Nature's Law

I sat staring out of my window; the black mist swirled around aimlessly. The night was my favourite time of day; I don’t know why but it was. I could always think better at night, and feel calm, at peace with the world, at night.
There was nothing better to do on a Sunday evening, school was starting up again tomorrow but there was no way that I was looking forward to it.
I could hear Jeanne’s stereo playing an electronic beat at a low volume. I sighed; I really couldn’t understand her idea of ‘good music’. In my opinion, the music which people have created themselves, with no help from computers worldwide was the music which should be getting the most recognition...Jeanne on the other hand. Well, she preferred electronics with a voice attached haphazardly to it when it was in the Billboard Top 40, anything else and it wouldn’t even be considered to ‘grace the presence’ of her pink iPod, diamante crystals included.
Eventually Jeanne’s music stopped and I heard the light switch click, announcing that she would be asleep soon.
I turned my attention back to the glass window, my reflection shining back blankly at me. From the black window even though I couldn’t tell that my eyes were seaweed green or that my hair was fiery red, I could tell clearly that the scar on my collarbone was finally beginning to die; fade into oblivion.

I smiled weakly at the evidence that finally my hell could finally be starting to go away. That I could maybe move on with my life. Maybe. Maybe things could change now.
I reached up to my blind cord, grabbed onto one of the beads and gradually tugged down on it, as to not cause it to fall down. Dad had never got around to fully fixing it in place, and Mum was rubbish at anything DIY related.
Now that I had concealed all of the beauty and dangers of the night from sight, I had to do one more thing. I stood up and flipped my mattress on its side, pulling a cotton and wood weaved dream-catcher from under it, attaching it to my headboard with a split-pin. I ran my hand over the bronze circle in the middle of it before flipping my mattress back over and re-setting all of my pillows. No-one knew about the dream-catcher. Everyone just assumed I was a normal, un-troubled teenage girl who was like any other girl in the street. Haha, yeah right. I was anything but normal. I couldn’t even tell my own mother about me, she would freak if she knew anything about my life, especially the past, of which she only knew oh-so little about.
My past, my hell, my problem.

***
The next morning first came known to me at 07:00, or so my alarm clock told me. I had never been one for trusting what the cheap Argos alarm clocks told you though. Even so, I sat up, stretched my arm, clicked my ankles so that they didn’t feel all tight and escaped from my bed, the one that looked so comforting and inviting, honestly I just wanted to dive back into it.
Unfortunately, life was never that giving.

