Well, it’s Friday morning and I’m standing in the bathroom. I’m standing in front of the mirror, but I’m not looking at myself like I normally would. I’m checking the tight bandages around my arm. You can see a ragged red track on the outside of the gauze where the blood has seeped through. I cut myself pretty damn deep last night. It didn’t hurt then though, and it doesn’t hurt now. Sylvia was right about that. All the same, I feel bad about myself for having done it. I wonder if I’ll have a scar like one of Sylvia’s. Do I really want that?
There’s a knock at the bathroom door.
It’s Madeleine. The knock is subdued and so is her voice. Of course, I know just why that is and you do too. But do you know what bugs me? Makes me feel angry if you really want to know? Poor old Madeleine has been like this all week. She’s been withdrawn and quiet, and that is so unlike her. And Mom and Dad haven’t even noticed. Can you believe that? Goddam, they haven’t even noticed and it’s their own daughter and she’s obviously in trouble or something and they haven’t even said a word. I guess that they’re drooling over the sordid weekend party they’re planning to go to, the goddam deviants.
Yeah yeah, I know that they love us and everything, but would it be too much to ask that they take an interest in us? Seems that way. Right now, I just hate Mom and Dad. I really do.
So I slip on my Dior robe and I’m truly thankful that it has long sleeves that are a little too big for me really, and I open the door. Madeleine is standing outside and she’s wearing a big fluffy towelling robe that looks like it’s wrapping her in giant soft folds. It looks just like it’s comforting her if you want to know, and I wonder if that’s why Madeleine is wearing it. It’s no substitute for Mom, who should be comforting her, though. Goddam Mom.
‘You okay Maddie?’
I’m kind of concerned because she doesn’t look okay at all. She looks like she just wants to cry, and if I tell you the truth, seeing her like that makes me want to cry along with her.
‘Yeah, Tom. I’m okay.’
It’s obvious that she’s not, but I’m not going to push it. She looks very tired, is how she looks. And maybe she has been crying. It’s hard to say.
‘Well, you take care of yourself today Maddie. I’ll stay away from school if you want me to.’
‘No. No, Tom. You go to school. I’m okay, honest.’
She isn’t fooling herself and she isn’t fooling me. I’m not going to push it though. Fact is, even though I would have stayed home to be with Madeleine, I’m really desperate to get to school today. I’m tearing myself up wanting to see Sylvia. I still can’t get over her being out on the town the other night and not being in school yesterday. I’m feeling totally sick with the thoughts racing through my head and I know I’m stupid and jealous but I just can’t fight it. I hate myself for that, but I don’t know what to do to make these thoughts go away. I really don’t. So I have to go to school just to see Sylvia, even though that starts me wondering if she’ll even show up today, and that makes me feel even worse. If that’s at all possible. I’m screwed up. I know it.
Out on the landing there, I just put an arm around Madeleine and kiss her softly on the cheek. I hear the bathroom door close behind me as I wander back to my room. Poor Madeleine.
At school, I’m dressed in a jacket and a long sleeved shirt, for obvious reasons, even though it is a scorching hot day. The bell has just gone and the kids are all making their way over to the main doors. I’m hanging about as long as I can, hoping to see Sylvia arrive. It doesn’t look like she’s coming in again. My head feels like a swarm of wasps as I turn to follow the last few stragglers. Even my cut arm is beginning to sting and ache.
I have geography and French this morning, but while I’m sitting in the classroom I’m not listening to a goddam word. Somehow I get away with it. I’m just staring out of the windows and wishing that I were dead. I mean that. I feel sick and tired and sorry for myself and I just think it would be better if I was dead. I’m not saying that I feel suicidal. I’m just saying that I hate the way I feel and I hate my life, and I just wish that things were the way they were a few weeks ago. Actually, that’s not quite true. What I’m really wishing is that things could be back like they were but I still had Sylvia. Not asking much, huh?
Well, at morning break I’m sitting alone under a tree and I’m staring at the school gates. It’s like I’m hoping that Sylvia will walk through them, that she’s just late or something. I’d usually be reading a book, but this morning I’m not. I’m just staring and wallowing in my stupid self-pitying thoughts.
‘Hey Holden. What are you up to, sitting out here all alone?’
The voice is coming from behind me and you know who it is just as well as I do. Besides, who else ever calls me Holden?
She’s sitting down beside me even as I turn to look at her, and she’s wearing this amazing cotton-print summer dress with large geometric shapes in bright primary colours. I’m so pleased to see her that I almost think I’m going to be sick.
