Chapter Eleven
The next morning, after waking up, I feel like I know who I am. It’s a strange feeling and, for a minute, I just relax. I never thought that I would be so happy at the realization of my sexuality, but I don’t feel any different. I just feel like a girl that’s attracted to both men and women.
Funny enough, I’ve never even considered the possibility before yesterday. It should have been glaringly obvious and apparently it was, to everyone except me. But not anymore; I know the truth and I can finally stop living a lie.
While Chloe and I are getting ready for the day, I sneak her quick, furtive glances, trying to gauge her mood. She appears to be a little happier, but not by much. She still looks angry, and I catch her looking at the red leather-bound book on her nightstand.
After a few minutes of stony silence, she speaks. “You didn’t peek at the book.”
I shake my head, even though she can’t see it. “Of course not, Chloe. I figured it was what was making you upset, and I didn’t wanna intrude into your personal life. It’s obviously a photo album.”
She nods. “Yeah, it is.”
I take a seat on the bed, and wait for her to say something else. After a minute, she sighs, and puts down the sweater she’s been folding and refolding for the last few minutes. She grabs the leather-bound book off the nightstand and sits right next to me on the bed.
She opens it to one of the pages near the middle, and points to a girl that looks so much like Chloe that it has to be her sister. “This is Chelsea, my younger sister. She would’ve been fifteen yesterday.”
“Would have?”
“She killed herself almost ten months ago.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I am. Nobody deserves to lose their younger sister, especially someone that obviously loved them very much. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been on you.”
“Not just on me. On everyone in my family. After her death, my dad moved out, and now he lives three states away and doesn’t come to visit. My mom spends most of her time drinking in the dark, leaving me to take care of myself. My parents blame me, even though they don’t admit it.”
“I’m sure they don’t–”
“Chelsea told me that she thought she might, you know, be gay, and I didn’t listen to her.”
Chloe’s sister killed herself because she thought she might like other women? Did nobody support her lifestyle?
“She started getting teased a lot at school, but we ran in separate social circles. I just didn’t have the time to help her. She was lonely, miserable, and being tormented daily and I didn’t help her. It got to the point where she just gave up, and I didn’t even notice the change in her behavior until it was too late.”
“Chloe, I’m so sorry. I understand.”
“How? Just because you’re a lesbian you automatically understand Chelsea?”
Am I seriously the only person who didn’t know?!
Chloe looks at me and grins. It’s a small, hesitant smile, but it’s still a smile. “I heard after dinner last night that you’d come to the conclusion that you’re bisexual. Did you really kiss Kaven in the gym?” I nod, and she sighs wistfully. “He’s such a jerk, but he’s so hot.”
I nod again, because she’s definitely right. “That’s exactly how I’d describe him,” I pause for a second, before continuing. “You should have seen the look on his face when I told him why I kissed him.”
She laughs. “I bet it was great.”
“Yeah, it was. I’m just surprised that it took me so long to see what everyone else already could. I mean, was it that obvious?”
“Well, you’re like the first woman to ever want to be a Protector. It’s kind of obvious that you’re uncomfortable around guys, and you and Tara are so close that–”
“Tara and I are not lovers!” She just stops and looks at me, and I fidget nervously. “Well, we’re not.” She puts her hands up and I shake my head. “I’m sorry. People have suggested that before, and it irks me.”
“Well, if people have suggested it before, don’t you think it might have been a clue?”
I nod. “Probably. I just didn’t want to see it.”
“Why? Liking other women is nothing to be ashamed of, you know. It’s not something that you can help or fix. And you shouldn’t want to. You should be proud of who you are.”
I raise an eyebrow at her and she blushes. “You know, that sounds kind of strange coming from you. Maybe you should listen to your own advice.”
She shakes her head. “No, I can’t. I have too much to lose.”
“You know, you have a lot to gain, too.”
“Don’t, please. I’m happy enough the way I am. Nothing has to change.”
“If you say so.”
I get up and slip on my sneakers. Chloe gently tucks her leather-bound photo album back into her nightstand drawer, and she makes sure to leave the room well before me, since we can’t actually be seen together in the halls. It should insult me, but I know and understand that Chloe’s just trying to fit in.
