffle through my bag and grab my bottle of water to help take everyone’s attention off of me. Everything goes back to normal after I take a few sips.

***

Tuesday evening’s art club comes around. The task is to sketch the face of an individual. The face must tell a story. Completely out of it, I don’t realise that I’ve been drawing a sketch of Davidson’s bruised face. The group teacher, Mr Finch, observes my drawing.

“That’s... something dark, right there...” he says, startling me slightly. “You’re trying new styles again, I presume?”

I laugh, nervously. “Yea, that’s it, alright.”

When the art club meeting is over, I sit on the steps outside of the literacy building –in which both my book and art clubs are located- and I open my sketchbook to look at the image. It immediately brings the image of Kyle’s face to mind. This art piece is more vivid, pained, and expressionistic than how it looked then in reality. It gives me the chills, anyway. I shake the image out of my head and close the sketchbook aggressively, shoving it back into my bag.

I’m so stupid.

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid!

Why do I feel so sorry?

So guilty?

He’s the last person I should care about.

He’s said some nasty things. Did some horrible things.

Malory, what the hell is wrong with you? You don’t even know if what you’re suspecting is true! It could be something completely different from what you’ve experienced, or from what you’re thinking.

I sigh.

I don’t feel sorry for him. I feel empathy towards him. I don’t know if what he’s going through is... abuse, but I wouldn’t... toss him into a blender if he was. I wouldn’t try to make things worse. Especially if... it’s really from his uncle.

I remember some of the times we had fought. Times I punched him. Times I insulted him. Times he insulted me. Times he didn’t even actively do anything but I felt provoked just seeing him. In times like those, I’d make the whole situation worse just by acting out of anger. A lot of our misunderstandings were my fault. He isn’t to be blamed for all. I guess I really have to learn to be mature about this. I snap out of my depressing thoughts and look around at the empty staircase.

“It’s too quiet around here,” I whisper. I find myself wondering why I miss being annoyed by that jerk. Maybe it made life a little less lonely. “This is absolutely ridiculous,” I say, shaking the thought aside.

***

It’s Wednesday evening. Olivia and I are leaving when Ron appears hot on our heels at entrance doors.

“Prescott! Lloyd!” He calls. We stop as he approaches us. “About Kyle. Malory, when are you going to see him? Friday evening?”

I shrug and pout. Friday does seem to be the best possible day to do that. “Most likely, yea.”

He nods saying, “Okay, cool. I was just wondering.” He turns to Olivia. “And Prescott.”

She shifts her body to towards him. “Me.”

“What days are you free on evenings?”

Huh?

“Oh, right,” Olivia responds, picking up on what he’s referring to. “Well, let’s see... Sundays are totally off, Monday evenings are off...”

“Wait, why would you need to know that?” I ask Ron, taken aback.

“Tuesdays I’m free on evenings...” Olivia continues.

“We’re trying to schedule our own rehearsals for the play,” Ron explains to me, before groaning, “Tuesdays are off for me, Prescott...”

“Oh,” I say.

“Damn it. Okay, wait, Wednesdays... No, wait, I have Bible study at church on Wednesdays. Thursdays and Fridays, though. Thursdays and Fridays are what I’ve got,” Olivia concludes.

“What time?” he asks.

“All evening on Thursdays, until seven on Fridays.”

“Wait, you’ve got more church activities on a Friday now?” I ask.

All Olivia ever does are church activities.

“Mom’s decision,” she says, flatly.

“Go figures,” I reply.

“Thursdays and Fridays,” Ron says, confidently. “How about that, then? We could practice for maybe an hour or an hour and a half each day.”

“I’ll talk to my parents about it,” she assures him.

“I’ll talk to mine,” he says, passing us at the exit. “I’ll see you both, then.”

“Tomorrow,” I say.

“Yea, tomorrow,” Olivia adds.

Ron takes the left and Olivia and I go right.

***

(Kyle)

The blackout curtains of my bedroom are closed and the lights are all off save for one small, blue nightlight. Knowing that Ace will be out of the house again makes me feel more at ease, but the easiness won’t settle into my body until he’s actually gone. I’m pacing. My hands are shaking. My head is aching. There’s a cold chill at the back of my neck that won’t move. I can’t stay still for even a moment.

He’ll be here any moment now. He’ll be here any-

-I hear them; the heavy footsteps approaching my room. When the noise ends, I see the shadow of the man outside my door. It blocks all the light from creeping in through the crease. I hear the knock –and though I was aware that it would come, it startles me. I flick on my bedroom light before opening the door.

Ace towers before me. I don’t look directly at him.

“Sir.”

He clears his throat and I can feel his expressionless gaze down at me.

“Take my stuff down to the car. I’m ready to leave.”

I nod once, my expression blank.

Ace walks away without another word... but I know that I must follow closely behind him. He passes his own bedroom, and I stop there to get his belongings while he continues walking down to the front of the house. Opening his bedroom door, I find two suitcases standing against the wall. I take them both with me, down the stairs and through the front door, placing them into Ace’s new car.

Ace approaches the car. I finish fixing the suitcases just as he steps before me. Still, I don’t turn to look directly at him. He grunts, studying me. I wonder if he’s looking at the bruise on my face.

Don’t look at him...

Don’t look at him...

I look straight ahead.

I keep my expression neutral.

“Watch the place,” he says.

“Yes, sir.” I respond without hesitation.

He leans in to cast a shadow over me. “And next time...” his spiteful tone appears “Do... the job... right.”

I swallow nervously. I struggle to find a reply. “Yes, sir...”

“Louder, you imbecile!” He yells at me.

Flinching, I repeat myself. “Yes, Sir!”

Ace opens the automatic front gate and waits for it to open out entirely before he moves an inch away from me to get into his vehicle. I stand there as he drives out of the yard. I stand there as he closes the gate. I stand there long after it shuts.

I walk back into the house, breathing in deeply and finally processing how tense I’d been –how breathless I’d become in those few minutes. I clutch my chest to feel my heartbeat. It has only just begun to slow to a calm pace. I look around the room –the house. The silence is deafening. I can still hear his voice from unexpected corners. I can hear him calling to me. I can hear glasses shattering, furniture being destroyed. I can hear it all in this room full of no one but myself.

I drag myself up to my room and slam the door. I switch off the light, sloppily moving towards my bed as I watch the sunlight shine through the spaces of my blackout curtains. I dive onto the bed, pulling the blanket over my body. I rest my heavy, aching head on a pillow that feels hard and uncomfortable. I shed a tear and cover my head under the blanket, hugging another pillow.

Next time... that’s what Ace said.

Next time... Next time... Next time... I bite the pillow and muffle a pained scream. I break down. I fall asleep.