22. on edge

TWENTY TWO

on edge

Thursday, April 3rd

First period was uncomfortable for August.

The whole time he was trying to focus, he caught some guy staring at him, and he wasn't sure if the kid was being hostile or curious. He'd gotten plenty of stares for his leg, but this one felt different. Different enough to put him on edge.

It was when their teacher left the class momentarily that August turned and made direct eye contact, maintaining his harsh stare to try and silently tell him to fuck off. He truly didn't understand how he got terrible anxiety with presenting things, but had no problem confronting people like this. He supposed it came down to how important it was to him.

But the guy didn't budge. His eyebrows rose in surprise, but then reverted back to their original state, the only thing really changing being the smug smirk on his lips making an appearance. August held back a scowl; this was beyond annoying.

He turned back around, holding his pen tightly between his fingers. If the guy had a problem with him, or if whatever he was staring at him for was important, he'd ask him. He shifted in his seat. It didn't help that he looked scarily familiar. He couldn't pinpoint exactly where he'd seen him, or if he'd seen him at all before.

When the bell rang minutes later, the kid wasted no time getting up. August's shoulders tensed, and he finished putting his things away before he went to leave, but a voice saying, "August, right?" stopped him in his tracks. He balled his hand into a fist as his side, the other clutching the strap of his bag tightly.

He turned around, frowning. "Yeah, why?"

The boy grinned, following August into the hallway. "Knight?" August nodded hesitantly. "You knew my brother."

August froze. He couldn't be talking about someone from here. If he was, he'd know this guy. But he didn't even know his name, so what was going on? "Who's your brother?"

"Jay Anderson."

The name made August's blood run cold. His nails dug half-crescent moons into his palms, and he kept his eyes focused in front of him so this stranger wouldn't see the panic blooming in his eyes. Jay Anderson. If this kid was Jay's brother, did that mean Jay was here too? He was closer. August didn't feel so safe anymore.

Jay Anderson.

August could feel his limbs turning into air—could feel his lungs caving in and his hands shaking. His heart thrummed, and he felt the same way he'd felt that night. Full of anxiety, full of fear, and full of panic. If he didn't know any better, he'd think it was happening all over again.

"Hey," the stranger snapped, curling his fist into the fabric of August's shirt, shoving him backwards. "Don't act like a fucking victim. It's your fault Jay got expelled. Your fault that his whole career is over, and it's your fault he got kicked out by our parents."

August stumbled, felt his leg give out when he tried to keep himself upright, and he dropped to the floor, the back of his head smashing against the lockers. He could barely feel it from the adrenaline coursing through his veins like wildfire. He looked up, wide-eyed, could see this kid looking at him like he was nothing but a squashed underneath his shoe. Could feel the curious and watchful eyes of his peers, but no help came from them. It's that night all over again.

The Anderson boy crouched down in front of him with a scowl, with eyes full of pure hatred, and he said: "You took everything from him." His voice was low, quiet, only for August to hear. "If you hadn't fucked with his head and made him believe he was gay like you, none of this shit would be happening. You're nothing."

August's vision was going blurry, and he blinked rapidly, willing the tears to go away. When he didn't utter a single word in response, Anderson scoffed and got to his feet, spitting at the ground in front of August. "Say something. What? You think you're better than me, so you won't say anything?"

No, he thought. I can't think straight. I can't breathe enough to get any words out. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Anderson looked livid, and August wondered why people never sought after the other side of the story. Just from listening to another perspective, everything could be different. If people would've just listened, August would still have his leg. He wouldn't have to go to physical therapy, wouldn't have to suffer from the nightmares he got after Bad Days. He wouldn't be in the position he was now: terrified and wanting nothing more than to just disappear.

"August?" Marcus. The boy had pushed through the crowd, thick brows furrowed and eyes glancing between the blond and the stranger glaring down at him. He gripped Anderson's shoulder, pushing him back. "The fuck are you doing?"

Anderson jerked himself out of his grip, scoffing. "Knight has friends now?" He straightened up, frown morphing into a nasty grin, and he looked around at the people gathering nearby to watch. "I wonder if he still would if everyone knew what he was."

Marcus met August's gaze, noticing the way he closed his eyes, kept them closed as if not being able to see would make this all just a scary dream. If everyone knew what he was. August's breathing quickened, he felt so light-headed and dizzy that he swore he saw stars. He felt like he was going to drop dead any second. His last words were going to be fucking "who's your brother?" What a joke.

Anderson raised his arms, made a wide gesture to August as if he was some circus animal, and loudly began: "August Knight is nothing but a brainwashing, manipulative, fa—"

Marcus rammed his elbow into Anderson's mouth, causing the boy to jerk back, hand flying to his mouth with a shocked look. He pulled his hand back, blood coating his fingertips, and he spat it at Marcus's feet. "What the fuck? You fucking—"

Marcus shoved at his chest, a deep frown settled on his lips. "You had it coming," he hissed. "Who the fuck do you think you are? I don't give a shit what he did to you. That's a low blow and you know it."

