THE BAD BOY AND THE CHEERLEADER

THE BAD BOY AND THE CHEERLEADER - CHAPTER 50

CHAPTER 50:

GIANNA’S  POV:

FEBRUARY

Air.  I can’t breathe.  

Ripping the comforter off me, I stumble over to my bedroom window, flip the lock open and push the heavy window up.  Leaning my face against the screen, I shiver as the cold winter air hits me.  It isn’t snowing like last night, but the temperature is freezing nonetheless.  

I don’t care.  Taking in gulps of fresh air, my heart rate starts to slow down.  The nightmares always do this to me.  I wake up in a full blown panic attack.  It doesn’t matter that Josh was sent away to a state-run mental hospital down in Pueblo.  He’s still here with me, in my head.  Sometimes, it feels like he’ll always be with me.  

The nightmares aren’t always the same.  Some are variations of the attack and some are things that I’m scared of, like Josh getting out and coming after me again.  Thankfully, my mind has now trained itself to wake me up when things start to get really bad in the dreams.  The first couple months after the attack, I wasn’t so lucky.  It seemed as if the dreams were never-ending.  

My psychiatrist says that it’ll get better, that the nightmares will come less frequently.  Josh attacked me in the middle of October and here I am, it’s the beginning of February and I still have nightmares most nights.  

The other night, though, I did have the sweetest dream about Caleb.  

Turning my head back to look at the alarm clock on my nightstand, I see that it’s a little after five in the morning.  Since I know that I won’t be able to get back to sleep, I grab a robe and towel to take a shower.  

Once under the hot spray, I lean my head against the tile.  This has to get better, I have to get it under control otherwise my psychiatrist has told my dad that I may have to be put on an antidepressant for my anxiety.  When I shampoo my hair, it still feels weird that it’s so  much shorter.  Cut right at my shoulders, it still has some length, but nothing like what I’m used to.  

I dyed it the dark brown color myself, but went into a salon to get it cut last month.  My dark blonde roots are already starting to show, so I’ll have to dye it again soon.  The box I used was some dark chocolate brown color. I figure I’ll just use the same one again.  

My mom hated my hair when she first saw it.  Several Fridays ago, we went out to dinner as a family.  My dad drove us to meet my mom at a restaurant downtown, which is sort of a halfway point between our new house and hers.  

At first, she couldn’t contain her controlling nature and started bitching about my hair saying that it was too short and that my natural color is perfect, so why would I want to change it?  My dad put a stop to her crap without making a scene in front of Chance, and the entire restaurant.  My mom shut her mouth after that, but I could tell by the way she was giving my hair dirty looks that she wanted to say more.  When she took Chance with her for the weekend, and my dad and I left the restauarant, I was so happy to get away from her.  

The separation during the week from my mom was too hard on Chance, since she‘s primarily raised him.  A couple weeks ago, my parents came to a new agreement in regards to his custody.  Chance is living with my mom again, while I live with my dad.  My little brother still gets to come over every other weekend.  I see my mom when I feel like it.  Which isn’t too often, just a Sunday afternoon here and there is my plan.  

Weekdays are hard for me now.  Taking care of Chance after school helped me take my mind off everything, but now that he’s not here, I’m left alone.  

Still, being alone after school is better than actually being at school.  I haven’t really made any new friends yet, because I just can’t fake it anymore and hang around the popular kids.  Without Caleb as a security blanket, I don’t know if I fit in with any of the other kids.  Not that I’ve tried very hard to fit in.  My general mood in regards to making new friends is apathetic.

I’m thinking about making the drive everyday and transferring to Jared and Cece’s school for Senior year.  Maybe I should just transfer now, mid-semester.  The drive would probably only take me twenty to thirty minutes, depending on traffic.  

I feel like such a freak at my new school.  I’m suspicious of everyone.  If a guy even tries to talk to me, I sometimes start to feel panicky  and out of breath.  It’s almost like every guy is a potential attacker.  The feeling does seem to lessen just a tiny bit each day.  Rationally, I know that everyone’s not out to get me.  

After my shower, I dry off and go into my closet to look for something to wear.  I settle on black jeans and a hooded sweater.  The sweater isn’t very thick, so I pull on over it a lightweight cropped, military-style jacket, pulling the hood part of my sweater out over the back of the jacket, so that it isn’t all mashed up underneath.  Tying up a pair of Dr. Martens, I’m ready for school, at five-forty in the morning.  I don’t bother so much with my hair or makeup anymore, unless I’m dancing with the crew or putting my hair up in a bun for ballet class.  

