Page 41 of Life Lessons

I send a quick text telling her I will be there and to stop worrying about me, before I quickly jump in the shower. I turn the water up far hotter than I normally have it, but for some reason I like the heat. The way the hot droplets splash against my skin feels like little razor blades penetrating me. Holding my face up towards the shower head, I allow the pain to flow through my body. In a weird way, it feels like I am washing some of my loss away.

I can’t stay in the shower for as long as I like. Not only because I need to get to class, but also because I begin to run out of hot water. Opening up my wardrobe and looking inside feels so overwhelming. It feels like day one at the school all over again. Since meeting Jett, he made me feel sexy and gave me body confidence that I literally craved. But now, I don’t want to stand out in any way. So I push the beautiful dresses and crop tops out of the way and reach in for my favourite pair of black skinny jeans, and a black hoodie. I pull on a pair of mismatched underwear, not really giving a shit that the black panties don’t match the purple bra. Nobody is going to see them except me.

Once I settle in my old familiar jeans, I walk over to the drawer I still think of as his, and pull out one of his t-shirts. This is just a plain black t-shirt that he wore the night we went trampolining. He wore it a couple of times to sleep in, and we never got around to washing it. To anyone looking at me, I’m just wearing an oversized t-shirt, but I know it’s more.

I don’t know why I am torturing myself. Being enveloped by his scent, and the constant reminder that he was here, but now he is gone, that is too much to bear. Then again, the idea of stepping foot into his classroom again after what I went through is a scary enough thought. He promised me I wouldn’t have to do it alone. Then again he said a lot and made me a lot of promises that he clearly never intended on keeping. But for some reason I can’t do this without him.

My final alarm reminding me this is the latest I can leave it before setting off to my class sounds, and I grab my bag to head out of the door. I message Trix to let her know I’m on my way. We aren’t in the same class, but I wanted her to know so she wouldn’t say anything. I don’t wait for a response before sliding the phone back into my trousers.

Walking through the halls, I only pass a couple of students, but I see them turn to each other and start to chunter. They giggle, or point. Some are even brazen enough to shout murderer under the cover of a cough. I don’t know why they don’t just have the balls to come out and say it. Why try to disguise it?

I keep my head down, refusing to make eye contact, or even look at them as much as possible. This way I can try and pretend that I’m not the entire talk of the school. Just as I enter the maths corridor, my head is dipped, shoulders slumped as though I’m not confident enough to see people, someone throws their arm around my shoulders. I yelp from the unexpected touch and try to pull away, instantly on my guard for whatever attack this is.

“Woah, Abbie. It’s Jackson. I just wanted to say hey and ask if you wanna walk into Maths with me. I didn’t want you to be alone. Sorry for frightening you,” Jackson says, sounding more than a little sheepish. His friend on the other hand is chuckling next to him.

“You idiot. You know she doesn’t like to be touched. Why don’t you use your words first?” he laughs at his partner in crime before turning his attention to me. “Seriously though, Abs. We just wanted to walk in with you and show you our support.” His words are kind and do bring out a very small smile.

I want to be more bowled over by their kind behaviour, but I just can’t. This is the problem with shutting off my emotions. I may not be able to feel pain and heartbreak as much, but I also can’t experience anything good. But, it’s a swap I would make again and again if it means my pain goes away.

“Thanks, boys. I am grateful for your friendship,” I say vehemently. I may not be able to feel it, but I know what they are doing is a nice thing, and having people by my side to deal with this is exactly what I need.

In response, they both link an arm through mine and we walk towards the door. Just as we are starting to walk through the open door, the bell rings to indicate the start of class. Looking around I notice that everyone has already taken their seat, and there’s Harriett, sitting in the front row, looking like the cat that got the cream. If it wasn’t for promising my mother I would stay under the radar from now on, I would punch that smug look off her face.

My hands are clenching in and out of firsts while I decide how I’m going to proceed. I have to admit, the look of pure shock and outrage on her face when she sees I’m linking arms with who she still thinks of as hers, is priceless. But still not enough for me to stop plotting Harriett’s demise.

A very deliberate clearing of the throat coming from the front of the class is enough to pull me out of my little murderous daydream. Standing in front of me is a lady, probably in her mid thirties. She looks different to what you would expect for a teacher. She’s very petite, with curves in all the right places. Her dark hair is pulled together into a bun on the top of her head, and her face is made up perfectly. She even wears a dark red lipstick that makes her lips look luscious and plump. Her short black pencil skirt stops much higher up the thigh than is probably allowed for a teacher, and the four inch stilettos she has paired it with gives her height and enhances her legs and ass far more than a teacher should. Then there’s her tight black blouse, that is straining closed over her tits, and with one more button open above than is practical. Her ample cleavage is obvious for all to see. Now I know why well over half the class is paying more attention to the teacher than to me.

“You three are late,” she says sternly. Jackson and Harley both protest, but she cuts them off. “If you do not have your bum on the seat when the bell rings, I consider that to be late.”

We all sigh and realise there isn’t much point in arguing. So we rush to our seats, at which point she shouts again. “I expect an apology, and you will do detention with me this evening to make up for your tardiness.”

The boys mumble their apologies, but I am not apologising. I wasn’t late and she can fuck off if she thinks I am spending my time in a detention I didn’t earn. Clearly she picks up on the fact I didn’t respond when the boys did.

“You two,” she points to Harley and Jackson, “may sit down. But, you…what is your name?”

“Abbie,” I reply bluntly.

“Well, Abbie. When I request an apology, I expect to receive one.” She taps the toes of her stilettos to accentuate her growing impatience. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, an exact mirror of what I have just done.

“If you are waiting for me to apologise you will be waiting forever. I am not going to say sorry for something I didn’t do,” I state as both Harley and Jackson groan from their table at the side of mine. So much for keeping my head down and staying out of trouble.

The new teacher looks like she has something to say, but before she gets the chance, Harriett decides it’s her turn to pipe up. “You are fighting a losing battle with this one, Auntie Lacey. This is the girl who murdered her own twin in cold blood. You can’t really expect someone like that to have manners can you.”

Fuck, did she just say Auntie? If this bitch is a relative of Harriett, that explains a lot. I notice something out of the corner of my eye and glance over to see that Harley is on his phone, no doubt giving Trixie a play by play of what is happening. Those two gossip more than a bunch of old women with nothing better to do. The teacher just stares at me with razor sharp eyes, hoping they will scare me into doing what she tells me to. What she doesn’t realise is that her evil stare is just my mother’s resting bitch face, she can go a whole lot worse. So, I am used to this level of bullshit.

What I can’t stand is the attention. I can feel their eyes on me and it sends ripples of revulsion through my skin. I want to itch at it, to scratch away the crawling feeling that is burying just under the surface. I’m antsy and I can’t stand any more attention on me.

The teacher remaining silent and allowing Harriett to throw her punches at me, opens up the floodgates. Students all talk at once. Shouting. Asking questions. Name calling. They go through it all.

“Is it true you murdered your sister?”

“Was she really your twin?”

“Why are you not in prison?”

“I always knew you were a cold hearted bitch.”

“Slag! Murderer!”

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