Teacup and Bullets

 

“Rosalie? Rosalie! Deaf much? Freaking hell, Summers, you supposed to tell people when there GLASS in your LEG.” Frantically, without any thought for justification, I buttered her pale face with light sharp taps, trying to bring her back into the land of the living.

 

Kneeled above her unconscious form, with the library’s occupants all staring my way, I felt very much like Jesus about to do a healing. However when Jesus was going to go all mystical on the blind man’s ass, I don’t think his voice would have been aiming for the next octave and his hands would be leaving sweat marks on people’s faces.  The hair in eye thing though, may have been a realistic and, let’s face it, a complicated problem that was homogenous.

 

“Hitting her isn’t going to help, Romeo. There’s nothing wrong with her face.” The librarian whose name I really didn’t know, shuffled towards me, leaving poor itty bitty Hudson and the other itty bitty of Hudson all on their lonesome.

 

I ignored her, focusing frantically on reviving Rosalie. “Come on,” I muttered, smoothing back her frown lines. “Wake up.” My heart gave another suicidal leap, tottering over the buildings edge and plunging into icy blackness.  “C’mon.” I whispered, desperation creeping into my voice. “Don’t make me give you mouth to mouth.”

 

“Don’t she would enjoy it too much.” Suddenly, librarian was next to me, eyes crinkled as she looked at Rosalie. “We have to get the glass out.” She murmured to herself.

 

“Is Rachel okay?” I turned towards the voice, Hudson’s voice apparently. He was sitting up again on one of the bookshelves, leg stiff in front of him.

 

“Who the hell is Rachel?” My voice was nearly as high as I was, the adrenaline and panic like my crack. I could feel every single cell buzzing around my body like they had full strength coffee.

 

“Rachel, you know…” He pointed behind me. I knew it was Rosalie and Librarian lady without turning around and quite frankly, I didn’t want to. Because there were some pretty gross fleshy noises coming from behind and Hudson had twisted his ugly mouth into an ugly grimace.

 

“That’s not Rachel, dimwit, it’s Rosalie. ROS-A-LIE.” I emphasised every syllable, trying to get it through his thick skull.

 

“I’m not stupid!”

 

“Really? Could have fooled me.”

 

“At least my dad isn’t a drunk.”

 

“Wow, Genius.”

 

“Clever insult, where do you get it? Hand-me-down insult store?”

 

“Obviously the same place where you get yours because, ouch, that burned.” I would have continued slinging my obviously superior social banter but the high pitched scream that rung out the library washed the pettiness from my mind, and with a blinding freaky-out-ed-ness caused my head to snap behind me.

 

Rosalie was awake; her eyes wide and clear with pain. Her curls were matted to her forehead with sweat and one slender hand clutched her calf, just above the gigantic gash that left her leg looking like she had been trying to finger paint with her shin.

 

My stomach dropped when my eyes wrested on long slither of glass that rested on the grey library carpet. It was clear and sharp, stained with blood and something white and stringy decorated the tip. I swear my face just got crossed off of the blood supply list.

 

Librarian lady was getting a bandage from the battered first aid tin beside her, making shushing noises at Rosalie as she whimpered and gritted her teeth. All I could do was stare helplessly at her, motivation not as strong as my surprise. I couldn’t move. I was frozen.

 

Rosalie met my gaze, her murdered leg shielded by the hunched form of library chic. Her eyes were mournful shades of blue, darkened by the screams she was trying so hard to keep inside of her. I gave her a smile. It wasn’t a very good smile. It wasn’t even a reassuring smile. In fact it was the smile someone gave you just before they had their nervous freaking breakdown.  Nevertheless Rosalie returned my ill-fitting smile with one of her own, the small quirk of her lips removing the tension from her shoulders and smoothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Her eyes even lightened a fraction of a shade.

 

“There!” The librarian lady stepped back, a bandage now wrapped around Rosalie’s leg. “Ta-da. All fixed.” Since Rosalie wasn’t looking as distraught at the tense atmosphere had slightly deflated, I decided that a little sarcasm will be appropriate.

