Hannah

I can't keep from watching her at her locker. Her dark red hair is like a wave of crimson. There's a rage inside me that I don't think I can fight anymore. I asked her to prom, and she said no. I mean, how could she say no? Every girl in school wants me, but they don't give me the roaring urge that, Hannah does. I plan to seduce her, ride up to her front step's in a stretch limo. I'll give her a huge bouquet of flower's that will set my drunk father back more than a few bucks. She will swoon at the sight of my expensive suit as women from the poor side of New York do. They love wealth, and lavish lifestyle's of Uptown. She will fall hard in the span of a few hour's, and she will open her leg's to me. But I don't want her to enjoy it. So long I've hid these rising storm's inside me, it start's in my gut, and explode's when I see her, when I imagine holding her down. Having my way with her.

***
I asked her, and the bitch said no. She said no! How could she turn me down? Now she has to pay, my plan has changed. It will take more effort than I had originally thought, it's going to take charm. I can do charm.

***
When the maid was cleaning my bedroom this morning, I snuck a bottle of bathroom cleaner from her cleaning caddy. I hid it in my locker until I transferred a small amount into a smaller bottle. I then, like a sly fox, spilled it into, Jordan's juice at lunch. I distracted him by informing the shy girl that eat's alone that, Jordan was planning on asking her on a date. Seeing, Hannah's prom date gulp down the poison filled juice, and Dana's utter look of confusion mixed with embarrassment fueled my fire. The motion that pulsed through me almost scared me. A rush. An inferno that I have no plan's of putting out.
After lunch, 911 was called . Jordan splayed across the glossy tile floor. He moaned in pain, holding at his gut, he rocked on his back. Eye's shut, he coughed a wet and gurgled cough. Thick spray's of blood shot from his mouth covering his face, and the glass-like tile with drop's of red. As he was wheeled out of class, out of the building and loaded into the ambulance; the entire student body watched with gaping mouth's. The hall's echoed with, Jordan's name. When the rumor spread that, Jordan would be in the hospital for a week, Hannah was fast to find me at my locker after last bell. I calmly accepted her offer to go to prom with her. I walked home with victory in my bone's.

***

The open notebook next to my crossed leg's, containing my art notes goes into a frenzy of wind wipped paper's as I slam the journal shut. I can't read anymore, I know he's a monster. There's no denying it, but I can't read the graphic detail of his every attack. I let my back fall into the wall beside my bed, and set the journal next to me on the bed. My head cranes back until it touches the wall, and I stare into the tile's of the ceiling. I lose myself in deep thought, thinking of the girl in the journal, Hannah.

Who is she, what happened to her, where is she now?

Prom is supposed to be the magical night every girl dream's of. We spend year's picking out the perfect dress, the hair we'll flaunt on the dance floor as twinkle light's dance around us. My heart break's for her.

I pull, Zen's tee shirt close to my nose from my chest and inhale. My eye's close while his warmth wraps me, keeping me safe, keeping me sane. Behind closed eye's I smile at the memory of, Avery on the floor, helpless. I wanted to kill him. Get him to the basement where he ruined me somehow, tie him down with chain's as he had done to me, and destroy his smug face. The daydream of murder is what hold's me together now. It's all I have to look forward to.

My open hand find's my belly, it rest's there curiously, I find myself wondering what the thing look's like so I open my phone and search. The scrolling images of the fetal stages consumes my night. I view each page, tadpole like little thing's, the little bean slowly morph's into a completed child. An infant. An innocent accident, that can't be avoided. I could give the baby away, find a nice family who can't have children of their own. My silent thought's drift back to, Iris.

She couldn't hide her belly, and it cost her not only the baby's life, but her own. The pain that twisted in, Zen's face when he heard the truth of my occupied womb had crushed me. It can't be my baby, it will always be Avery's.

The dated bed frame complains while I hoist myself from the comfort of my blanket to my feet. I stay quiet, hoping not to wake any of my neighbor's as I ease through the hall's and out of the building. I need fresh air to fill my crushing lung's. The chilled air swirl's around me, whipping my hair. My fake length of hair that seamlessly blend's into the hacked bob. I pass a homeless man snoring, propped against hard brick. From several feet away I can smell the musk that cover's his ratty and soiled clothes. Guilt comes with relief when the man is far enough behind me that I can't smell him anymore. My feet move slow, my hand's seek warmth inside my hoodie while I take in the city. The smell of grit, and garbage. The sound of faint jazz from above me in an unknown apartment.