Instead, I stumbled across my floor and ended up by my wardrobe, the middle door containing a full length mirror; which I stared at aimlessly, as I did most mornings.
My red hair was wavy and messy; like it was every morning, and my green eyes were crinkled up in a reaction to the bright sunlight filtering in from the edges of my blind.
I sighed, not bothering to look any longer at my far to pale skin, which made me look sickly white if I was in the wrong lighting, and that made me go beetroot red when we did ‘circuits’ in PE. I had twisted my body to the left so that I could open the segment of my wardrobe that contained all of my school uniform. My uniform, well it could be worse I suppose. For the girls, Harringston Prepatory Academy’s uniform consisted of a mid-thigh pleated grey skirt, an open neck blouse or white polo shirt with the schools colours, navy blue, black and grey, in thin stripes around the collar and at the ends of the sleeves, and a thin grey V-necked jumper.
As I stepped back, my uniform on its hangers still, folded over my arm, I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror, noticing the reddish-purple jaggered line that ran across my collarbone, the short lines that were scattered on my wrists, there were only a couple mind, and they were years old. Scars don’t let you forget what was once in your head, what was once destroying your life, scars are what keep you from moving on. I turned round, placing my uniform over the back of my office chair and turned back to the mirror. Something...there was something glancing back at me...something...no. It couldn’t be. No. I wouldn’t let it be. My arm trailed across my stomach to the hem of my pyjama shirt, well, it was a baggy Rolling Stones band tee, the red was beginning to peel off the tongue now, and slowly, tentatively, I pulled it up. I didn’t even mean to do it, I just...was. A long line was standing stark against my skin, as if a toddler had grabbed a red wax crayon and just dragged it across a sheet of paper. I stared at the scar for what seemed like ever, not being able to pull my hand away from the hem of the shirt, not being able to let my past be hidden from me.
Eventually, whatever magnetic pull had held me at the mirror relaxed, and I took that moment to get myself back to my bed, and my dream catcher. I pulled it off the bed head, and unthreaded one of the cotton strands from it, instead tying it around my wrist. I guess I was just trying to delude myself into believing that I would be safe now. I picked up my uniform from the office chair and pulled the white polo shirt over my head, fixing the collar slightly as I reached for the thin V-neck grey jumper and grey skirt. HPA was a private school, and 98% of the school paid a premium to have their children educated there, my sister and myself however helped to make up the minority which got in on scholarships of which there were three available a year. It was definitely tough to get a scholarship to HPA, you had to be predicted top grades in the core subjects, as well as either history or geography. And then you had to be insanely good at your scholarship study. And I am talking top 5% in the country for your age good. For the scholarship kids, it was a tough school to get into and even tougher staying there, as the scholarships were reviewed every two years. For the people who could afford to get in there, there were varying fees, if you were predicted grades C’s it cost more than B’s and then they cost more than A’s etc. It was all about how much had to be spent on resources per child apparently. And considering A students parents paid £20,000 a year, I would hate to be paying the fees for someone predicted C’s. Personally, I found HPA’s fee table harsh, but then again, it wasn’t up to me. I was being privileged with a glimpse of what a rich life is like, and for that I couldn’t afford to be harsh about HPA, no matter how much I wanted to be.
Mum’s faint voice called up the stairs for Jeanne and I to hurry up or else we’d be late and ‘who wants to be late on the first day?!’
In my opinion, no one ever wanted the first day to appear in the first place, but that's parents for you; completely clueless. And as my mum had just returned from a 10 hour night-shift at the 24-hour cafe where she worked, I doubted she would be able to understand even less than usual.
I grudgingly made my way down the white stairs, clutching tightly to the banner as I felt my legs go all jelloid. September 13th, typically, happened to be the anniversary of that day. Shrinks had told me that it would pass, just my brain being stupid. But, I couldn’t get it out of my head. The maliciousness in his eyes, the look of power and how he just didn’t care what he was doing. But that was it; he didn’t care, not for his actions, or for me. No matter what I had been led to believe.
I violently shook my head – a headache would be better than fainting, I figured - and tried to steady myself enough to get through the next 40 minutes until Jeanne and I had to leave for school.