 

“That looks extremely stable. Nothing could go wrong now.” Library lady turned to face me, eyes bleak. Rosalie, who sat behind her, prodding her new leg did indeed look slightly better.  At least she didn’t look so paper white as she did a minute ago. The knot in my heart that I had no idea existed loosened itself, allowing my shoulder line to even out. I lock gazes with the Librarian.

 

“Confidence and optimism are just as effective as a good surgeon, Mister Winters.”

 

“Tell that to my mum who died of a stroke.” I tried to keep my tone light, but even the simple mention of the mother I could have had sent ropes around my heart.

 

“Ha ha, very funny.” The sarcasm in her voice told me that she wasn’t taking my comment seriously. I felt my mouth twist up in a rueful smile. Behind her, Rosalie was looking studiously at the floor. The whole school knew about the death of my mother. It was what transformed goody two shoes Daman Winters into what I was today. A Teenage Dirtbag, baby.

 

“Side splitting.” Immeadiantly the skeptism slid of Library Ladies face, as if someone had wiped it off with a towel.  Before she could say anything however, Hudson’s voice cut into the conversation.

 

“Hey, Winters! You’re the only one without a shitty leg.” I looked at him, his broad shoulders hunched against one of the bookshelves. I gave him a withering glare.

 

“I think I’ll live.” Rosalie’s soft voice caused me to turn around again.

 

“No, surely you will kill yourself out of the woe you feel about not being able to park in the disabled spot in the school car park.” She looked up at me from under her fair lashes, the hint of a smile ghosting around her lips. Her hand still clutched the top of her shin.

 

I smiled, the bitter humour causing me to snort dryly.

 

“You two are weird.” I didn’t say it to be insulting. It was a fact, simple and unfeeling, distant of all emotion bar the tint of humour. Hudson smiled ruefully.

 

“And you know it, baby.”

 

***

 

I was sitting up against the one of the library shelves, the hard plastic edges digging into my back. Normally I would be complaining about the pain but as it was, the constant ache was distracting me from the throbbing in my leg. We had been in the library for 15 minutes, the atmosphere thawing out so a thin layer of chatter covered the room. People had even come out of their hiding spots, sitting cross legged on the floor, chatting. I could hear snippets of conversation from where I was. They were talking about normal, mundane things. Shopping, sports, movies, books. I longed to be able to escape into the petty world of teenagehood. But my brain remained stubbornly focused on what had happened in the spare room, when that…thing had come in and blew up my life in bullets and blood. His face kept swimming up in my minds inner eye, his long, thin face, small beady eyes and full lips, filled with yellowing teeth. Whenever I saw that face my heart made an attempt to jump out of my chest, a wall of emotion slamming into me.

 

Daman had moved off into the corner, talking with some guy with sandy blond hair and sparkling green eyes. They were laughing, chatting, like their world hadn’t just been turned upside down. Freaking Loser. Why’d I have to get stuck with him?

 

 

 

Rosalie was out of site, the only sign to the gigantic wound on her leg was the mummification of her right leg and the slight limp that tied itself to her and tried to call itself a present.

 

My leg gave a particularly nasty throb of pain, the blood seeming to turn as light as the touch of a fairy and I had the irrational feeling that a massive blood bubble just popped all over my leg. I knew my face had paled, the sickening urge to throw up almost overwhelming.

 

I closed my eyes, welcoming the cool blackness.

 

Ah, shit. Please stop, please stop, please stop.

 

Pain stopping when you ask it is rare and this time was no exception. However the hot flush cooled down into something milder, more manageable. I felt my face loosen and a wisp of breath escaped from my lips. Manageable. Manageable was good.

 

I let the chatter wash over me in a sort of blanket, the petty words protecting me from actually thinking about something deep and painful.

 

Something like Johnny.

 

Immeadiantly, as if his name was tabooed, I saw his face. The clarity was uncanny-like my mind was high definition. I could see the angle his mouth made with his eyes, the slight tilt to his nose and the exact shade of green his eyes had been. Grey-brown curls framed his freckled face. My heart was freefalling to my stomach, the tears in my eyes refusing to fall. I wouldn’t weep for Jonny.

