"The Whipping Girl" Part: 2 By: Metallica_Worshipper E-mail: metallica_lover_adorer@hotmail.com -Hey, y'all, here's the second part . . .hope you enjoy it! I really enjoyed the feedback I recieved on the first part, too . . .thanks, ya'll. I appreciate it :) -Warnings: . . .a few mild curse words, and nothing more. It might get a wee bit mushy towards the end, too, I agree. . .but I no longer have any comforting reassurements that this won't be a some sort of romance story. I know, I know . . .I don't really care much for romance, but this just goes in whatever direction I get pulled in, okay? I hope it won't stop anyone from reading it, you know . . .if it DOES reach that point. Well, anyway, enjoy, ya'll! :P --- I hid in the rose bushes of the house on the curb of Spring Street. Not long after I had arrived on the curb, I saw my father come running up the street towards me. He was several yards away, yet I could see the look of pure rage on his face more clearly than I ever had before. Maybe it was the darkness caused by the overcast sky that made me realize this . . .maybe it was the strange excitement of actually rebelling against him . . .but either way, I noticed it. But for the first time, I wasn't really afraid. I now had more freedom over what would happen in my own life than I had ever had at any point in the past thirteen years. I could run away from the curb and come back later . . .I could face him and fight him . . .or I could hide in the thick rose bushes that lined the house closest to me. I quickly decided on the latter. Now, thinking of crawling into a rose bush wasn't the worst thing in the world, but actually doing it was a whole other story. A story whose only summary is "UNPLEASANT". First, I tossed my backpack in, and then I dropped to my hands and knees and began what had to be done. I suffered a large amount of discomfort, for while one thorn would be digging into my cheek, another would be working for my eyelids, or trying to tear my clothes. But what kept me going was my desperation to not be seen and caught during my glorious hour of revolution. And how glorious it seemed, sitting in cold, damp dirt behind a bunch of rose bushes with my back against a stranger's house as the cold autumn wind blew endlessly and mercilessly into my face. I sat with my arms around my knees to help conserve heat, and I held my breath so I could hear clearly and determine what my father was doing. It was the only thing I could do, since I couldn't see him through the thick bushes. For a moment, I couldn't hear anything, then I suddenly heard someone run up to the curb. . .and stop abruptly. I heard heavy breathing. I bit my lower lip in worry, knowing that this was indeed my father. I suddenly squeezed my legs to my chest tightly, and layed my head against them, hoping and praying he wasn't looking straight at me. If he caught me, I'd have no defenses. I would probably die. A moment passed, and then a moment more . . .and then another several passed on by. I began to worry. Had he left, and I not have heard him? Or was he waiting for me to poke my head out and see? To catch me? As I pondered this, I soon got my answer. A loud, angry voice at the curb suddenly shouted a flood of curse words, and this was followed by the sounds of someone stomping back off to the house. I waited several moments . . .then I heard a door slam. I had escaped! I felt like rejoicing, but I remembered that this was still a very serious situation . . .so I didn't. I just carefully climbed out of the horrible rose bush, and dusted myself off. I sighed as I picked my backpack up off the ground and slung it onto my shoulders. I then looked around, looking for a place to go, or sit. My eyes rested on the curb, where a long metal bench sat. This was where people waited for the bus. I decided to walk over there and sit down, even though I would still be horribly exposed to the wind gusts. It didn't really matter, anyway. I just needed to sit and think about what to do next, after I finally got my Poke'mon. So I threw my backpack onto the bench, and plopped down next to it. I sat there for a long time just thinking about which Poke'mon I'd get as I looked up and gazed at the overcast sky, as if searching for some sort of answer. Well, whatever answer it would be, I didn't get it. I was freezing. A huge wind gust was what brought me back to reality and made me realize my discomfort. I began wishing strongly that I had a thicker coat other than my old gray sweatshirt coat. But I couldn't do anything about it. I just resumed the heat-conserving position I had been using behind the rose bush, and began doubting what I had done. What if I really did do the wrong thing?, I asked myself worriedly, I mean . . .I'm freezing cold, and becoming a Poke'mon trainer's not going to solve that problem. At least back home I was warm! I quickly scolded myself for that thought. If I had remained at that house, I might as well had been dead. Life would've only gotten worse if I had stayed. Things might seem rough now . . .but they'll get better . . .right? My train of thought was broken when a white car drove by quickly. It had given a quite a scare. I had forgotten that I was only about three feet away from the road. Anyway, along with the car passing, I began to wonder what time it was. It had been two-fifty-something when I had left, and that had been a while back ago. And Justin gets out of school at three-fifteen, so he'd