Klaer closes in for another blow, Mianna struggles to stand up but some other girls hold her back. A crowd seems to form and there is inaudible yells and shouts. Klaer's arm is raised high... it seems to all occur in slow motion. It's inevitable, it's going to hurt... it's coming.

It's coming. Pain is always coming. There is always going to be pain. Pain everywhere I look. Pain, pain, PAIN. 

From behind me, there is a loud scrambling sound, it gets softer as it gets higher in the air. Then it repeats. I watch Klaer's hand appear closer and closer, her nails sparkling with sharpness. I can already hear the upcoming throb, the feeling like she's won, I've lost... like I should just give up because it's all over and this is never going to stop. She's going to keep pushing and pushing until I fall off the edge into oblivion. Pain is coming. 

There is a sudden flash of red and blue, and a thump to go along with it. I blink a few times and see Clarke in front of me, his hand wrapped around Klaer's wrist so tight her hand is turning red and her left eye is twitching. Clarke is fuming. Tall and superior to her, about to burst eith hwords I cannot guess. 

Darrin is on the pavement, helping Mianna up. Her palms are grazed and she's bracing her chest. She brushes herself off with one hand and Darrin runs his fingers over the graze on her other palm. She looks at him as if she might hug him, and stumbles into his arms, intentionally or unintentionally, how can I tell? Clarke hasn't let go of Klaer's wrist and he's yelling at her. She's crying slightly.

"It wasn't my fault! I didn't mean to do it! It was an accident!" she sobs.

Clarke throws her hand aside, "No, no. You knew exactly what you did and how you meant it and I can't believe..."

"You've no proof I did it, Torelli," she looks up and him and narrows her beady little eyes at him, smudged makeup running down her cheek.

"Are you kidding me?" Darrin laughs cruelly, "we saw it with our own f***king eyes!"

Mianna steps forward, doubling over slightly, and gently pulls out her phone, "I've got it all recorded.

By now...  we've backed Klaer into a corner of her misdoings and her clique have all found a way to escape, down the street and onto buses. Klaer looks around intending to follow them, but looks back at us suspiciously, "You're just saying that."

She coughs and picks up her bag. Mianna presses PLAY. Mae's voice streams out of her phone, "Is this how you're gonna play it?"

Klaer reaches for the phone with all her strength and might, showing her guilt. My eyes grow wide, maybe she regrets what she's done? But is there room for regret in her hearts filled with hate to the brim? Mianna zips her phone back in her bag, and Clarke blocks Klaer from reaching us.

"Just leave," he chokes, "go."

Klaer backs away, "I'll get that phone, I will erase that recording."

"No, you won't!" Darrin calls.

"You won't!" Clarke clarifies. 

We watch as she scrambles onto a bus, fear swelling in her eyes, making them as round as a slice of lemon. But what is she so afraid of? If she's afraid of getting caught, why does she hurt us?

Clarke turns to me. He runs a finger over the new cuts on my cheek, they sting and scream out in pain, due to my low pain tolerance. I feel the throb of a forming bruise on my face, arm, shoulder blade and the back of my head. I ache and notice the blood on Clarke's fingers. 

"Uh," I wince.

"I'm sorry," Clarke says, then licks the blood off his finger, "mmm... salty."

I laugh, but it hurts. 

Jokes aside, Clarke's expression takes a rapid turn and he closes his eyes, "Are you okay, Petria?"

"Well she's obviously not fine," Louis calls, "Coach wants to know what's going on."

"Give us a second," Clarke sighs.

He turns to me again, his hands on my forearm. What a brilliant first day of having a boyfriend – showing my vulnerability.

"Klaer scratched you yesterday, didn't she?" Clarke asks, "she did it and you didn't tell me."

I look down at my shoes, "I'm really sorry."

"Why do you keep saying that?" he asks, frowning.

"I-"

"We should get you two cleaned up," Darrin suggests.

"We'll use the first aid kit that's in the changerooms," Louis suggests. 

"I'll take you 'round the back," his fingers grazing the back of my hand slowly like he wanted something. I quickly grab his hand and lace my finger with his. The tips of his fingers are ice cold, but his palms are warm and firm. He almost looks grateful as we walk to the back of the oval gates. Somehow Louis unlocks it from his side. And we walk through, I thank him with a nod. 

But secretly I want to run away like Mae, Lucia, Alisha and Tammii. I don't want others to know, I don't want Clarke to know I can't make an end to... whatever Klaer does. 

My cheek is pulsing and sticky with warm blood, a small amount of blood, but enough to know it's there. How Klaer's nails caused such deep damage will forever remain a mystery. The Badminton team do something crazy by their court which involves hitting a little shuttlecock thingy and somehow getting it over... or is it under the net?

"This is Petria, then," the coach says.

He's young, tall, and Indian. He's handsome, to say the least. Clearly a ladies man. His name badge says his name is Purdy Saya. He eyes me strangely and I feel intimidated, "What happened to your face?"

I'm backed into a corner. How do I reply? I just couldn't bring myself to tell an adult. I remain silent on the spot, like an idiot.

"Is she mute?" he laughs.

Clarke glares at him, "No, she's just had a rough day and doesn't want to talk about it!"

The coach walks away, "Fine."

"We'll be back, I'm just going to go make sure she's okay," Clarke says rather firmly.

Coach puts his hands up in defence, as we go to leave, he calls, "go where I can't see you!"

"I'm sorry about him," Clarke apologises, as he leads me far away, "It's like can't stand seeing us have success in the world of love since he just got dumped himself."

I smile, "Success in the world of love, you are so poetic."

"Why thank you..."