 

Memories, nostalgia and reminiscence inevitably came rushing into my mind, scratching its loss into my brain like scars. I remembered when I had first met Jonny. I was pretty short back then, only a freshman. My hair needed a cut; it was touching my crisp shirt colour in fraying strands.  I was weedy back then, muscles needing the encouragement of football to rise to the surface. Grace High had seemed so big back in freshmen year. Jonny was behind me in homeroom roll call. He was weedy back then too. The teacher called my name, Mrs Shandle her name was. We used to laugh at the bun that seemed fastened to her head. When Mrs Shandle called my name Jonny sniggered, a short dry breath, and immeadiantly I whipped my head around, catching the whisper of a smirk fading from his chin. When he caught my disgruntled glare he just smiled and made a gun with his fingers. Ironic isn’t it?

 

“You look distant. What planet are you on?” A soft female voice snapped me out of my pessimistic memory. It was only when I had snapped my eyes open and fluorescent light flooded my vision that I realised they were shut in the first place. Rosalie Summers was sitting next to me, her strawberry blond curls falling smoothly over her shoulders. She had a book in her hand but the title was rendered illegible by her hands spread out on it. I looked at her, wondering why the hell she was sitting next to me. I mean by the misuse of her name in the very early roots of our relationship I had gathered she wasn’t my biggest fan.

 

“A far and distant planet. One that consists of literature and the unfamiliar concept of actual reading outside the realms of forced education.” My mind wasn’t really in the sentence and by the sideways glance Rosalie gave me I think she picked up the vibe.

 

“For someone who pretends to be dumb as a rock that sure was an eloquent sentence.” Her tone was unclear so I turned around to try and gain clarity from her expression. Her profile was soft around the edges, the soft nub of her nose, the soft curve of her fringe, the two soft crescents of her lips. I had always thought she looked quiet. Her eyes big and thoughtful and her lips small. I had always thought that was why she spoke so little, her mouth didn’t have room to waste useless sentences.

 

She was smiling, a little crooked smile, her eyes trained on the air conditioner in the corner. I turned back, my leg shooting up little sparks of pain.

 

“I try to maintain a reputation.”  I attempted to keep my voice even.  Rosalie’s head snapped towards me in incredulous disbelief.

 

“What? One of resident idiot?” The high pitch of her voice caused me to turn around. She was looking at me, her blue eyes bright in the fluorescent lighting. I didn’t bother to smile. The death of your best friend kind of whips the happy-chappy-everything-is-freaking-amazing from my daily injection.

 

Rosalie was looking at me like she was expecting me to say something but I didn’t have a comeback because what she said was kind of right so I brought the conversation to a different path.

 

“You have a book.” I said nodding to the novel that was still clutched in her hands. I could see flashes of red and white between her fingers.

 

Rosalie nodded, one of her strawberry curls lodging in the front of her sweater.

 

 “That I do.”

 

The silence stretched between us like a blanket.

 

“Why?” I asked, rather bluntly, trying to break the awkward quiet. Rosalie was smiling, like she knew something I didn’t.

 

“It’s a library. It’s full of books.”  Her hands were nervously bending the cover of the novel in her hand.  I gritted my teeth. Was she purposefully trying to piss me off?

 

“Why that book?” I clarified. Spell it out for the smart chick.

 

Rosalie closed her eyes, a content smile buttering over her chin. “It’s my favourite.”

 

“Favourite what?”

 

“Favourite book, numskull! Football really does affect your brain cell count doesn’t it?” Her eyes elevated to slits, aqua crescents framed by black lashes.

 

I smiled, pleased that I was frustrating her. “Does it bring you comfort in you darkest hour?” It was ment to come out sarcastic and witty but reality shook at my nerves and made it sound questioning, hopeful. Maybe my voice box was more honest than my head was.

 

Rosalie’s eyes snapped open, her smile sliding off her face. She looked at me with a serious that was wrong for a 16 year old.

 

“Yes.” I nodded, thinking. It would be nice to have something so familiar, so utterly and entirely yours that it could make death a pleasant prospect. The closest thing for me was football and I couldn’t really start an impromptu game right here right now. Silence wedged in between the conversation and spread, reminding me of a tumour. Nice, Tills. Keep it positive.

 

 

 

When the silence once again became unbearable I made a lame attempt at conversation. I could have enough silence when one of the crazy guys shoots me and I die.

