Demons

Chapter Six

“How would anyone besides my dad know?” I put my head in my hands as I sit at Lauren’s kitchen table. She walks over to me in her pajamas.

“I don’t know D,” She kneels in front of the chair I’m in and puts her hands on my shoulders. “I can’t lie, it’s very weird, but you can’t help it.”

“Yes,” I agree. “It’s really weird.”

“But,” She says with suspense. “It wasn't a threat, so you shouldn’t feel bad or like anything’s going to happen to you.”

“Yeah,” I say. “I’m gonna go back to bed, just thought you should know.” I stand up from the chair and start going up the stairs when Lauren says, “Hey, come in my room tonight, I’ll be less scared.” She gives me an innocent smile.

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks Laurie, I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’re the best.”

“I know,” She says. “I’ll be up in a second.”

Walking up the stairs slowly, I make sure they’re still beneath me. I remember the song, Dear John by Taylor Swift. She said in her song, counting my footsteps, praying the floor won’t fall through/Again.

I’m sure the floor has fallen from under me a few times in the last week. So now I go up to the guest room and lay on the bed, so exhausted that I fall asleep before she even comes up. My dreams are empty that night. A dark void empty of how things could be.

***

“Dawn,” Lauren says waking me from my sleep. “I know you don’t want to, but I’m gonna go to school,”

I roll over, sitting up. “No, I’ll go to, it might get my mind off things.”

She smoothes back my hair, a motherly gesture. “No bad dreams?”

I smile, no matter what, she always makes me smile. “Nope, no bad dreams.” Standing up now, I yawn, stretching. “Can I use your clothes?”

She gives me her look, “Did I not already answer that?”

I try to smile, but instead remember my dad’s face.  “Yeah, you did, sorry.” I go to her closet and pick out a blue and black flower printed dress. It has a rounded neckline, tight bodice and flowing skirt that is made to go a little above the knee.  

“I love that dress,” Lauren says, “It’s called the Blue Rhapsody Dress from Modcloth.”

“I like it too,” I say turning it over and looking at the back. It zips up and goes all the way up to the base of my neck. “Do you have a leather jacket?”

“Of course,” She says coming over, and taking one buried behind another dress. A beautiful white and black lace dress. A black bodice that has a heart shaped neckline and a white skirt that blooms out made of white lace with a black lace trim. It is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, clothes wise. Giving me the jacket, she says, “It goes perfectly,” And it does, it is cut short above the waist but has arms long enough to reach my wrists.

“Yes, it is.” I take her black leather boots she wore yesterday and bring them to the bathroom with me. Thinking, good thing we have the same shoe size, as I come into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth, washing my face and blow drying my hair after the shower, I put on the outfit and just stare for a second. It’s amazing what an outfit can do for you. I pair the leather boots with some knee high gray socks that complement the gray flecks in the dress. I flat iron my hair so that it is perfectly straight and go to the kitchen and see Lauren tuning up her outfit in the downstairs bathroom. For a second I almost forget that my dad’s dead.

“You look great Laurie!” I say. Her outfit is beautiful with her cream white dress filled with printed blue, orange and purple flowers. She matches it with a purple scarf and a burnt orange cardigan that contributes to the flowers on the dress. She has the same color purple tights as the scarf and matching orange boots. She looks just adorable with her hair curled and flowing around her face.

She smiles after applying some lip gloss, “You too, Dawn,”

“Thanks, are there still some muffins in there from yesterday?” I ask hopefully.

“Yeah,” She says coming over, “In the basket, get me one will ya?”

***

At school, it’s crazy as girls open their lockers and I see pictures someone must have taken of Zandor. They are taped in every girl’s locker like he's some kind of celebrity or something. I hold back the bile that rises in my throat as I think of who probably took them, Valerie, the oh-so-high-up-on-the-pedestal, lead photographer. She only has that role because it gives her a reason to get all up close and personal with all the hot guys.

I wanted that spot, ran for it even, and because she is more popular than I am, she got it of course. Every time I see her, I want to strangle her.