‘I was looking out for you yesterday.’
Now I know that that makes me sound like a needy jerk, even as I’m saying it, but I just can’t stop myself. What I’m really saying is that I want her to tell me where she was. And who she was with. In other words, I’m prying and I hate myself for it. She’s not falling for it though.
‘Oh, I just didn’t feel like coming in. Hey, you did a great job with my nails.’
She’s just changing the subject and even I can see that, plain as day. She’s wiggling her toes and flapping her fingers in front of me and I can see that the lacquer hasn’t chipped even though it’s been a few days. But to tell the truth, I’m not even interested. Just what is it that she’s goddam keeping from me? It’s all I can do not to come straight out and ask her. Only God knows where I find the strength not to.
‘Yeah, I told you I was good.’
Pretty feeble I know, but a million times better than what I want to say. Then I notice her face. It’s a little swollen and red beneath her left eye. It looks like someone has hit her. It goddam really looks like someone has hit her. It’s not as livid as it could be, so it’s probably a day or so old now.
‘What happened to your face?’
I suppose that I shouldn’t have asked, but the words are out there now and I can’t take them back.
She turns her face away.
‘Oh nothing. I tripped in the living room and hit my face on the coffee table. How stupid is that? You should have seen it yesterday. That’s why I didn’t come in.’
Well come on. I’m not dumb. I know that’s a lie. She knows that’s a lie. And she knows that I know that that’s a lie. But how can I push the matter? Truth is, I’m so goddam scared of alienating her that I can’t say anything. Does that make me a coward? I sure as hell think that it does.
‘When did it happen?’
As if that matters.
‘Wednesday night. I feel such an idiot.’
Wednesday night. The night that Eddie saw her out on the town. A million and one thoughts are flashing through my head now. She was with a guy and he hit her, the bastard. She came in late and… Oh my God, that’s it. Her dad hit her. The goddam lousy cowardly slob. He hit her. And I bet he’s hit her before. Oh the cowardly dirty trash. It must be him. He has a temper. He’s very aggressive. I’ve heard him. I know it’s him!
Well of course, I don’t know anything of the kind. But I’ve made up my mind. Her dad beats her up. But I can’t say any of this. What can I say?
‘Should I kiss it better?’
That’s feeble again, but like I said, I can’t blurt out what I’m thinking.
She smiles, that dirty, sultry, sexy smile of hers, and she leans towards me.
‘Mmm… the kiss part sounds good…’
She puts her hand on my arm to steady herself and then she pulls away and her hand is gently feeling the bandage beneath my shirt.
‘Hey, what’s happened to you?’
‘Nothing. Just a cut.’
I’m so drained that I can’t even think of a decent lie. She’s unbuttoning my shirt and rolling up the sleeve and I just sit there and let her. Pretty soon she’s looking at the bandage and the blood stain and all, and she seems pretty shocked.
‘Christ, what have you done?’
She’s looking at me like I’m an alien or something and I don’t like that look on her face one little bit. She’s leaning back away from me now, like she’s just heard that I’ve got an infectious disease.
‘It’s nothing. It’s just a cut. It’ll heal.’
I’m trying to act all cool but I’m actually shaking and I’m hoping like hell that she doesn’t notice.
‘You’ve done this to yourself haven’t you?’
I can’t answer.
‘Christ Tom, you stupid, stupid jerk.’
I liked it better when she was calling me Holden.
‘This is because of me, isn’t it? I just knew it. I knew it the other day when I saw how you were playing with those scissors. Christ.’
‘It’s nothing, really.’
I want her to believe that. I want to believe it myself but the truth is, she’s right.
‘I think we should stop seeing each other any more, before this goes further.’
‘No…’
I’m really shaking now, so that I feel like I couldn’t get up even if I tried. I can feel the blood rushing to my face even as I feel cold inside.
‘You don’t have to do something just because I’ve done it.’
‘I know. I…’
‘I can’t be responsible for this, Tom. I just can’t. It’s best that we end this right now. I can’t handle this. It’s too much.’
I don’t exactly sit there as she gets up and starts to walk back to the school building, but I’m struggling to get to my feet because I’m shaking so much and I feel really weak.
‘Sylvia…’
She doesn’t even turn to look back at me. And pretty soon, I can’t even see her. My eyes are full of tears, I don’t mind admitting it. I’m just crying fit to break your heart, if you must know, and leaning against that goddam tree.