I've come to have a love/hate relationship with the city I once dreamt of. I make my way down the sidewalk until I'm across the street from the coffee house. I cross the street just as a yellow taxi passes by, and stand at the front window looking in. I see, Jack sitting at a table, his back faces me. I lightly tap my fingernail on the glass, he turn's and smile's as he walk's to the door and unlock's it.

"Chloe? What are you doing here? It's after midnight." His deep British voice ushering me inside.
"I was taking a walk." I tell him, walking alongside him back to his table, "Fresh air, and all of that." I force a coughed laugh, sitting in the chair across from his. Dark circle's have formed under his eye's, he seems exhausted.
"You okay there?" I lean closer to him. He scoffs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, "She turned me down. . ." He says with a wince.
"Oh, Jack. I'm sorry. What happened?" Jack lean's back in his chair, the vibrant tattoo's that cover his arm's strain against his pale skin as they cross over his chest. "She has a boyfriend, some uptown bloke, he drives one of those bloody sports car's that drop panties." He shake's his head, "I can't compete with that, ya know?" I feel sorry for the poor guy. He is nuts for the girl. Jack places his hand's on the table and braid's them together, I reach and take a cold hand into mine.

"Jack, sweetie. . . You can do better, forget her." I pat his hand with a reassuring smile.
"I can't stop thinking about her. Pathetic!" He jokes, "I don't even know her, and she broke my heart." His charming smile spread's through his cheek's and seep's deep into his eye's until they brighten; the sorrow has eased. I giggle with him, and steal a sip of his tea. It's purple, and tastes like rose petal's. He doesn't seem to mind. I tilt my head to him, "I need to ask you something." I prod.

"Yeah? What's that?" He blow's into his tea, and sip's.
"Why didn't you tell me you showcased my work here?"
"Your work?" He ask's confused, cupping his hand's around the warm mug.
"My painting. The sunset ship?" Jack's eye's round, he lean's closer hovering over the center of the table. He cut's his gaze toward the back room, and back to me, "You. . .you painted that?" He shoot's from his chair, and zip's around the counter. He return's holding the painted in his hand's. The giant size of the canvas is held by his fully stretched arm's.

"I bought this!" He laugh's, pointing to my work, "It was infront of the library for a week, and I had to have it." He stares into the dramatic brush stroke's, "It's mesmerizing, on my bad day's I just stare at it." I leave my chair and saunter to my painting.
"That was the goal." I tell him, trailing my finger's over the raised texture's.
I stand beside, Jack. In silence we let ourselves journey into the painting. We stay there for a while, I peek at him lost in my work. I've never seen anyone appreciate my art with such passion.
"I'm happy to have met you, Chloe." Jack's voice lower's to just above a whisper. The sudden compliment stuns me.
"Really? Thank you, Jack. That's just the lift I needed tonight." I smile.

His face goes slank, then strain's, he drop's his head and step's closer to me. My heart begin's to flutter, I want to panic. But something about, Jack set's my mind at ease. I let him rest his forehead to mine. Air rushes inches from my face as he exhales through his nose. A blow of air with a hint of depression. I hug him tight, a long squeeze with my arm's wrapped snug around his waist while he mirror's me. Part of me want's to simply comfort my friend, but a larger piece of me just need's a hug from someone oblivious of my horror's.

"Thank you." Jack muffle's into my shoulder.
"You don't have to thank me." I reply, he break's away from the hug and hold's my shoulder's at arm's length.
"For the painting. Thank you for painting this for me to find. You've no idea how many night's it helped me." I follow him to his makeshift home in the back kitchen, and sit with him on his curb grabbed sofa. The light's over head turn off with a clap of his hand.

"The Clapper?" I giggle, pulling a blanket over my leg's. Jack click's the television on, and get's comfortable; sinking back with his hand tucked behind his head at the other end of the couch.
"When I moved to the state's, I seen it on TV, I always wanted one. So, when I cleaned out the kitchen I had to get one." He smirk's.

We sit in the dark, just two depressed friend's in desperate need of the company of one another. The night fades as the twinkle of the television glow flicker's around me. I close my eye's, let my head relax and fall back into the thick padding. I should go back to my dorm, go to bed. But the company of, Jack makes me want to stay until the sun shows it's face.

"You can talk to me, Chloe." Jack whisper's, "I know something is going on, I can tell by the way you flinch at a gentle touch. I just want you to know you can trust me, and that's not me flirting. I'm serious. It's the least I can do." He glances at my painting propped against the front of the TV.

In my reeling thought's, with my eye's closed all the while I hadn't noticed the work of art. I sit straight, and smile. The burning sun, sinking behind the sailor's ship come's to life with the moving light's behind it's image. Moving, shifting, and twirling like a roaring inferno.