When I go downstairs just after six, it’s still dark outside, but my dad is standing in front of the coffee pot, wearing a robe and pajama pants.  He glances up when I come in the room, giving me a disapproving look, “You need to dry your hair, Gianna.  It’s cold outside.”  He must have just woke up.  His hair is still going all different directions.  

I take a seat at a barstool, “By the time I leave for school in an hour, I’m sure it’ll be dry, Dr. Thorpe.”

He just makes a sound to let me know that he’s annoyed with me and walks out of the kitchen carrying a cup of coffee.  He is so not a morning person.  

After eating oatmeal with lots of sugar on it and toast, I sit on the living room couch to watch music videos.  Three videos in, one of Caleb’s favorite bands comes on.  

And I start crying.  

See, that’s why I don’t wear makeup anymore.  I never know when my unstable emotions will just mess it up.  Bringing my feet up onto the couch, I wrap my arms around my knees and give in.  My therapist says not to try to hold back my tears.  That I need to let it all out.  Sometimes I really don’t like her.  

I don’t want to get on medication.  As horrible as I feel everyday, I don’t want my emotions controlled my medications.  I’d rather be strong enough to handle things on my own.  My dad says that maybe I should think about it.  That meds are provided to help people for a reason.  

When I hear the shower go off upstairs in my dad’s bathroom, I turn off the TV and run up the stairs, making it into my room before he can see me like this.  Sitting down at my desk, I pull out Caleb’s last letter, reading it for the fourth time.  

I miss him so much, it’s like a physical ache.  I know he can feel the distance that I put between us now, but I can’t seem to stop myself.  I still love him just as much, if not more than ever.  The problem is, I don’t think I love me anymore.  

I’m so pathetic.  If Caleb got to know me as I am now, he probably wouldn’t want anything to do with me.  Being stuck in juvie, he doesn’t realize what a loser I am.  Suspicious of most males and ashamed of everything I’ve caused.  

Since I have time to kill, I log into my laptop.  Once internet is running, I go into my Facebook account.  God, it’s been forever since I’ve been on here.  Looking at my wall makes me nauseous.  It’s all messages from people from my old school.  Feeling an exaggerated sense of urgency, I go into my ‘Friends’ and start deleting everyone in there that’s connected to my old school.  

I get to Caleb Morrison on my friend list.  I start crying again.  

Isn’t it funny that I can talk to him on the phone every Saturday and put on such a strong front, but totally lose it when I’m alone?

When I’m on the phone with him, it’s so weird, like both of us tiptoeing around each other trying not to upset the other person.  My ‘I love you’ is always heartfelt, but at the same time, I feel this sense of numbness, like I’m out-of-touch with reality.  In my life, not a whole lot seems real anymore.  

When I’m in school, I go through the motions in what feels like a fog.  There’s this protective barrier around me that helps to keep me sane.  Broken only when something sets me off, causes me to act like a spaz.  

The first couple weeks back in November were the worse.  I left Chemistry to use the restroom and the hall I was going down was empty.  Rounding a corner, I bumped into a guy wearing an orange shirt.  I completely freaked out.  It brought me right back to the attack.  The team was wearing their orange jerseys that day.  The poor guy probably had bruises from me hitting him and probably told all his friends about the crazy girl who ran into the bathroom after punching the crap out of him.  

Locking myself in a stall, I missed my next two classes that day.  

When I’m on the phone with Caleb, a part of me wants to confide in him, tell him how messed up I am.  Instead, I assure him that everything is going great.  The part that still wants him to see me as I used to be always holds me back.  I’m embarrassed.  Soaking up his love in phone calls and letters seems to be what I live for nowadays.  I can’t stand the thought of losing it and him.  

Does he think about what Josh did to me?  Does it disgust him?  Would he ever even want to touch me again like he used to?  I imagine him getting out of there and realizing that he doesn’t want damaged goods.  In my worst moments, I imagine him deciding that he can’t love me like that anymore.  

Sometimes at school, I look at the other girls, the ones that seem happy, kissing or holding hands with their boyfriend.  Is that what I used to look like with Caleb?  Is Caleb going to want one of those girls now?  One of the normal ones?