In the mornings, I always tried to vaguely stick to a routine, eating a somewhat healthy breakfast, usually Coco Pops or Frosties, and doing some revision as I figured I may as well start now, the exams could only get closer. Jeanne, on the other hand was in a constant rush in the mornings, she would stumble down the stairs - her skirt hitched up so it was more like a jumper, then a slither of grey pleats - before grabbing an energy bar out of the cupboard in the kitchen and heading to the big mirror above the fireplace to endlessly apply make-up, do her hair, and pout at herself, practising her ‘sexy face’.
And every day, Mum would walk into the living room and complain about her choice of breakfast, and every day Jeanne would retaliate, and every day they would end up screaming about any little problem in their lives...and every day they would collapse into each other’s arms crying and apologising. And every day, I would be made to be invisible.
“It’s fattening!” she exclaimed, as Mum started comparing my breakfast to her own, commenting (stupidly) that she should eat a bowl of Coco Pops as well.
“Well, that's good then.” Mum said coolly “You need a bit of meat on you. You’re just skin and bone” she pulled up Jeanne’s polo shirt and way to revealing grey jumper to prove to her that she was just skin and bone. Her skin clung to every bone, defining it loads. It didn’t look nice and healthy, it looked sickly. As though she was starving herself. Well, technically, she is starving herself, three energy bars and a litre of water a day can hardly be a balanced diet.
Mum and Jeanne stared at each other coldly, and grudgingly Jeanne agreed to eat a bowl of Coco Pops.
“Come on Jeanne! Let’s go already!” I exclaimed angrily, hammering on the bathroom door. How long did she need to go to the loo?
“What? The lightings way better in here! I looked awful, you can’t expect me to go out looking like that can you?” she called back as whatever music she was playing on her phone gradually turned up.
No surprises there, I suppose, Jeanne was a little to obsessed with how she looked if you ask me, constantly touching up her make-up and re-doing her hair in a hundred different styles before she decided it looked good enough to leave the house.
“Jeanne? What are you doing?” I called suspiciously, as the music volume continued to increase. “Jeanne? Can you hear me? What. Are. You. Doing?”
I got no response as I heard the toilet flush faintly over the music. What was she doing? That was the third time the loo had flushed in the time she had been in there.
“Fine. I’m coming” she sighed heavily, over dramatically, from inside the room as the lock clicked and she left the room. She was wiping at her mouth with a washcloth, her eyes looking dreary and sad.
“Jeanne...are you okay?”
“Yeah. Fine. Leave me alone.” She snapped back, pushing past me as I entered the bathroom. There was an over-powering aroma of puke in it, I held my breath throughout the entire time I was in there, relieved when I got out, and walked straight into my mother.
“Oh, sorry dear. You better get going to school. Jeanne’s just left, she went to catch up with some people she saw through the window. You may be able to catch up with her still, if you hurry”
“Oh, okay, thanks Mum” I said lamely, with no intention of rushing myself to catch up with her.
As I walked outside and onto the pavement, I could see Jeanne in front of me, she was giggling around with some guy, who I could tell, even from this distance, was only being nice to get into her pants. You could totally tell; he was all stiff in his laughter. But in her pants, he wouldn’t get with his fake laughter. Into her mouth, well, his tongue stood a good chance with that one. Jeanne may be fake herself, but she was pretty good at spotting it never-the-less, and anyway, as she had once told me, a kiss would make him move on, having partially got what he wanted; getting nothing would make him a perverted stalker.

