Chapter 30: She dreams in color, she dreams in red
"Mr. Weaver's such an asshole," June said bluntly, looking right at me.
"I had him last semester," I said. "He gives homework like you're only taking his class. I had three hours a night from that fat bastard."
"I know! It's ridiculous. I don't want to spend my evenings reading the history of the Western Alliance. It's so fucking boring. This country merged with that country, these people went to war with those people--who gives a shit?"
"Well, I got a B in his class. It was a lot of work just to get that. But my math grade went down..."
She sighed. "What do you have next?"
"Pottery. Another useless art elective. Easy A, though."
She giggled. I always loved it when she did that. "You never know, the world could end tomorrow, and you'll be the only guy who knows how to make a bowl."
"I don't see that happening. I'd have to be good at it, for one thing."
"Oh, I'm sure you're just selling yourself short, as usual."
I shook my head. "I suck at doing things with my hands."
She leaned forward and whispered. "Not everything."
"Hey! You said you'd never tell anyone about that," I whispered right back. Mostly, I was afraid Mark would find out I'd diddled his girlfriend. I didn't want a major asskicking.
She laughed again. "And I haven't. You need to relax."
"I'm very relaxed, thank you. Except I'll be late to class in about thirty seconds."
She smiled at me, and it's hard to explain why I did what I did next. I darted my head around to the side of hers, and pecked her on the cheek. Not that I hadn't done it before--I was just usually more discreet.
I remembered why I normally exercised discretion, when I turned around and caught a fist in my face. I landed right on my eyes, temporarily blinded by the pain in my eyes. Of course, I didn't need to be able to see to know who'd hit me.
"Mark!" June scolded. "What is wrong with you?"
I looked up, my eyes slowly opening. I could only hear half of what she yelled at him. A circle had begun to form around us, perhaps expecting a fight. I'd have a black eye or two by tomorrow. I just dusted myself off and got up. I avoided eye contact with Mark, and walked away. I was already late.
I swore I heard an altercation going on behind me, but I couldn't tell you if it was June laying her hands on Mark, or vice versa. Either one was just as likely. And it seemed more often than not, I was the source of the tension.
He tried to control her. She resisted. He wanted her all to himself. She wouldn't abandon me. He was used to getting what he wanted. So was she. And they fought. I wondered how happy they were, fighting like that all the time. Like an old married couple, but at 15. And I was the bastard son he resented, I suppose.
If there was anything he could really blame me for, maybe it was that. I took time from him that he could have had with her. If her time was to be so limited, who was I to eat into it? I guess that didn't excuse his behavior, but in some way, I didn't feel right begrudging him his anger. It wasn't like he had anything else. Money? What's money when you're destined for misery? Respect? There's a wide gulf between parasitic sycophants and true friends.
So, he was going to spend his life alone. He just didn't know it yet. Maybe hating me gave him a connection to this world, a solitary thread of emotion to keep him going.
And that's why he'd never truly get rid of me. I was the only piece of June he had left.
Chapter 30
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