be dropped off here in about twenty minutes, or so. So what would I do during the wait, other than freeze to death? I thought for a moment and couldn't come up with anything, so I just began to think about whatever came to my mind first. So, naturally, my mind immediately referred back to the sixth grade. Where most of my pain began. People made fun of me because I didn't have a best friend. I had been terribly hurt that year, pretending to be someone I wasn't and getting cut down several times as a result. Even the people I thought were my friends treated me cruelly, as though I was no one. And eventually, somewhere along the line, they convinced me that I was. I wasn't even human because I was ugly and stupid, and poor with a bad family and no mom. And no best friend. I also talked to myself, my hair was all in my face, I avoided contact with people, and I read a lot. . .Those were a few results of sixth grade. The list, in general, was much, much longer. But I didn't even have the energy to begin thinking of all the changes I had undergone that horrible, hellish year of confusement and resentment. I just didn't want to . . .it made me sad and angry every time. I mean, those kids who didn't know a thing about me changed me into a pathetic, ugly dreamer for stupid reasons! They had made me feel pain that no ten-year-old should ever have to go through . . .the pain of rejection, humiliation, self-hate, and suicide thoughts. Suicide thoughts. For someone who was ten. How sick is that? And before I had control over what I was doing, I was crying. Hot tears fell down my cheeks and immediately became cold once exposed to the freezing wind. But my eyes still felt burning hot. I was crying in a strange mixture of pain and the fact that I was helpless against what others had turned me into. Crying because I was sorry for myself. I mean, someone had to feel sorry for me, didn't they? No one ever did, though, other than myself and Justin. We were the only two people that had showed compassion and sorrow for me. How wierd is that? I sighed as I wiped at the tears with the sleeve of my coat. I knew now that my eyes were weasel-red, and that the bus would be coming along any minute now. I wasn't particularly excited about Justin or his peers seeing me like this, looking so pitiful, but if the bus came along, then so be it. I was tired of hiding my emotions from the public. A few moments passed, and I began to hear the sounds of a large vehicle approaching from my left. I looked and sure enough, in the distance, I saw the yellow Goldenrod City District highschool bus arriving, looking crowded to the top inside. And despite myself, I laughed. Inner-city school buses were always oddly similar to sardine cans. The bus idled and came to a slow stop right in front of where I was sitting. Inside, I saw people standing up, and then the door opened, spilling out several gawky highschool students. Near the back, I saw Justin. I saw that he was looking at me curiously. I gave him a sad smile, and then dropped my gaze to the ground. I looked back up at all the students spilling out of the bus. I then turned and watched as a group of three teenage girls stepped carefully out of the bus. And not for the first time, I was held in awe. They were so beautiful . . .and when you're beautiful, you don't have a thing to worry about in life. Beauty is sort of like a pass. It lets those selected be exempted from the many hardships and pain and problems that others have to deal with day in and day out . . .People like me. Anyway, these girls had stepped out, and were beginning to walk in my direction. They were all looking at one another and giggling, and holding their hands up to mask their mouths. This annoyed me slightly . . .I mean, if you're beautiful and want to laugh, what are you worried about? Why do you mask your mouth from the public? Or maybe this was a different form of masking--masking that tried to show innocense so they'd look cute. That was probably it. It was sort of a mockery of the masking I used. And an insult. They were all dressed in the lastest fashions. "Cute" little t-shirts that exposed a lot of stomach and chest, and extra-tight bell-bottoms, along with matching necklaces and earrings and bracelets. Their hair always looked as if it had just been brushed, and was healthy, shiny, long and blonde with fancy little barettes and clips . . .and I was jealous. They made me feel even more like crap. There I was, arms around my legs looking like a junkyard refugee wearing a ratty old thin coat, a T-shirt with huge sleeves, and faded, no-style jeans . . .my hair being whipped around in the breeze and looking unkempt and unstyled with no barettes and clips . . .and no matching jewelry, either. I felt a like a little five-year-old girl looking at her mother when she was all dressed up. There wasn't much a difference between my age and the three teenaged girls' ages, but all the difference was in the appearance. They looked so beautiful and mature . . .I just looked like a little girl. I frowned at them, feeling nothing but hatred towards them. My mistake. They then shifted their gossipy eyes on me, and I pretended to not see them, earasing my frown. I knew what they were thinking. But could I do anything about it? Highschool girls were the worst with making fun of me. They never stopped! I get it was because they sensed weak prey--prey that wouldn't try to prove them wrong. As they passed, they began