 

“What’s it called?”  I was looking at two chicks chatting, my mind not fully on the conversation. I expected  her answer to be immediate, quick response time, so when she didn’t answer I turned around to look at her. She had opened up to a random part of the book, her curls shielding her face.

 

Right , I’m going to assume she didn’t hear me. My man pride was far too precious.

 

“What’s the damn book called?” I asked again, frustration edging into my voice. This time Rosalie turned.  She had a dazed look on her face, like she had just had a really nice nap. The book fell shut in her lap.

 

I guess it was physical amplification of the social ladder how different it was we were sitting. I, self-proclaimed jock, was sitting casually, my screwed up leg sitting at a stiff angle. My back was moulded to the shelf, my functioning leg propped up at a ninety degree angle. In short my posture wasn’t meant to be studied and demonstrated. Rosalie was sitting with her back up straight, her mucked up leg lying straight on the floor like mine, but unlike me her nice leg was crossed over her crappy one, her arms folded gently in her lap.

 

“Huh?” Her voice held a layer of muted confusion. Her eyes were still foggy. The air conditioner was rattling in the corner, my face tingling with the recycled air.

 

“WHAT IS THE NAME OF THE FREAKING BOOK?” Rosalie gave me a reproachful look.

 

“Alright, no need to yell.” Frustration was ebbing just underneath my skin.

 

“If you answered the first time I wouldn’t have to yell.” We were holding gazes now, her chlorine blue sparking against my faded denim.

 

“And you wonder why people don’t like you.”

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.” She seemed to take breath. I waited, at the edge of my theoretical seat.

 

“This-” She held up the book. It had a skeleton on the cover, one with hat. Not weird at all. “-Is Skulduggery Pleasant. It’s a series by Derek Landy. The last one is yet to come out and I really want to read it so I really don’t want to die today.” I nodded my head, faking understanding. There was a knot in my back because of how I had been sitting but I didn’t move, simply because of laziness.

 

A smile was writing itself across Rosalie’s face.

 

“I think I read it when I was about twelve. But I never stopped loving it. It was just this…this thing that just stuck, you know? Like you and your obsession with rolling around with guys.”

 

The first thought that came to mind was: Since when have I been gay? And I swear by God’s freaking feet that my heart beat went up, like, 60 feet. My mouth tried to touch the floor and I looked at Rosalie for a full three seconds in raging disbelief before I realised she meant football. Don’t be too Homophobic or anything.

 

I could feel the tips of my ears betraying my embarrassment.

 

“Uh, why?” The question was hastily put together but I didn’t really care. I was just trying to cover up my unholy and rather ignorant chagrin.

 

 Rosalie’s eyebrows puckered.

 

“What?”

 

I rather liked the feeling of explaining simple things to smart people. It made me feel less of a C grade class idiot.  That was the main reason behind the smug smile etching bold letters into my chin. Rosalie narrowed her eyes, suspicious.

 

“Why do you like the stinking book so much…uh, Skulduggery Pleasant?”  As soon I said the name I saw her eyes spark with uncontainable delight. She looked away from me, her voice distant when she explained. She looked like Jonny whenever he would blabber on about Assassins Creed.

 

Jonny. When his face flashed behind my lids I ignored the horrible slashing at my heart.

 

“The main character, Skulduggery, is a skeleton, right? And he gets this annoying-selfish-ass of a sidekick called Valkyrie who BREAKS UP WITH FLETCHER which is totally not on, just letting you know.” As she explained, Rosalie’s eyebrows were shooting up and down, sometimes curving, sometimes staying straight. Her mouth was speaking so fast that If I had to lip read this conversation I would be screwed. She looked animated, full of life and expression. It made me smile.

 

“That’s not why I like the book though, Pfft if I was into that I would just watch neighbours, not waste my amazing, literacy talent on that.” Oh, the horror! I don’t get readers, in case you haven’t twigged.

 

“I like, no too mild, I love this book because of…ah, crap how do I explain it?”

 

“In words?” Heehee, Hudson 1, Rosalie 0.

 

“Oh thanks genius. Here’s your award for being so damn sarcastic.” Ooh, I get an award? Before I could wonder too thoroughly my thoughts were interrupted by her HAND slapping my ARM. An ache blossomed like a flower at the site of injury and I knew, I just knew, that I was going to get a bruise.  Like this day wasn’t bad enough.

