This War Paint

Butch


“What were you thinking?” Max hissed at me from his desk.

“That if I didn’t hit the guy right then I’d end up killing him later on,” I quipped back, just as sharp.

“That was stupid Butch.”

“Suck it up and stop sounding like your girlfriend,” I flashed a dangerous look over at him, sick to death of hearing such bull. I got lectured enough by teachers and our stuck-up principal; I didn’t need it from my best friend too.

Max shook his head and refocused on the teacher at the front of class. I could tell he hadn’t laid the subject to rest yet though. He must have had an earful from Baby to be this worked up over David’s and my little tussle outside. The old Max would have thumped me on the back and praised me to high heaven. The old Max would have told me to save him a shot next time.

Sure enough, not ten minutes later he turned dark eyes onto me again.

We had been best friends since we were young, young enough to barely understand the differences between boys and girls, right and wrong, the bad guys and the rest of the world. He had ten tattoos creeping up his shoulder that he only showed off on the odd day he was feeling like a bad-ass. We’d gotten them together because at that time we’d both secretly been scared of needles. Needless to say we weren’t scared for much longer.

But things had changed in the past few weeks. He hadn’t once worn a shirt showing off his right tattooed shoulder. He’d been giving me a hard time about the drugs, about Jane and now about my fighting. If I’d wanted a parent to replace the ones I’d obviously never properly had, I would have turned myself in to social services.

“If this is about Jane...”

“Holy fuck can I not just want to punch the prick?” I hissed through clenched teeth.

I was still worked up from earlier and I still could have done with getting a few more hits in at Armstrong. He’d gotten off lightly. In fact, if Jane hadn’t stepped in when she had I’m pretty sure he would have been unconscious. Max was quickly on his way to replacing Armstrong as my punching bag and right now anything with a torso looked pretty good to lash out at.

“Obviously not otherwise you would have done it a long time ago.”

While our voices were lowered because we were still unfortunately in a classroom, the resentment seeping into our tones was unmistakable. Students surrounding us were glancing for longer and longer each time they peered curiously over. There was no mistaking Butch’s intent. Obviously he was close once again to causing a great big scene especially for them. They didn’t even know the half of it.

“Max, drop it.”

“Fine but only because you’ve got enough shit to deal with at the moment. I hope you know you’ve just added to it with your stupid stunt outside. How many hours detention have you gotten this time? Enough to make keeping your job difficult I’m guessing.”

I was practically clawing the wood at my desk. I needed to calm down. It wasn’t even Max’s fault. He was right; I had been the idiot to get caught up in a fight with Florence’s golden boy, a fight in which I would always lose. Sure, I could beat him to a bloody pulp but I’d always be the one to suffer for it. I was lucky with only ten hours.

“God,” I ran a rough hand along my face, coming to rest under my jaw. “What a day.”

“I suppose you got Jane’s attention from it,” Max smiled softly at me, already over whatever fight we’d just gotten into.

I grinned despite myself, remembering the feel of her hand pressing into mine and the special look she’d flashed me just before she’d left. And it had all been worth it. David held something over Jane and I’d be damned if I allowed him to scare her any longer. She wasn’t his, heck she wasn’t mine but she most certainly wasn’t his. Not to mess with or haunt or send knowing, evil looks at. As long as I was around I’d defend her honour, like any respectable knight in shining armour would.

God, just listening to myself was painful.

As soon as the bell rang, signalling the end of the day, the class bolted for the door. Max pumped his fist into mine before disappearing too, lost in a sea of so many others. I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and counted to three. I was in no rush to report to detention to get whatever stupid punishment they thought would keep me entertained for my contracted ten hours. In fact, I wasn’t in any particular rush anyway. I would miss work, no doubt, so what was the point in hurrying back to my dowdy car and scratchy blankets.

The teacher shot me a not-so-kind look, telling me to hurry my ass out of her classroom but I just grinned back. As if she had meant her tight-lipped smile to be anything but unpleasant. Whatever, I wasn’t sorry. Not to her or any other fucker in this town who thought they knew me so well. I wasn’t sorry for taking my sweet time, I wasn’t sorry for playing up to their hatred and I most certainly wasn’t sorry for giving their golden boy a black eye.

“Get yourself to the detention centre Butch,” she finally snapped when I was only half way to the door.

“Just heading there ma’am.”

“Well head there faster.”

“I think David must have gotten in a good kick or two earlier, my leg seems to be giving me some trouble,” I grinned even wider because she knew I was lying. Still, it was nice to remind the world that I hadn’t tied the guy down and killed him; he’d been just as much a participant of the fight as me. It just so happened that he wasn’t such a good fighter. Go figure.

Through the trickle of life in the hallways I strode, past people who already knew where I was going before they’d even glanced at me. Whatever. This was all Butch was to them. Getting into fights, getting high and then getting in detention. I was sick of being their cliché.