I eventually reached the cast rusty iron gates that guarded Harringston Prepatory Academy from the rest of civilisation, and not to my surprise Jeanne was leaning against them, flanked by none other than Rachel and Marie, her evil minions. I suppose that Jeanne could be occasionally nice to me, but those rare moments only ever happened when she wasn’t around them.
“Running off to the music rooms?” they called sarcastically after me as I walked hurriedly past them, confrontation really wasn’t my thing.
I tugged down on my jumper, trying to cover my lower half as much as I could. It never really worked, but it made me feel a bit better about how I looked. Made me think that I was indeed covering my past.
I walked along the crunchy gravel path, a path that I followed most mornings. It led to the music rooms, and more importantly the polished black grand piano that resided there. I had long ago figured that the only way which I could get out of this town was to succeed in music, which meant practising here all of the time seeing as I would never be able to afford my own piano. It also meant learning how to play the guitar and bass, as classical musicians could only do so much.
As much as I loved music, I all but loathed the music lessons at this school, they were all boring to the extreme and I can’t even begin to explain how much I hate the small weedy man that teaches at this school. Mr Havers was ‘lovingly’ called Weedy by most of the student population, and even a few teachers who also despised him. I had hoped that going to a private school, the music program would be amazing, and it had been, until Mr Havers had come and ruined it, and as music was the one thing keeping me at this school I knew I had to stick to my guns.
As my long ivory fingers skimmed along the black and white keys I became aware to another presence in the room and quickly stopped my piece so that I could see which rude teacher or student had decided to interrupt me.
Well, it wasn't a teacher, but I wasn't quite sure if it was a student either. This school did accommodate for students up to twenty years of age, the founders of the school believed that education was key for all of those up to twenty, so if you went to HPA you stayed for nine years. Albeit there were three parts to the school, the junior section, the phonic section and the Uni-1 section.
Many of the Uni-1 students here, which weren’t that many considering how many there are until Bravo year, are also called ‘Alpha’ students. The first letter in the phonic alphabet. Meaning they were at the top, better than the rest. I was a Bravo myself, the last year in the phonic section.
“Can I help you?” I asked. He laughed, his shaggy dusty brown hair moved liquidly with his heads slightest of movements and his almond eyes lighted up with amusement.
“No, not at all” he responded, taking a few steps towards me.
I slided off of the stool and picked up my bag, throwing it over my shoulder.
“Then why are you here?”
“You’re good” he said, ignoring my question completely.
“Thanks” I muttered, knowing that my skin would be turning red as it always did at my slightest embarrassment.
Another reason to hate how pale I was. Although...he seemed pretty pale himself. Not normal pale either, translucent marble pale.
I quickly realised that I was gawking and I snapped my mouth shut fast praying that he hadn’t noticed.
“Why are you here?” I repeated hastily, looking down at my feet to try and disguise the crimson of my cheeks.
I couldn’t see what his facial expression was as he answered but his voice seemed shaky, unnerved. “U-Um I heard you playing from outside so I came in to hear it better?” It sounded as though he was asking to see if that was an okay reason.
I nodded my head slightly, accepting his blatant lie response, I would totally have realised if someone had entered after me, and I doubted he would have gotten there before me, music rooms weren’t at all interesting if you weren’t playing, and together we walked out of the music room.

“So what’s your name?” he asked me as we began to approach the English rooms, which were as far as you could possibly get from the music rooms.
“Amalia” I stated, pulling open the door that led to the English corridor, the boy pushed passed me jokingly and we continued to stroll down the deserted corridor.
“Aren’t you gonna ask me what my name is?” he asked after a few moments of silence. This boy made me nervous, the way he seemed to move with such fluidity and synchronisation with the air...it didn’t seem humanly possible. I was always one to be scared of something when I couldn’t find a rational reason for it, if I could explain something, I wouldn’t be scared of it as much. When I couldn’t, my mind went crazy and I had anxiety and panic attacks....my breathing would become heavy....my movements rapid....my eyes would bug out and I would collapse.
“Oh. Urm, yeah I guess so. What’s your name?” I asked lamely, as my breathing became harsher, the mild air being jabbed out of my mouth as violently as if it were someone being pushed off of a building.
“Scott Hartley” his smile faltering slightly “Are you alright?” he asked as I collapsed against the wall, my hand covering my mouth and nose
“Yeah, yeah. I’m” I’m...what was I? I sure as hell wasn’t all good and dandy, but there wasn’t anything wrong with me either “Fine. It’s...it’s just an over-reaction, that’s all” Well...it was true, it was an over-reaction. Surely there couldn’t be anything to wrong with the way a boy seemed to move ‘in synch with the air’. A blush spread across my cheeks; what an idiot.
“Are you sure you are alright?” he asked, crouching next to me, twisting his head round to look if anyone was walking down the corridor who could help us. There wasn’t anyone.
“So, I’m guessing you have English now. Do you want to go to English? I can quite easily get you out...”
I nodded my head. “I want to go to English. I’m fine; there’s nothing wrong with me.” I pushed myself up from the floor and, with Scott’s help, walked across to the door of my English room.
“You better not be lying to me. You don’t have to be embarrassed” his hands held my face; they were cold, but...not cold also. I averted my eyes from his; the intensity of his gaze annoyed me. He didn’t know me, he didn’t have to be worried about me – he didn’t even know me.
“I’m not embarrassed. Now, if you’ll excuse me” I pulled away from his grip, and pushed my way into my classroom.
As I closed the door behind me I became aware to many people staring at me. I turned around and began walking hurriedly to my seat, where Alice was eagerly awaiting my arrival, so she didn’t have to sit at a desk ‘like a freak with no friends’.
“Finally!” She exclaimed “Where were you? No, don’t tell me, music?”
I nodded weakly.
“But...you’re always there and you’re never late. Ever. What happened, Lia?” she asked, as she opened my text book to the right page for me as I found the next clean page in my exercise book.
“I had another panic/anxiety attack” I muttered, scribbling my pen on the back page of my book. Yep, it was officially dead. “Hey, can I borrow a pen?”
“Yeah, sure” she passed me one of her Hello Kitty biros that glowed pink when you applied pressure to it. “What do you mean you had a panic attack? What caused it? He’s not gonna hurt you...not here, not ever”
“No, it wasn’t caused by that...it was-”
She cut me off “But it’s the anniversary, two years today, right?”
“Three” I sighed
“Then what was it?” she exclaimed, her whisper growing into more of a shout
“Girls” Miss Frits exclaimed “Do I need to separate you?”
“No, Miss” we said in unison
“Quite down then, have you finished the work?”
“I was explaining it to Lia, Miss” Alice said quickly.
“Oh, yes. Lia, see me at the end and we will discuss your lateness”
Great. Just great. I wasn’t going to go divulging in my life problems to anyone, especially not a teacher, as nice as Miss Frits was.