giggling outrageously. One of them looked at me as though I was something nasty on the bathroom sink. "Like, oh, my Gawd," she said in that stupid glamor-speak, "Like, junkyard refugee at ten o' clock!" That made them all burst out laughing, covering their mouths. I blushed in shame and embarrassment, trying to remind myself that they'd leave in a moment. Then, some popular jock Prince Charming ran over to the girls, pausing to point at me, and shout, "Someone get a charity over here ASAP!" Then he joined the three girls, and they all began walking down the street, leaving nothing behind but a whiff of perfume. . .and lingering mockery. My heart suddenly felt as though it had been stabbed. This was just normal treatment. . .but it still hurt my feelings, all the same. I looked after the Princesses sadly. I wanted everything they had--beauty, popularity, money, and positive attention from the guys . . . But I didn't recieve the pass, so tough--I'd have to live with what I had. I sighed. I then felt someone step up beside me. I turned and saw it was Justin, looking after the Princesses and the Prince with an angry look. He then looked down at me apologetically, "I'm sorry about that." I shook my head, pretending it didn't matter when really it was hurting me badly inside, "Don't be," I replied as casually as I could, "It's the truth, anyway." "No, it's not," he said sympathically as he sat down next to me. I couldn't help but let out a laugh, "Look at those girls, Justin--they're beautiful. Their hair, their clothes, their faces . . ." I said, trailing off, "But I'm just . . .not." "Aw, come on," he said as he looked back at those girls, and then back at me, "You're prettier than them." He looked as though he was going to say something more, but he paused. From the corner of my eyes, I could see him blush slightly. But he continued on and said it anyway. "I mean, I'd rather go out with you than any of those three," he said, and as I turned my head to face him, I clearly saw he was fighting modesty to say this as he looked into my eyes, "I mean, you're beautiful, you really are, but most of all, you're a wonderful person. I mean, there's only one side to girls like them--how they look. But with you, there's thousands of sides. So, yes, you are beautiful, and don't ever believe anything different." This suddenly struck a chord that caused awkwardness to reverberate around us. We looked at one another for a moment . . .and then we looked away, and we just sat there in silence on the metal bench on the curb of Spring Street while Autumn's cold breeze blew, sending a flurry of red, orange, and yellow leaves on down the street underneath the overcast sky, none of which affected the movement measured on any clock in the world. I could feel a tension in the air. I glanced at him quickly and saw he was looking away from me, his hands clasped together in his lap. I then knew he was thinking about something very seriously. The unusally awkward atmosphere seemed to indicate this quite plainly. Mostly because we never felt awkward around one another. We had been friends now for over four years, and there were practically no secrets between us. So what was making this awkward? What are you thinking about?, I found myself wondering silently as I looked up at the sky curiously, Are you thinking about . . .me? I immediately felt ashamed for thinking that. It was wrong to think that way of a friend . . .wasn't it? To betray his friendship with a feeling much stronger than it should be? He was doing a great thing, being my friend even though I was a girl, and I never wanted to take advantage of that . . .but sometimes I couldn't help but wonder. Might I actually like him if I didn't bind myself to that strict rule? Or, better yet . . . do I? I won't say, mainly because I don't know. I mean, it wasn't really my business to wonder about such things. I just had to shut myself up whenever I began to wonder about-- A leaf whipped against my cheek. I jumped, startled at the cold, dry scratchiness of it's surface. I raised a hand to my cheek as I watched that particular leaf swirl down the street . . .and because no rules were forcing it to anything, there was no telling where it would be the next hour, or day, or week. How damn ironic. "So, uh," Justin said from my left, "What are you doing here? It's out of your way if you're going to the Poke'mon center, you know." "Yeah, I know," I said as I turned and faced him, glad that the awkwardness had finally faded away. "I just . . .I just wanted to talk to you before I . . .left." Justin eyed me strangely for a moment, "You ran away, didn't you?" I was silent for a moment as the breeze blew my hair about, then I smiled sadly at him, "Yeah. Yeah, I did." I was surprised to see him grin. I was even more surprised when he put his arm around me and hugged me. My head went over his left shoulder, and someone looking on would've seen my surprised expression. But surprise quickly melted into comfort. "Good for you." he said as he hugged me close. I welcomed the embrace, for warmth was radiating off of him, and I hugged him back, suddenly needing his emotional support during this grave moment of confusion more than anything else in the world. That's when I began to feel the weight of the entire situation--what I had done, what I was doing, and what I was about to do--fall on my back. The fact that I could never, ever return to my house suddenly struck home . . .as well