Darkheart

The Past: Blood & Guts

Crystal's first period arrived unexpectedly, an omen, she was sure, of worse to come. She hadn't known what to make of the scarlet streak along her underwear as she sat on the toilet in the girls' restroom, the other girls applying lipgloss and gossiping at the mirror, and she was certainly not going to ask one of them for any advice. As far as they talked, they'd all been menstruating for years, and to admit now that she'd just started at the age of fifteen would be beyond humiliating. Had she been more savvy, Crystal surely could've made an excuse about being caught by surprise and in need of a pad, but she was far from savvy, so she stuffed her underwear with tissue and hoped it would suffice.

Moving into the next class period, all she could do once she'd made it to her desk was think about what was happening down there, too terrified to move and yet fully aware she couldn't sit as she was forever--she'd have to get up some time. Her brain couldn't focus on whatever her science teacher was saying, something about frogs and gloves and tools, something about partners--Oh no! Was it a lab day? She'd so carefully maneuvered herself into this desk, onto this chair . . . how would she get up and move around others? Why had she worn these stupid shorts instead of jeans?

Crystal's brain was so overwrought that she hardly heard her name when it was called, and only when someone nudged her shoulder and she glanced up to find the teacher with some surly expression did she realize she'd just have to do it--she'd have to get up. What was the alternative? Sitting like a mushroom and drawing his wrath?

So, carefully, she rose, moving her body a little awkwardly, hyperfocused on the feeling of that wad of tissue between her legs. It shifted uncomfortably, but it wasn't as if there was anything she could do about it! She couldn't adjust it, or it'd look--well, just wrong. But things were definitely not situated particularly well down there.

"I have to use the bathroom!" she called to the bespectacled man beginning to roam amongst the teenagers, but he snapped back something about needing to use one of her allotted hall passes (he was one of those teachers), and she'd already used both for the semester. Sniffing inaudibly, Crystal hoped all the others were growing absorbed in the task before them and that she was too far behind them all to be noticed while she hitched up her shorts a bit and squirmed to get her underwear properly adjusted. This would all be okay . . . it would be all right. She'd make it work. There were only another fifty minutes or so before the end of this class.

Crystal walked a little stiltedly toward the large lab tables at the back of the room, looking for the one person who was alone and awaiting their lab partner. Pretty quickly, she spotted a rather small, waifish boy, fair haired, one of those fourteen-year-olds who looked about nine. She didn't even remember his name, though they'd been in the class together for a few months, now, but all she could think was how grateful she was that she hadn't been placed with one of the cute boys like Daniel or Colin or one of the popular Ashleys.

When she reached the boy, he offered a weak expression that could possibly have been called a smile, but Crystal couldn't return it. Her attention turned suddenly away from her own problems and toward the table. She'd forgotten in all her stress: it was dissection day.

Long-legged frogs lay splayed out on their backs in rectangular, blue-bottomed trays, their dead bodies moist and glistening under the overhead lights. Crystal didn't think they could be from around here; even living by a lake, she never saw such big frogs, not even in the spring, not even out in the woods. They smelled weird, too, like some weird pickly stuff. She couldn't help but think that in some way, they looked like little people, naked and displayed for all the world, humiliated even in death.

"Don't worry, there's no blood," said the waifish boy.

"What?" Crystal was startled. Did he know her secret?