Louis runs into the changeroom and appears again with the first aid kit. I glance at Clarke's watch, lifting up his wrist which he found amusing, and it's 3:42 pm. We've missed our train and the next one won't come until 5:00pm at our station. We'll have to take a bus to another station or maybe even walk.

Clarke sits me down on a bench by the changerooms (spray on deodorant scent has spread to the outside). Mianna and Darrin follow suit.

"DO YOU HAVE FIRST AID TRAINING?" Coach Saya calls, Clarke becomes irritated and his face falls into his hands.

"Ugh, why won't he stop!" I hear his muffled into his hands. I put my hand on his back and lift up his head by the chin with the other, igniting sparks at the meeting of our skin.

"ACTUALLY WE DID A COURSE A COUPLE WEEKS AGO!" Darrin yells back at his coach.

Clarke smiles at me, it's a small but dazzling smile, the small cut on his chin stretching slightly. It's like his thanking me a thousand ways without words. He promptly pulls away and opens the first aid box. He rummages through until he brings out a small bottle which I assume is antiseptic. Darrin takes Mianna to rinse her grazed and slightly bloody hands, while Clarke acts very nurse-like. He takes a cotton ball and taps it on my nose making me laugh, even though it hurts my cheek. He tips the bottle of antiseptic onto the small ball of fluff.

"I'm sure you know what you're doing," I blurt.

He stops dead in his tracks and the tips of his ears darken. Splotches of blood appear on the blank canvas of his cheeks. He's embarrassed... I EMBARRASSED HIM.

"First aid training taught you?" I ask in reconciliation.

His hand falls to onto the metal bench, "yeah."

He gently holds my chin still. He looks straight into my eye, seeming to dare me to look away with the power of his... dilated... pupils.

"This is probably going to sting," he whispers, "but that means the antiseptic is killing the bacteria from her nails."

"From her f***king talons you mean," Louis yells, interrupting. 

I laugh but my cheek protests with pain, but I feel better with Clarke here, I feel safer, "how does she get them so sharp?"

"A forever unsolved mystery, not even the great Sherlock Holmes could crack," Clarke grins.

I attempt to smile back but my cheek won't allow it.

"I'm sorry if it stings," Clarke says.

"You're stealing my apologies!"

Clarke slowly dabs to wet cotton ball on my cheek and I close my eyes as I feel the definite sting of wonder. It throbs and burns and seers... but no one admits the pain of small things. A bruise has certainly formed. I, unfortunately, bruise easily. Too easily.

Clarke seems satisfied and I hear him look through the kit once more. I open my eyes and see Darrin and Mianna have returned.

"Oh Tria that looks ghastly," Mianna gasps, inspecting the side of my face.

"Thank you," I scoff, "I guess if Klaer is gonna hurt me, she might as well do a good job of it."

"She shouldn't be hurting you at all."

I lower my head, "What do I tell Dad... or mum, even?"

"Is your mum having...?"

I nod. Mianna wipes the non-existent sweat off her forehead.

"What?" Clarke asks, clearly confused. He's silently debating which bandage to use.

"Doesn't matter," I excuse, brushing it off. I point to the larger, bandage, "use that one."

"Why not the smaller?" he asks, and the smirks, knowing what I said could have multiple interpretations. I laugh.

"You're impeccable," I giggle, "but it's so it covers the bruise."

Someone chuckles in the background, Mianna's eyes widen, "tell your Dad you ran into a tree!"

"I've used that one already, Mi!" I moan.

I quit talking when Clarke gently places the bandage over my cheek.

"Why don't you tell him the truth Petria?" Clarke asks, "that you're being bullied? There's always been something up with you and Klaer... Finally, I know!"

"I can't tell my Dad," I argue, "I can't tell anyone, I can't let Klaer know she's made me weak and dependent on a hero."

"But Tria, we have the recording, Louis videoed some of it, we have the proof, we've a strong case, you're not weak at all, she's the-" Mianna stops talking for a moment."Petria, you're crazy!"

"What?!" I demand. Mianna takes a deep breath.

"You're not showing weakness, you're reporting a 'criminal', you're doing the world good! Yo-you're doing yourself good."

"I don't need help," I insist, I don't want to be weak "I'm doing this on my own, I don't need help, I'm fine!" 

Mianna stares at me, "You're being attacked! Just look at your cheek! Klaer's beating you up verbally and physically! It has to stop. Stop being so stubborn."

And we suddenly have 'the awkward silence'. 

"Petria," Clarke starts and I whip my head towards him, "in a very famous book, it says that 'the words of the reckless pierce like swords'. Please believe me, Petria, if you want to speak out about this, it's fair! You should! You're being pierced with a sword!"

I nod but then change the subject, "Don't let Klaer get her hand hands on that recording. Just...just delete it."

"Darrin says we're putting both files on a USB," Mianna retorts, "We are not deleting it."

"Just let me sort this out on my own," I whisper. I stand up, but stumble back and fall back onto my bottom. I go red in embarrassment. Clarke hoists me up and pulls me into his arms. He runs a finger over my unharmed cheek, I feel my eyes start to water. I step back.

"Thank you, Clarke," I sniff and wipe my eyes.

"Petria."

"What?" I blurt rudely, then inhale and exhale deeply, "I'm sorry."

He pulls me back into a hug and I let a single tear fall, "Petria, if Klaer does something like this again, we have to tell someone."

"No, I-"

"Please, Petria, I know it's only been a few hours, but seeing you hurt like this hurts me too... it always has, even before lunch today."

"Okay," I say, "We'll tell someone."

"Promise me?" he hugs me tighter.

"Promise."