as the fact that I was on my own, and would remain so. It was suddenly me against the world. It was now up to me whether I survived or not. I had practically been on my own for a long while now, because I had been taking care of myself, but the fact that there was no order to anything--no matter how vague--was what really put things out of perspective. I could begin anywhere, but not everywhere was right, in a sense. And I was suddenly afraid. I had finally gotten my chance to get away from my abusive father . . .but I was terrorfied that I would mess up somewhere . . .and I was only allowed one chance this time, after all. One chance. My eyes began to water as Justin and I embraced. I knew this was the only way my fragile heart could deal with the situation--cry until it all ran out. Sort of like draining poisen. So I began to cry into his shoulder, with the hurt of thirteen years flowing from within. Everything suddenly seemed so . . .insane. Had I really ran away from my father? Had I really packed my backpack? Had I really jumped out the window? Had I really ran two blocks down? Had I really hidden in a rose bush? I couldn't believe what I had done as I sat there crying as Justin rubbed my back comfortingly. I honestly couldn't believe it. Had I actually been so stupid? This would never work out! All this time I had thought I could live off being a Poke'mon trainer--tch! After all, what did I really know about Poke'mon training? The closest I had ever been to the actual thing was on television, only that and nothing more! Christ! I had just pissed what little life I had left down the proverbial drainpipe. And it wasn't going to come back to me, either. I had just screwed up BAD. And I felt extremely stupid. This moment just proved what my father and several other people had said to be true. I really was a stupid, stupid girl. A total waste! The, I felt Justin pat my back softly, "Hey." he said softly, and he got my attention. I turned my head and faced him through the tears in my burning eyes. A cold gust ripped through us, and the tears stood freezing in my burning eyes and cheeks. "Oh, Justin," I said, distraught and forgetting any caution, "I'm so afraid. I don't even know where to begin!" I paused to suck in what was beginning to drip out of my nose with a sharp inhale, "I ran away from home! He chased me up the street, but I hid in a rose bush. I can never go home again! It's so cold out here, Justin, it's so cold and mad. And so unfeeling. I've made a mistake. I just . . .I just . . ." and I broke off into stronger sobs, the pain and hurt flowing through my mind and body in gigantic waves. Justin hugged me tighter, "It's okay, Chelsea," he said softly and comfortingly in my ear as he patted my back, "It's all right. I understand how it must feel. . .but it's going to be okay, okay?" "How will it be okay?" I said in distress, "I've only got two pairs of clothes, less than three hundred bucks, no plan, and this crappy coat! I'm not only freezing cold, but I'm hungry, my neck hurts, and no one cares about me! I've made a HUGE mistake!" and then I began to sob even harder, limiting the rest of my words to a bunch of incoherent, wet blubbers. "Shh, calm down," he said as he pulled away from me and grabbed my shoulders, holding me at arm's-length away. I felt his warmth leave in a gust of cold Autumn wind, and his voice was stern. I looked up at him, worried that I had gotten him angry for some reason. I immediately began to sober up, embarrassed and ashamed of myself to the maximum extent. "What do you mean, no one cares about you?" he asked, looking surprised, if not a little hurt, "Chelsea, I care about you, and you know that. And you know that as long as I'm alive, you're never going to be alone. What you did was the right thing, no matter how you did it. And be glad. If you had stayed, eventually you would've been beaten to death by your dad," I quickly averted my gaze when he said "beaten". I knew he had had an idea of it, but I didn't know he actually knew I was being beaten by my father. I was now even more ashamed. Suddenly, Justin shook me gently. I looked back at him, surprised. He looked very serious. "You don't think I couldn't possibly know, do you?" he said sympathically as he looked into my eyes. Another wind gust blew my hair about as I looked at him in an almost guiltly manner, "Oh, Chelsea. . .how could anyone say they were your friend, and not know you were being beaten at home? I knew right when I met you what he was doing to you, day in and day out . . .but I didn't get my proof until last night when you called me." My mouth dropped open. I had forgotten about that call! I immediately began to panic. What if Justin's parent's had overheard? We'd all be in big trouble, dad, me, and Justin. But, worst of all, everyone would know what I had been trying to hide for several years. The truth about my bruises and cuts. "I'm sorry you had to hear that," I said in a stuffy-nosed voice. I raised my arm to my nose and wiped it with my sleeve. "I really am." "It's all right," he replied, "I know he was forcing you to it." he then let go of my shoulders and dropped his arms to his lap. He then added softly, "But that doesn't change the fact that mom and dad heard it." "What . . .?" I asked, feeling a dark apprehension fall upon me. Had he just said . . . "Mom and Dad heard it." he repeated quietly. He then faced me, "They had left it on speaker phone the last time they