After breakfast, I head down to the gymnasium, where Kaven is waiting for me. I expect him to be uncomfortable after my random kiss, but he just nods his head to the mats, and tells me to get to work. As I’m working on my crunches, again, he just stares at me, until finally I say it.
“I’m sorry about yesterday.”
He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him, but I can tell it does. “No big deal.”
I laugh, and he looks down at me like I might be mental. “It was a big deal, to me. I was trying to figure out who I am, and you helped me do just that. So thank you.”
He shifts back and forth. “I heard from some of the people in the hall that you’re bi.” I stop my crunches, and he shrugs again. “That’s what I heard.”
No use trying to hide it. “Well, I guess that’s because it’s true. I am bisexual and proud of it.”
He smiles. “And I helped you figure that out?”
I nod, and go back to my crunches. “Yes, you did. I was figuring out my feelings for…someone, and I wondered if I was interested in both men and women. So I kissed you to find out. And it worked. I guess for me, love doesn’t have any restrictions.” He snorts, and I glare up at him. “You think that’s funny?”
He nods. “Yeah, I do. Love doesn’t have any restrictions? You sound like one of those disgusting NAMBLA child lovers.” I gape at him, and he chuckles. “Well, you do. I mean, of course your love life will have restrictions. You probably won’t marry some old man in his sixties, will you? You won’t love some fat kid that sits in front of his computer all day and plays video games, will you?”
“For your information, being old or fat should not matter to people. If I love someone, I’m going to do whatever it takes to be with them, despite their age or weight. Let’s say that you find a girl that’s wonderful, amazing, and perfect for you in every way, but she’s a little on the heavy side. You wouldn’t date her?”
He takes his time thinking about it, which says something about his character. I’m not sure what, but it definitely says something.
“How heavy are we talking? Like a hundred and thirty pounds? Or two hundred pounds?”
I gasp. “Excuse me! One thirty is not fat. What is the matter with you?”
He laughs and drags me to my feet. “Come on, we’re going for a run.”
I notice as he’s pulling me out the door that he doesn’t answer my question. Just how shallow is he?
Kaven and I run laps around Daray’s perimeter for almost thirty minutes. After our fifth lap, he calls a break, and we stop and look around. Daray sits on top of a large hill, and it’s nestled into a thick grove of willow trees that sigh and bend in the wind.
About half a mile away, down a long, winding, narrow road, is a small park. It looks mostly uninhabited except for a few kids that are running around with their parents. The park is one I recognize. It’s about two and a half blocks away from my high school, and I get a sudden pang of homes
ickness.
Just because nobody from home misses me doesn’t mean I don’t miss anyone from home.
“You know what? How about tomorrow we go for a run in the park? Get away from Daray for a little bit?”
I look over at Kaven and smiles. “Yeah? You’d do that for me?”
He shrugs. “Why not? It’s not against the rules for fledglings as long as they have someone older and more experienced with them.”
I think about it for a second, and nod. “Alright, let’s do it. Tomorrow.”
We finish our run, and Kaven disappears into Carlos’ private office to consult with him about my training. Apparently I’ve impressed him much more than he thought I would, and now he wants to know what the next step is.
I’m walking by the boy’s locker room when I hear it: laughter. Figures, only boys would be stupid enough to laugh at one another while naked in the locker room. Why can’t boys be more civilized? As I draw nearer, I can hear the unmistakable sounds of wet towels that are undoubtedly being snapped at one another.
Shaking my head, I keep walking. I want nothing to do with these immature Protectors and whatever stupid games they’re playing. The door opens beside me, and I don’t pay it any attention, until a strong pair of arms wraps tightly around my stomach and pulls me through the door.
They shut the door, and I’m dragged by my arms into the middle of the locker room. Surrounding me are five or six Protectors in Training, and they’re all wearing masks. All I can see are their hands and the color of their eyes as they glare down at me. Nobody speaks, so I have to start.
“What do you want with me?” I ask angrily.