Right before Christmas break, a guy asked me out that I think is on the football team at my new school.  While he was waiting for a response, I just stared back at him.  I imagine I looked like a deer in headlights.  The response was in my head, ‘no, sorry, I have a boyfriend’, but I couldn’t get it out of my mouth.  

Eventually, he just gave me a look deserving of the freak I am and walked away, shaking his head.  I missed class after lunch that day and hid in the bathroom again.  Every time that happens, I have to go tell the school psychologist afterwards so it can be excused.  It’s so humiliating, admitting to the panic attacks.

When Caleb casually mentioned one day over the phone that he wishes we could talk during his phone time during the week, but he doesn’t want me to miss class, I almost laughed.  How can I tell him that I miss class all the time when I spaz out?  That the restrooms are becoming my own person panic rooms?

Weekends breaking aren’t so bad.  I spend the night every Friday at Jared and Cece’s house.  Cece and I go to ballet class together Saturday morning, then usually eat at her parents’ restaurant afterwards for lunch.  By the time we get back to her house, the crew is usually already gathering for a session.  

I know that there’s no way they know about what happened.  Caleb has promised not to tell Dante or Taye and, besides me, my friends don’t know anyone else from Broomfield.  The paranoia is there anyways.  At first, when the guys would have to get up close to me during a routine, I would start to feel panicky.  Blaming it on my newly healed injuries, I would tear myself away from whatever guy was near, trying to get myself under control.  I think I’ve fooled most of them, but Jared and Cece are harder to get around.  

Cece just keeps giving me a weird look and asking the same questions about my supposed cheerleading accident and Caleb being locked up.  I answer as I always do, feeling guilty for lying, but not wanting my best friend to know about what happened.  

Jared is more intuitive than Cece.  Maybe it’s some sort of ingrained male thing, the ability to sense a damaged girl.  The old Jared would have pounced on the fact that Caleb is in juvie.  Instead, he treats with nothing but consideration, in a purely brotherly way.  

Around seven-fifteen, I go back downstairs.  My dad is drinking another cup of coffee in the kitchen, dressed in a tie, dress shirt and slacks.  Now that he’s been dosed with caffeine, he’s much more cheerful.  “Hey princess.”

How weird is it that Caleb and my dad call me the same thing?  I never told Caleb, because it might freak him out, but secretly I’ve always found it hilarious.  

“Hey.  I’m just heading out to school.”

He glances at the clock on the microwave, “Yeah, me too.  My first appointment is in an hour.”  He was able to open an office downtown in a building filled with other cosmetic doctors.  He finally opened for business last month.  My dad is really smart.  Even with a wife and kid, he was able to get through medical school and his residency.  Chance was born at the beginning of his residency and by the time it was over, my parents were divorced and my mom had already met Scott.  At thirty-three, my dad has been in private practice for almost four years now.    

I park my Jeep in the closest spot I can find, parking too far out makes me nervous.  Since it’s freezing this morning, I pull on the black winter coat that’s in my backseat.  Here a little early, I go inside and sit in the lounge area by the cafeteria.  They may call it a ‘lounge’, but the diner-style booths aren’t very comfortable.  The place is decorated in school colors, green and yellow.  Throwing my backpack onto a green laminate tabletop, I slide into the seat.  

Taking out my used copy of ‘The Scarlet Letter’, I start reading where I left off yesterday.  We’re going to have a big test on it in English next week and I still haven’t finished it yet.  

When the ‘thud’ of another backpack hits my table, I jump and suck in a breath.  Letting it out when I see that it’s another student, I relax and look warily at the guy sliding in across from me.  When he puts his elbows on the table and temples his fingers in front of his lips, in a pensive gesture, staring, I don’t know what to think.  

“Um, yeah?” I brilliantly say.  The three feet of table between us gives me a sense of security.  So does the pepper spray that I have in my backpack.  I’m sure it’s a violation of school rules, but really, I couldn’t give a damn.  

I see his grin from behind his hands, “I thought that was you.  Saw you yesterday, but your hair is different.  Looks good.”

My flash of annoyance must have shown on my face because he brings his hands down and leans back, “You don’t remember me.”  

Looking him over, he does seem familiar.  His black hair is buzzed short and he has a small spacer in one ear.  A hint of tattoo is peeking out of the right sleeve of his long-sleeved thermal shirt.  He looks like he’s a mix of Caucasian and some sort of Asian ethnicity.  