 

“YOU HIT ME?” I smouldered, smushing my right hand over my INJURED LIMB.

 

“Hudson 1, Rosalie 1” She had a smile on her face, a vampiric smile that kind of scared me. They were right; IT IS ALWAYS THE QUIET ONES! But now I knew she was keeping count I knew I had to beat her. What battle? I hear you ask. The battle of wits, my dear friend. And, according to the lovely Miss Rosalie, hitting people in the freaking arm.

 

“Oh, thanks Hudson. I can’t remember what I was saying.” Her voice went down an octave, signifying her grumpiness. Well, it’s not MY fault she was so violent.

 

She was drumming her hands against the cover, trying to remember. While I waited I looked around the library, at the fragment of the school civilisation.  They all looked so…normal. Like armed crazy people weren’t running around the school with the intent to kill us all.

 

“Yay, I remember!” Rosalie’s voice lassoed me and pulled my head to face her. She had a content smile on her face, her hand still clutching Skulduggery Pleasant.

 

“I love it because the main character, Skulduggery, he is trying to make up for his past. He used to be all death and rage and vengeance and he slaughtered hundreds of people back in the good all days but-” She looked at somewhere above me, into a galaxy that only she could see.

 

“But he’s trying to make up for it. He’s trying to feed his conscience. Like…” Her gaze snapped onto mine, something intense swimming in the depths of her eyes, making me look down at my feet.

 

“Like the past is just that; the past. And maybe if he could fix the present than maybe, in the future, he could be forgiven.” Her voice had softened into a whisper, her gaze no longer holding mine. I looked up, only to see that Rosalie was looking at the cover again, her fingers bending it in her thoughtful state. Her curls were covering her face from view.

 

“But that isn’t why I like it, it’s just-” She made a frustrated noise out of the back of her throat, like she hid a lawnmower back there.  I watched her, not in a creepy way although if there isn’t a creepy way to watch people I would sure like to know about it, in a thoughtful manner, I waited for her to find the words that she needed because some people were like that. Some people actually thought about what they were going to say before the word regurgitated over everybody in a 2 metre radius.

 

“How he holds himself, with eloquence and sarcasm and wit and class and you know, just utter awesomeness, it’s really…inspiring. It’s just that,” She paused, searching for the right thing to say. She looking at me again, her love of this book seeming to shine out of every pore. She looked happy, content, like nothing was wrong. And maybe we could pretend, just for now, that nothing was wrong. It was just that a whole lot of people had died and we were hiding out in a library and three insane people were terrorising the school. OH, YEAH, EVERYTHING WAS FINE.

 

“If someone whose hands are drenched in so much blood can get out of bed, theoretically of course coz’ he’s, you know, a skeleton, and inspire me than I should be able to inspire people around me. I should be strong enough to fight off hell with my own bare hands if the people I loved were dead. Because that’s the bit I didn’t tell you. The reason he went so kick-ass crazy was because his family was tortured and killed in front of his eyes. Like they were some pawns in a bigger game of chess.” Her voice drifted off by the end of that sentence, her teeth nestling themselves in her bottom lip. I could tell that was the end of the story by her stance but the silence that came after was still thoughtful like she was continuing the conversation in her head. I drummed my fingers against my shitty leg. Waiting…again.

 

Rosalie snapped out of the twilight zone, or wherever it was she had just inhabited, shaking her head like a dog. When she spoke to me her voice was still miles away.

 

“Here-” She held the book out to me and I tried my best not to recoil. ARG, LITERATURE! “-I want you to read it.” The words were already in my mouth.  The missiles ready to launch. I don’t want to read it, it’s a book. But when I opened my mouth to say it, they just withered on my tongue. Rosalie looked so hopeful, so…innocent, that it felt like I would be crushing her dreams if I refused. Damning myself for being such a push over, I sighed and took the book out of her hands.

 

“Fine.” I muttered opening up to the first page. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rosalie get up and walk way, dusting her hands off in front of her as if saying My work here is done.

 

I actually started reading the first page. I actually kind of liked it.

 

Hudson 1, Rosalie 2