A boot lashes out and connects solidly with my left ribcage. I can feel the snap of one of the ribs, and I curl up on my side, grimacing in pain. “Don’t speak unless you’re spoken to!”
“That’s a rule that all women should follow.”
I look up through a curtain of hair and narrow my eyes at the nearest thug. “Women aren’t property or slaves. We’re capable of doing anything that a man can do.”
They laugh, and one steps forward with a sharp looking pair of scissors.
“What are those for?”
“You insist on acting like a man, so we’re gonna make you look like one.”
With that, two of the Protectors dart forward and pin my arms painfully behind my back, shoving my head down toward the floor. I can hear the sound of the scissors opening and closing as the one holding them stops in front of me.
“This is gonna be fun.”
I refuse to yell; that’s just what these guys want. He grabs a fistful of my hair, and I hear the snip of the scissors, and see the chunk of hair fall to the floor. There are several more snips, and the floor by my feet is covered in long, dark hair.
My hair.
A few minutes later, and they’re done cutting. One of the guys shoves me away, and he stomps down on my hand. There’s a loud crunch, and I try not to cry out in pain, but I can’t help the small noise that escapes my lips. “Did you hear that man? She just whimpered like a whipped dog. Do it again.”
As I look up, a fist comes down on my face, sending me down to the floor on my stomach. Another boot comes out of nowhere. The blows keep coming and coming, and finally I don’t care about pride anymore.
I start to shout for anyone that will listen. The attack goes on forever, and nobody arrives to save me. After a few minutes, they stop their beating, and just walk out the door, leaving me curled up in a ball on top of my own hair and blood.
It’s only been about five minutes since being dragged into the locker room, but it feels much longer than that. I can feel the tears building up; they’re threatening to spill over and mix with the blood beneath my hands. The pain is unimaginable, and I can feel myself start to fade away.
When I open my eyes, the lights above me are so blinding that I cringe and duck my head under the crisp covers of the hospital bed. I take slow, even, deep breaths until my racing heart is calmed and the pounding in my head stops. When my vision clears, I cautiously peak out from under the blankets, and realize that I’m back in Daray’s infirmary.
Tara, Morgan, Austin, and Andrea are all pacing or sitting around the room. They look anxious and angry, and I almost smile when I see them. Tara’s the first to notice me awake and instantly rushes to my side. “Oh, Kylie! Are you alright?”
They’re not the only ones there, though. Tara’s question catches the attention of Jillian and Carlos. He looks more furious than I’ve ever seen anyone before, and when he stops by my bedside, for a second I worry that I’ve done something wrong.
Then I remember.
“Kylie?” Austin asks, noticing I still haven’t answered Tara’s question.
“I’m fine,” I croak. My throat is dry and it pulls tightly when I try to speak. “Water?”
Jillian hands me a paper cup and I chug it in two large gulps. They’re all watching me, waiting for some kind of statement, or maybe even an outburst, but I just keep quiet. I want someone to explain it to me, not the other way around.
Carlos is the next to speak. “Kylie, I can’t apologize enough for what happened to you. My Protectors have never behaved like this before, and I don’t know what brought this on. Did you catch any names or faces?”
“No, they were wearing masks.”
He sighs angrily, and runs his fingers through his long hair. “This behavior is unacceptable. I’ll find out who did this, and they will be severely punished, I promise you that.”
I look over at Jillian. “What happened? I remember them c-cutting my h-hair, and then they were hitting and kicking me. I think I passed out after that.”
“You’ve been out of it for a while,” Jillian says. She’s looking at me, and I can tell from the look in her eyes that I must be in terrible shape. “Kaven found you unconscious on the floor of the boy’s locker room.”
I blink rapidly to keep the tears from spilling over. “Do any of you have a mirror?”
Everyone hesitates, until finally Andrea sighs. “Oh for shits sake! Just give her the mirror. She’s gonna see it sooner or later.”
Carlos and Jillian frown, probably at her use of language, but she reaches into the drawer behind her. Jillian turns back to face me, and she’s holding a large, silver mirror in her hands. Slowly, as if she’s not sure she wants to, she hands it to me.
With trembling fingers, I grasp the silver mirror, and peer at the face reflected there.