used it, then you called, and . . ." he sighed, "Now, if they see me with you, we're both going to be in trouble. They say they don't want me hanging around with you because your dad might kill me, or something . . .but my parent's never stop to consider that you might be the one in danger." he paused, "And you are in danger." "Oh, no . . ." I said quietly, my heart breaking in two. Justin would be in real trouble if his parents ever caught him with me from now on. . .but he was risking it right now. For me. I still didn't want to get him into anymore trouble than he must've already been in with his family, though . . . So, without hesitation, I jumped to my feet. "If I'm going to get you into throuble with your family," I said worriedly, "then forget me, Justin. Your family is a very important thing to have . . .you shouldn't risk their trust for me. I'll go if--" "Oh, I'm not worried about it," he said casually as he looked up at me and grinned, "They can ground me for as long as they'd like, but I'm still not going to ditch you when you're alone." he motioned for me to sit back down, and I did, even closer to him than before. He smiled at me as he put his arm around my shoulders again. And we sat there in silence for a few moments, aware of the fact that we were now both a little closer to one another than we had been before. I was treasuring this moment. Justin was risking a lot to be here with me. . .and all because he cared so much about my feelings. I appreciated him so much at this point that I thought I'd die if I didn't tell him. . .He was my friend while no one else dared to get to know me. He sat next to me with his arm around my shoulder while no one else dared to get close to me. He loved me . . .while no one else dared to even think of such an outrageous thing. This convinced me to the point that I couldn't hold it in any longer. I turned my head to face him, "Justin . . .?" He had been looking up at the overcast sky. He heard my voice and looked down at me, "Hmm?" I smiled at him, "Justin . . ." my voice trailed off as I thought of what to say next . . ."I just wanted to say . . ." . . .my mind raced through every word I had ever heard--through every affectionate phrase I had ever heard in a movie . . .but none seemed to match what I felt for him as I gazed into his hazel eyes. "Say . . .what?" he asked, appearing somewhat amused. I immediately gave up on relying on what I had heard others say. I even gave up on making it sound fancy. Because that didn't really matter . . .everything that came directly from the heart generally had the same meaning, which was the meaning I was trying to get across. "Justin . . ." I said softly as I looked him in the eye, "I just wanted to say that . . .I appreciate all that you've done for me. You've . . .you've been my friend for these past four years, and I couldn't ask for a better friend. You've always supported me, and listened to me, and liked me. . .and I just sorta wanted to say that I love you for that." and without even knowing what I was doing, I lifted my head and kissed him lightly on his cheek. He blushed, as did I, "And I'm going to miss you so much when I leave." He was silent for a moment, and he then began to look sad. He looked away, and then sighed as he stared across the street for a moment. "I'm going to miss you, too, Chelsea." he said softly as he turned back to face me, "Because I love you so damn much." he leaned towards me and kissed me lightly. Then, to my surprise, he stood up. "But there's no point in saying these long good-byes. I mean . . .you haven't left yet." he then glanced at his watch, " . . .and you won't be leaving as a Poke'mon trainer anytime soon if we don't start to head on out there." My spirit brightened, "'We'?" He grinned, "Yeah, 'we'." he said matter-of-factly. He then reached for my hand and pulled me to my feet. I smiled at him, overjoyed that I would get some more time to spend with him before our final good-byes would be exchanged. The cold autumn wind was almost constant now, but it no longer mattered. I even went as far as to laugh when I grabbed my backpack and slung it onto my shoulder. I took one last look at the block around us. It had been my home all my life. . .but right now, it suddenly seemed so different. But it was a good different. In the sky somewhere, I heard a bird chirp. Then along came the bark of a Growlithe a few houses down as it began to chase the nieghbor's Meowth around the yard. A car back-fired somewhere. The sound that the tree's few leaves made as the wind passed through them. All these sounds were normal, but this afternoon, they seemed to be amplified, as through they were trying to make sure I would never forget it. And I suppose I never would. So with that in mind, Justin and I set off hand-in-hand down the street towards the Mt. Pleasant Poke'mon Center, where I was to be crowned, and blessed with the right to be a trainer. And in the distance, I heard the cry of a mourning dove cut through the evening's cold. --- Author's Note: (I'm an author . . .hee hee hee . . .) Ahem, anyway, feel free to send in feedback (hint, hint!) . . .aw, I'm not going to force you to do it, or anything. But it would be nice to hear from a few people . . .maybe you could help me improve in some area, like scene description, or somethin' like that? Well, thanks for reading this much, fellow Poke'mon fans! :D! I'll now be starting on the 3rd part ("oh, no!", they say. . .)