The Night Children

Chapter 13

Edited 

I had woken up this morning to see my hand was healing well. The red raw skin now had a new layer of skin stretching over the wound, however the edges were fiery with inflammation. I had put a jumper over the wound this morning in hopes of limiting the chances of Mum seeing it, not that she would care in the slightest anyway. Whenever the material inside the jumper brushed against my wound I would stiffen in pain, but my stubbornness overrid the need to broadcast my incident with the whole world. If I knew anything these days, it was to never draw attention to myself.

As I walked to the bus, my thoughts slid to Miss Anderson. Why had she purposefully dropped the beaker of silver? Mr Osmin must have told her I was found to be allergic, but her intentions still weren't clear. Why was she so persistent in hurting me? The next time she tries anything I'll be the first to wrap my fingers around her throat, I thought sourly.

As soon as I stepped on the bus, I felt several eyes flicker to me. I looked around, identifying some of my chemistry class mates. Their eyes trained on my hand where it was stuffed into my jumper pocket. I ignored their curious stares to sit in my regular seat.

Aaron shuffled to his side, allowing me more room to adjust my bag and let it fall to the floor.

"How is your hand?" he asked gently, as he always did. I looked up to meet his persistent eyes. His nose and cheeks were flushed from the cold, his lips cracking against the weather. His hair was standing on end and his eyelids were still heavy with exhaustion.

"You look like you need some coffee," I replied back to ignore his comment.

He let out a sigh, rising his hand to run his long fingers through his hair. "I see you're still disregarding my questions."

I rose my eyebrow. "I see you're still asking me questions that require a truthful answer, and you know how much I hate whining about injuries."

At this his hand fell into his lap. "So you are in pain?" his pupils narrowed and his eyes danced to my hidden hand. "Can I see it?"
"No," I hissed back.

He looked taken back, his lips declining into a frown. "Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to," I said, allowing my fingers to dig into my thigh through my jeans. "I let you examine my last injury; you don't need to see this one."

He brushed a strand of hair away from his face in frustration. "What is it with you and pretending you're fine when you're clearly not?"

I swallowed in surprise, trying to understand his words. He was staring at me intently, his green eyes sucking me into a void of thoughtfulness.

After several seconds of this, I replied. "I'm f—"

"Let me guess, you're fine," Aaron cut in, his tone one of exasperation. "Renee, you're not fine. You were hospitalised a few weeks ago, Mr Osmin seems to have a grudge on you and Miss Anderson knocked over a beaker of acid on your hand yesterday." He took a deep breath, the movement making a vein along his neck rise. "I can't remember the last time you smiled."

I felt my eyebrows furrow. "I smiled yesterday."

He narrowed his eyes, this time letting his fringe dust his eyelashes. "Really smiled."

I paused to let this sink in. Aaron was right, he always had been. I wasn't fine, and I knew that as soon as I woke up in hospital. I was scared and frustrated. I wanted answers and I wanted things to go back to normal.

I glanced back at him. He was looking at me with his calculating gaze, searching for any tell-tale expression that crossed my face at his words.

I frowned. "You hit the Jackpot Aaron. Yes, you're right, I'm not fine." His face slackened but the determined look in his eyes sparked. "But no one is. I spoke to a girl yesterday, she told me her younger sister disappeared days ago. I saw Ambers dad walk across the street the other day and his eyes looked haunted. Our chemistry class is lowering every day and my mother's sickness is getting worse." I sucked in a quick breath, ensuring my words didn't pin point Aaron. "And yes, I could sit here and complain to you that my hand hurts like hell and I hate the look of my scar on my knuckles and it is so unfair how I keep ending up in stupid situations but I'm not. There is a difference between acknowledging I'm not fine or prioritising my pain before others."