August's first thought was: hypocrite. But he pushed his bitterness aside and brought forward his gratefulness. If Marcus hadn't stepped in, it would be his old school all over again. August wasn't ashamed of who he was; he just wasn't fond of getting beaten to a pulp for it. Sometimes it was better to be safe than sorry.

Anderson was frozen in place, so Marcus took that opportunity to drop to his knees next to August, holding out a hand for him to take. "I'll help you to the nurse," he said, giving him a weak smile. "Is that okay?"

August nodded and took his hand, letting Marcus pull his arm around his shoulders. He gripped his side for better support, and the group of people moved aside to let them through. August sighed. Why didn't anyone do anything? No one ever stepped in. August got lucky this time.

Marcus frowned. "Did you know that guy?"

August winced, head throbbing from the impact before. It became easier to breathe when Marcus hit Anderson, effectively shocking him enough to let his mind go blank. "I knew his brother," he murmured.

Marcus nodded slowly. "He seems like an asshole."

August let out a weak and bitter laugh. "Yeah. He is." He then added, "I can walk now."

Marcus let him go but stayed by his side on the way to the clinic. It was quiet for a few moments before Marcus hesitantly asked, "Does he have something to do with what happened to your leg?"

August paused. He glanced at Marcus out of the corner of his eye, wondering if it was that obvious or if Marcus was just smarter than he seemed to be. It didn't matter though.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, he does."

___

August ended up falling asleep in the nurse's office, and would've missed lunch if the nurse

hadn't woken him up. When he did, a (happily) familiar face was sat in a chair across from him, and he smiled when Morgan popped out of her seat to stand at his side.

"I heard about what happened," she said quietly, frowning. "Marcus told us when we all met in the cafeteria. I came immediately, and Isaiah would've as well, but he got stopped by his teacher before he could come with me."

August laughed. "That's okay, no worries," he replied, flopping back down on the uncomfortable bed that, surprisingly, had his feet dangling over the edge. Usually they fit him just right; this one made him feel tall. He wasn't short, not really, but he wasn't a fucking giant like Marcus or Steve.

Morgan poked his arm. "Are you hungry?" she asked, and August shook his head. "Thirsty?" He said no again, but Morgan didn't look convinced. "Shut up. When Isaiah gets here, I'm gonna go get you something."

August scowled. "Then what was the point in asking?"

She shrugged. "I'm a nice person."

"Yeah, okay," he scoffed. "Everyone thinks you're so sweet, but you're secretly a demon. I wanna see Steve's face when I tell him what you act like when I beat you in a game."

Morgan let out a barely audible gasp of surprise. "August!" she whined, shoving at his shoulder. "You're so mean."

August chuckled, then looked up at the sound of a soft knock on the wall. Isaiah was lingering by the entrance, a styrofoam lunch tray in one hand, and he smiled awkwardly when they both caught his gaze. August sat up and patted the end of the bed that felt more like a mat. Isaiah sat down and placed the tray down inbetween them.

"I got you something," he said, then picked up a bottle of apple juice and shook it. "There's pizza, too. The only decent thing."

Morgan pouted. "I was gonna get him something."

August was already two bites into the slice of pizza when he said, "Too late," through a mouthful. Morgan grimaced. "I've been fed."

"Stop making normal things sound weird."

Isaiah chuckled in amusement, leaning his back against the beige wall. "I take it you're feeling better?" he asked, then reached out to hesitantly touch the back of August's head. "Marcus said you hit your head pretty hard. I'm sorry we weren't there when it happened."

August cracked a tiny smile. "We're matching," he said, jerking his chin at the bruise on Isaiah's cheek. He then pressed his fingers against the tender bump on the back of his head. "Fun."

Isaiah rolled his eyes. "What happened?" he asked quietly, area between his eyebrows creasing. "Marcus said you knew this guy."

I can't tell you without revealing the whole story, he thought, and he exchanged a look with Morgan. The way she stared at him let him know she was thinking the same thing. He sighed.

"It's a long story," August decided on saying.

"I have all the time in the world," Isaiah replied, completely determined to hear it. August watched him warily, wanting to tell him and not wanting to at the same time. If he did, August's worst fear would come true: Isaiah would become even more terrified to accept himself. But if he didn't, what if he had to figure it out the hard way, facing what August faced? August refused to let Isaiah feel as hopeless as he felt.

Morgan stood up. "I'll leave you two alone," she said, squeezing August's shoulder before leaving. August shook his head and got up as well, grabbing his bag that sat on the floor.

"Let's talk somewhere else," he said, and Isaiah nodded, following August into the hallway and outside, soon stealing a bench near the bleachers where no one else sat. August sat beside Isaiah, who was looking at him with such caring eyes that it left August feeling weak.

"It's not a pretty story," August said slowly, trying his hardest to stall. Isaiah wasn't having it.

"I'm not expecting it to be."

August inhaled deeply, and Isaiah reached out to lace their fingers together. He met his gaze and smiled softly, squeezing his hand in return. Isaiah waited, and August started.

"It happened two years ago..."

___

Q: how has your day been? (: tell me about it!