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The first day of seventh grade, Rose Lalonde vomited. She threw up everything she'd eaten in the past day, which although it wasn't much, it always feels like it when you're sitting on the bathroom floor emptying yourself. Roxy stood behind her and stroked her hair and then proceeded to beg their mother to let her stay home. Their mother, drunk as always, slurred a harsh scolding and said 'nerves were no reason to skip school.' Whether or not she fully comprehended that Rose had just gotten sick, her word was final.
The first day of seventh grade, Rose Lalonde entered her classroom in a stupor. Dave wasn't in her class, which she would have liked, but Jade was, so she quickly snatched the seat beside her before anyone else could. Somehow, being close to Jade made her feel better. Class began, but just as Mrs. Snowman had launched into their first lesson, a boy sauntered in. The boy was late. Their teacher snapped at him and directed him to the last seat open- incidentally, it happened to be the one beside Rose. It made sense that no one would want to sit by her, at least it did to Rose, but he seemed ecstatic to slide in beside her. Something about this made Rose deeply uncomfortable, and without thinking, she pushed herself closer to Jade.
The first day of seventh grade came and went without any more event. The days following refused to.
The second day of seventh grade, the boy who sat beside her in homeroom told her his name,
"Zebruh," He drawled, hand deliberately brushing her cheek.
Rose blinked, and returned with a much flatter tone,
"Rose."
Additionally, he began asserting himself in other aspects of her life- for example, lunch period.
Their school was reasonably large, so three periods housed three classes- somehow, Rose only ended up with two of her friends in her period. Jade and John. Still, it was more than enough, and she was overjoyed at the idea of having quality time with them. Not that she'd ever admitted it.
Everything about that quality time changed the second Zebruh arrived. He would slide beside her, far too close, and make a point of interrupting John every time he went to speak. Jade, on the other hand, Zebruh more or less ignored.
Rose Lalonde brushed it off. Life went on.
Every day, Zebruh made more gestures than the last. On the third day, he waved her over to sit with him, instead of her standard seat with Jade and John. There was no one else at the table. With what felt like every eye upon her, Rose sat across from him.
People giggled. Roses' stomach felt heavy.
On the fourth day, he said he noticed how small her lunch was. Before she had even been able to begin eating, he gave her an entire burger and some chips from the vending machine.
Rose hated eating these days, but she ate it anyway. That day, in particular, he pushed a little further and talked a little quieter.
The fifth day of seventh grade came with no fanfare at all, but Rose was still immensely relieved to know it was over for the week. As she went to lunch and sat beside Zebruh (he patted the spot beside him; she didn't think about it), he again bought her dinner. Her stomach hurt so much that Rose gagged while swallowing; everything she ate tasted like dust, and even though he gave her water to drink, her throat remained dry. Was she in love?
She had to be.
Zebruhs' hand rested on her shoulder.
Stiff as she was, she did not swat him away.
As the day came to an end, Rose Lalonde became aware that she was being watched.
She also became aware that her mother had forgotten to pick her up. Again.
Of course-
Christ, how could she be such an idiot?
It was a Friday. Mom Lalondes' sobriety did not last past noon on regular days- let alone on the last day of the week.
At that moment, standing outside in the August chill, Rose hated the idea of going home. What did she even have to go back to? Broken glass? The sound of her mother vomiting? The sound of Roxy cleaning it up? Even though she knew it was childish, she hated Roxy, too. And Dave. They left her- she was alone now, more than ever, and instead of going to the principals' office like she knew was sensible, she dashed into the gymnasium.
All the people meandering outside made her feel paranoid.
On the fifth day of seventh grade, Rose Lalonde slipped beneath the bleachers. It felt like hours before anyone came for her, although it could have very well been minutes. It was enough time for Rose to fall into quiet, disgusting tears, either way. Someone- a man?- Opened the door and called her name. And maybe she was delirious, but she could have sworn it was her brother. Either of them, really. That's what she hoped- someone familiar comes to rescue her. The family had never rescued her before, of course, and it was foolish to think they would then, but that's really all hope was.
Foolishness.
"Here!..." Rose shouted, on the fifth day of seventh grade, more foolish than she'd ever been.
Someone came running over and ducked under the bleachers- just from the black loafers she could tell who it was.
"Zebruh," She said, weakly.
"Rose." He returned, and Rose looked up, even though she didn't need to. His expression was evident in his voice. He was smiling.
On the fifth day of seventh grade, Rose Lalondes' stomach ached, and it wasn't from the crying.
Zebruh extended her his hand, and she took it.
Only instead of pulling Rose up to her feet, Zebruh pulled her up to his face. He was a foot taller than her, but it didn't matter to him that she was barely touching the ground.
"May I?..." He hissed, but it wasn't a question, because they both knew the answer.
What could she say? No? What would it matter?
This was a rich boy. Popular. Who seemed to like her.
Rose had to like him back. She did not have a choice.
You hate him, her insides screamed. Run, they begged.
Rose Lalonde, on a day that shifted instantaneously from the fifth day of seventh grade to the worst day of young life, nodded.
And he kissed her. His lips were smooth and soft, but he didn't seem to care about being either of those things. When attempting to recall details of the kiss, Roses mind flushed it out. Obviously, he knew what he was doing. Obviously, Rose did not.
When he let her go, they met eyes. He looked at her like a predator. Or maybe Rose just felt like prey.
On the worst day of her life, Rose ran. She had never been particularly fast, or even all that athletic period, but she ran like the world was ending. Without giving it any thought, her body carried her to the bathroom.
Huddled in a bathroom stall, her insides seized up. Her lips burned in disgust, and she wanted to cut away every inch of her Zebruh had ever touched.
She tried to cry since that would feel most appropriate, but instead, she vomited.
It was like something poisonous had entered her system-
Roses body tried desperately to empty itself even after everything was gone. She sat at the toilet and dry heaved, and it felt like her heart was coming up her throat. Like all her organs were going to spill into the toilet bowl. Most of her wished they would, and what of her didn't just wanted to stop existing without having to do all the dirty work.
Eventually, someone found her, thankfully after she'd stopped getting sick.
By then she was just sitting under the sink, looking at the ground as if it would have answers. It did not. The dissociation didn't stop when someone entered, and they must have thought she was dead because they gave a horrified scream.
Or maybe they were just surprised to see her.
Looking up, Rose made no attempt to explain herself. She felt hollowed and miserable as the janitor furiously took her by the arm. The rest of the faculty was gone, save for Mr. Hussie, their principal.
He seemed to find it hilarious when the janitor told him how she'd found Rose, but scolded her all the same.
When Roxy finally showed up, driving a car, she most certainly didn't have a license for, she looked exhausted and angry at the same time. As Rose sat down, it clearly took all her older sisters' will-power not to go ballistic when as they pulled from the school. Instead, she just waited until they were home.
The evening following Rose Lalondes' fifth day of seventh grade, the last person she would dare to trust seemed to resent having to take care of her.
As Rose trudged up to her room, she felt heavy, but not tired.
"May I?" "May I?" "May I?"
His words replay over and over. His voice pollutes your mind just as much are your thoughts. If you really must kill yourself, you'll kill him first.
A sort of grimness overtook her. She lay in bed, reading, and drawing. Certainly not eating. Even if she felt like it, Rose knew she'd only throw it up again.
At some point, Roxy must have decided she was sick.
On the sixth day of seventh grade, Rose Lalonde did not show up.
Nor did she for any of the days that followed.