“You’re from my old school.”

“You’re totally guessing, aren’t you?” he asks, eyebrows raised.  

I just nod.  

He holds out his hand, “I’m Kara’s brother, Gage.”

I do a retarded-sounding, drawn out, “Ooohh.”  Then realize that he’s still holding his hand out over the table.  Cautiously, I put my hand in his and shake it once, pulling away quickly.  “I’m Gianna.”  Looking at him, I don’t see much resemblance, but he and Kara must be half-siblings, because Kara looks full Asian and Gage is obviously only half.  

His hand disappears with the other one under the table and he gives me a small smile, “Well, I don’t blame you for not remembering me.  We didn’t have any classes together since I’m a grade ahead and the last time we talked was when you came over to play with Kara in elementary school.”  

At the mention of Broomfield High, I wonder if he knows about what happened.  Trying to feel him out, I ask, “So what are you doing here?”

I see a hint of blush on his cheeks, which relaxes me a bit more, “Kinda, sorta got kicked out at Broomfield.”

That makes me smile, “When?”

He leans back, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets, “Last week.  This is my first day here.  When did you start here?”

So maybe he didn’t hear about what happened.  He didn’t exactly hang around Josh’s crowd.  “I started here in November.”

“How do you like it?”

Shrugging, not really sure how to answer, I finally say, “It’s alright.”

“So, why’d you switch schools, Gianna?”  The question may be casual for him, but it’s one I hate answering, because I’m always forced to lie.

“My dad bought a house down here, it was easier to switch schools than make the trip up to Broomfield everyday.”  I stare at him, gauging his reaction.  It seems indifferent.

“Are you a cheerleader at this school now?”

Shaking my head, I answer, “No.  No cheering for me.”

“Who do you hang out with?”  He glances over my shoulder, then looks back at me.

“I, um, don’t.”  At his look of curious disbelief, I go on to say, “My friends all go to other schools in Denver and Aurora.”  Then I add, “I just go to class here.”

Looking thoughtful, he takes his hands out of his pockets and leans forward, “Well, since you don’t have any friends, and I don’t know anyone here, I’ll hang with you for now.”

I can’t help but laugh at that, “Oh jeez, thanks.”  Checking the time on my phone, I see that it’s fifteen minutes to first period.  I throw the book into my backpack and zip it up.  I still need to stop by my locker to get rid of my coat.  

Once out of the booth, without the barrier between us, I feel a little nervous.  While I’m putting my backpack on, he reaches over and grabs my coat, handing it to me.  “Thanks.”  

I start to walk away, then he calls out, “Do you mind showing me to my first class?”

Spinning around, I reach up to hold onto the straps of my bag, “Uh, yeah, sure.  Which room?”

He glances down at the paper in his hand, “Room . . . 117.”

Feeling like this guy might be alright, safe, I attempt to be friendly, “Okay, come on.”

On the way there, I drop my jacket off at my locker.  Gage tells me his locker number and we swing by there too.  Since he doesn’t even have books yet, he doesn’t bother opening it.  Walking to his class, he tells me that he’s a DJ, which I tell him is cool because I’m a breaker.  He’s still trying to make a name for himself, so he hasn’t gotten much work yet.  

At the door of his class, he casually asks, “So, meet you in the lounge at lunch?”

Shifting from one foot to the other, I hesitate.  I’m not sure I want to hang out with a guy other the ones from the crew or Caleb.  But, he’s Kara’s older brother, so it’s not like he’s a total stranger, right?  I guess, it couldn’t hurt to have one friend at this school.  Hell, maybe it’d make me feel less pathetic.  

“Okay,” I say slowly.  “I’ll meet you there.”

He flashes me a smile, “Later, then.”  

As I watch him walk up to the teacher, I see a group of girls eyeing him.  Hmm, I guess he is pretty good looking now that I think about it.  Hot body like a swimmer.  The way he walks remind me of Caleb.  

Walking to my own  class, I think again about Caleb’s last letter.  He wants me to visit him next week on Valentine’s Day.  I have mixed feelings on visiting my own boyfriend.  As much as I miss him, I feel apprehensive at the prospect of facing him.  I’m scared that he’ll take one look at me and realize that he doesn’t want me anymore.  I have no doubt that he cares for me, but will he still love me the same?  Want me the same?  

I wouldn’t want me anymore. 

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