Realizing I am more heated than normal, I look down and see black wisps coming off of me. Unforgiveness, it whispers in my mind, and as I soon as I forget and decide to let go of what happened they leave. Everything dark leaves and Lauren pulls me along to my locker, right beside her own.

“Man,” She says, “It’s like you were nailed to the floor. You’d think that with you running and everything it’d be a little easier to move you.”

I smile, forgetting about my circumstances for the moment being. Taking my books out for Chemistry. Me and Lauren slam our lockers shut at the same time, turning towards her, I say, “Let’s get to class,” then the bell rings.

***

“Thank God for lunch!” Lauren says as she links her arm with mine.

“I know right?” I say. “It was like Mr. Ably just wouldn’t shut up.”

“I guess I’m not the only one,” I hear a voice behind me say. I turn around very slowly, because I know that voice. Thank God Lauren was there to hold me up, because I would have fallen already. Now looking at him, my eyes just soak him up. His faded dark jeans, a tight white shirt that shows all eight of his abs, the blue and black plaid shirt, that is open, and lastly his sexy black boots. They make him look so tough. I never get tired of him, never tired of how he looks and sounds and his laid-back way on things.

I give a shy laugh. “Yeah, he’s the most boring class,”

“Definitely,” Lauren says sarcastically looking from me to him.

Zandor gives a half-smile. “Well, I guess I’ll see you girls later. Dawn.” I know I should probably say something, but my mouth seems to have gone into a lock down mode. I can’t speak until he’s out the door, and probably far away.

“He totally likes you,” Lauren says, but I can see darkness forming in her eyes. She doesn't like him. But she keeps pulling me down the hall anyway. “Notice how he said your name at the end?”

“Yeah,” Is the only word I can breathe out before having ridiculous dreams of me curled up inside his arms.

When school started the next day, I couldn’t believe the normalcy of it all. School has never seemed more normal than now, and that’s what’s scary. How I am no longer included in that category. I’m not... normal anymore. I’m different than everyone else and there is no one to help me understand just how very different I am.

When Civil Rights Class begins, the droning voice of Mr. Kramer starts, and my eyes started to droop, I’m not even tired. It’s Friday, so of course I should be.

“Tell me class,” Mr. Kramer says in his monotone. “Who started the Civil Rights Movement?”

The hand that has all the answers, Tom Cassidy, - named after the super villain in the X-Men comics - sits at the front patiently waiting to be called on.

...Of course he will call on me; I am the only smart human in this classroom...

...Will this man shut up?...

...His voice makes me fall asleep...

“Yes Tom,” Mr. Kramer starts his slow pace, walking back and forth across the front of the room..

“Rosa Parks started the Civil Rights movement when she refused to move for a white man on the bus.” He says and smiles, satisfied in his “superior” knowledge.

“What happened to her for doing that?’ Mr. Kramer asks, still pacing. This must be the part of his lecture where he realizes there is a class.

Tom raises his hand and is called on. “It was illegal to do because of the segregation back then. The African-Americans sat at the back of the bus, and the Caucasians sat at the front. But because the White’s had superiority over the blacks, they had “dibs” on seats even if the Blacks were already seated.”

“Thank you Mr. Cassidy, now, what happened to her for committing this “crime”?” He asks, and Tom’s hand shoots up again. He stops pacing. “No Tom, let someone else answer this one.” Tom sinks into his chair, defeated. Mr. Kramer’s eyes wander the room, and then unfortunately land on me. The poor girl half-falling asleep at the front of the class. “How about you Ms. Michaelson?”

“What was the question again?” I ask dumbly.

He sighs, “What happened to Mrs. Parks when she didn’t move from her seat on the bus?”

“She was taken to jail where her husband bailed her out,” I say smoothly.

He gives me a smile that stretches his mouth and resumes pacing. “Well, it seems like someone did the reading.”

No, I just did a book report on it in the third grade, but he goes back to his lecture all the same in his monotone voice. With Tom Cassidy sitting there, ever so polite, in the front row. Who knows, maybe he’ll stay for lunch while everyone else rushes the exit like their life depended on it.