Once everyone else had left the room, Alice being the last, signalling she would wait outside, Miss Frits signalled me over to her desk.
“I’m sorry I’m late, Miss. I lost track of time, I was rehearsing a piece in the music rooms” I stammered, hoping she would believe it, and not start going on about ‘problems’.
“That’s fine, Lia, I understand perfectly” she smiled
“You do? I mean, yeah. Thanks.” I began inching backwards towards the door...neeearly there and-
“Is everything alright, Lia? There’s nothing happening, y’know, at home? Anything you want to talk about?”
“Um, no, Miss, nothing’s...happening”
“Anything out of school...boy troubles? A boyfriend?”
“No, Miss. No boyfriend to cause troubles.” I said, blushing furiously as I stared hardly at the ground, and at Miss’ black patent heels.
“Oh, okay. And Jeanne how is she? She seems to be upset about something...”
“I don’t speak to my sister much. We don’t have that kind of relationship. Ask Rachel or Marie, they’d know...they probably wouldn’t tell you though”
“Okay, thank you, Lia”
“Can I go now, please? I don’t want to be late for my next period”
“Yes, yes, of course you may. And Lia – be careful. You don’t know what life is like yet; things may not always...be as they seem”
“Oh...kay?” I pushed out of the door, shaking my head slightly. What was all of that about?

As I walked out of the corridor, Alice all but tackled me. “Now! What was that about? Did she go on about ‘life’s issues’ again?” she cringed at the thought of it.
I nodded.
“And, what did you say about your panic attack? You never finished telling me in class”
“Well, it wasn’t about that so don’t even mention it.”
“I won’t – pinky swear” She held out her littlest finger and linked it with mine and we shook.
“Well...it was one of the logic panic attacks”
“Oh, when you can’t logically explain something” she laughed; she was one of the many people who thought my fear was irrational and stupid.
“Shut up”
“Yeah, well, you have to admit, you do over-react about these things sometimes”
“I haven’t had one like this for ages, I nearly full on fainted, Alice”
Ha, that shut her up.
“Oh. Well, what was it that caused it? Did you see Matron? Is that why you were late? Did you tell Miss?”
“No. Partly. No”
While she processed this, we finally reached the Maths block and went our separate ways. At least I had an hour now to come up with something serious enough and believable enough to satisfy Alice over my panic attack.
A boy moving like air was just not going to cut it. On both factors.