Reporting to the stupid weathered lady at the detention desk almost killed me. I hated her. Her name was Cynthia; obviously a washed-up cheerleader who’d never made anything of her life and took out her marriage problems on those unfortunate enough to have to see her. She barely looked up at me, her hands already sifting through files and notes which she’d probably defaced with a hundred nasty words. That was all people like Cynthia was good for, nasty words.

But I put on my sweetest face, already knowing our routine like the back of my hand. Like every tattoo on my skin.

“How have you been Cynthia? It’s been, what, like two weeks?” I drawled, propping an elbow on the edge of her desk.

“Get off my desk Mr Swank.”

“How’s your husband Cynthia? Still threatening to divorce you for the cute next door neighbour?”

“Stop talking about my personal life Mr Swank,” she snapped.

It was true though. Cynthia’s sham of a marriage was starting to show, and their neighbour happened to be an ex beauty queen who her husband could barely take his eyes off of. Ex cheerleader didn’t stand a chance. I would have felt sorry for her if she wasn’t such a stuck-up bitch who’d given me the worst detention jobs for my entire existence in high school.

Or maybe not. To her, Butch would never have given a damn.

“What’s it this time then Cynth? Come on, give me your worst.”

“Upstairs boys bathroom’s clogged. It needs to be cleaned up so the plumber can take a look at it and you just so happen to owe this school ten hours,” her sarcastic smile stretched her ruby red lips a bit too far.

“Well that’s a lucky coincidence,” I scoffed “wouldn’t want the janitor to actually do his job now, would we?”

Cynthia just continued her repulsive looking smile, handing me the detention slip which I had to sign. There went a good three hours tonight and seven more over the next few days. I hated signing my name on the dotted line. It felt as if I was signing a part of my life away to the devil.

And it wasn’t even fair. Usually I would have taken my punishment gladly because I knew deep down that I deserved it. I’d caused a teacher a bit too much trouble. I’d initiated a food fight which would take days to properly clean up. But this time I knew I was in the right. I’d been defending Jane, and bringing the asshole down a few pegs, and I wasn’t the least bit sorry. In fact, if bated again I would gladly kill the motherfucker.

“I’ll see you later Cynthia, I know how much you enjoy watching me clocking out,” I winked.

She grumbled something unintelligible and probably unintelligent but I was already halfway out of the door. I knew better than to hang around and get a couple more hours stacked up.

So I made my way up to the boys’ bathroom, already knowing I was in for hell. Nobody used these toilets – they were renowned for being the pit of all that was wrong with the world. Ever since the beginning of the year students had rushed past the double doors just in case they caught a whiff of whatever had died in there. And I had to face it, head on, as if I was the fucking janitor or something. All because I’d hurt their precious David Armstrong.

Barricading my nose against the smell which was already disgusting, I pushed my way into the bathroom. And right there, between the grimy mirrors and the rank smelling stalls was Jane Hathaway swaddled in clothes as if that could protect her from the mess. She swept around to stare at me as I stood in the doorway. Red hair poured around her face and bright blue eyes pierced right into me. And all I could do was stare dumbfounded right back.

“Hey Fraser,” she finally breathed out awkwardly.

“Jane?”

“Yeah, I know, what the hell am I doing in a boys’ bathroom, right?”

“Well... it does seem a bit peculiar,” I smiled spontaneously, still basking in the shock of it all. Never had I expected to come in to my punishment to find the most beautiful thing in the world. I certainly hadn’t been expecting to find her in this boys’ bathroom anyway, especially not this one. Yet there she was, grinning right back at me guiltily as if she’d ever have to justify herself to me.

“You see what the principal did earlier, the whole putting the blame of the fight on you, wasn’t fair. And I know you have a job which you really need to get to so... I guess I thought I could help you,” she rambled, her cute little lips stretching into a nervous smile.

“But obviously if I’m just going to get in the way I can leave, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything.”

“How did you even know my punishment was here?” I laughed at just how adorable she was.

At that she smirked, cocking a hip to the side, “I have my connections.”

“Mysterious,” I smirked right back.

“Very. Do you want my help cleaning up this disaster?”

“Does Jane Hathaway really want to spend her time after school cleaning up boys’ toilets with Butch?” I asked lowly. I wanted nothing more than for her to stay, if just to stand there and look like some vision, but I needed her to understand. This could get her into trouble and this could damage her perfect reputation. And it wouldn’t be glamorous. Nothing in my life ever was but her – she embodied the word.

“Well I was going to leave you the toilets, I peeked at them a few minutes ago and don’t think my stomach can handle them. The floor’s all mine though,” Jane smiled perfectly as if she was used to doing things like this all of the time.

I realised then, as I gawped some more just how Goddamn beautiful this girl was, that she could be used to it. She really was a mystery, and I wanted to know every single one of her secrets. I wanted her to slip up that tank top of hers and show me her tattoo; I wanted her to let me in so I could always protect her from pricks like David Armstrong.

I loved her as I had never loved anyone else in my life. And she smiled easily at me like this was perfectly fine. Like I wasn’t just some stranger who was in love with her.