The NotSoFine Line: Rick I

(A/N: The first of my friend's chapters, in case you needed a reminder! )

My lip curled in annoyance when Dustin Clark flitted over to me in the hallway and greeted me in his usual way. I didn't say anything in response. I wasn't going to encourage him. He would think I didn't mind talking to him, and I most certainly HATED it when he talked to me. He was a total scumbag. He did a lot of drugs and slept around. That wasn't cool. At all. I am the kind of guy who definitely enjoys a cold beer—or five. Yet, I find drugs to be idiotic. I liked my quick wit. Doing drugs would jeopardize that, and who would I be without my sharp tongue? Then there was the whole issue of sleeping around. That was just plain dumb in every way. Go ahead and enjoy sex all you want, but enjoy it with someone you actually care about. No. I am not saying that I am some kind of moron who thinks that you shouldn't have sex with anyone until after you're married. That is pointless, seriously. But, you shouldn't sleep with someone if you don't have feelings for them. That is just my opinion. In my mind, it isn't just sex. It is making love. Therefore, love plays a crucial role in the process.

I turned away from Dustin and headed down the hall in the opposite direction. I was having a bad day, and I was not in the mood to deal with Dustin's flirtatious attitude or the lustful look in his eyes when he stared me down. I'd had a rather large fight with my dad that morning before heading to school, and that tended to make me rather irritable; especially when he beat the total crap out of me just because he was drunk and angry. I hadn't even done anything wrong. He just needed an outlet for all of his blind rage, and I happened to be the closest and most easily accessible target. My mother hadn't bothered to stand in and defend me. Don't get me wrong, she didn't loathe me like my father did. Still, she wouldn't throw herself under the bus to save me any kind of suffering. My mother was a pampered woman who had grown up her whole life getting everything she wanted. She only cared how things benefited her, and standing up to my dad would in no way help her. It would most likely get her sacked. Or it would put her flow of money and endless parties at risk. Her own happiness was all that mattered.

At that moment I had a cracked rib, many colorful bruises, a splitting headache, and a deep gash across my shoulder that was hidden by my jacket. I was dizzy from blood loss. I was holding back my fury that was building from disgust for my father, and I felt like at any moment I could erupt. I just wanted to get a beer and play my guitar until my fingers bled. Unfortunately, I had to go to class.

I entered the classroom and pushed my messy dark blonde hair away from my face. My sage green eyes locked with a gentle hazel pair a few feet away. My best friend Leara was already sitting at an empty desk, her curly golden locks pulled back in a ratty bun. She stood and waved me over, and I smirked just the very tiniest bit before walking over to meet her. She hugged me, and I flinched. She pulled away and frowned, looking up at me.

"Rick, did you fight with your Dad again…?" she asked in a soft voice like a bell. Her brow knitted. I sighed uncomfortably.

"I don't know if you could call it a fight. More like he just got mad and beat the living snot out of me."

"Oh no…" She touched the dark circles under my eyes with ginger fingertips. She always worried about me. I sort of liked it. I liked knowing one person in the world cared if I lived or died. Hell. Neither of my parents did. Sometimes I wished life would end, truly. As horrible as it sounds, there were only two people I kept on living for: Leara, and my younger, half brother, Danny. Except, I never got to see him because he lived in fucking France!!

"Leara, don't worry so much… I'm fine, really." She pursed her lips as I spoke. She didn't believe me.

"Okay…" She muttered the word reluctantly and looked down. I sighed and hugged her carefully again. Then we both took our seats, side by side. She took out her notebook and started to doodle peace signs and music notes in the margins. I chuckled softly and also pulled out my notebook. I started to write a few song lines, mostly about random things, referencing the way Leara's eyes were like the Earth and how her smile was brilliant like the stars. As soon as the words were out of my head and in ink I hated them. I ripped out the page, crumpled it, and tossed it in the trash. Leara glanced at me, but said nothing. She smiled before looking back at her notebook. I exhaled heavily once more and attempted to actually pay attention to what was being said by the teacher. It was quite difficult for various reasons. My head was pounding, my vision was blurring, I hated school, and a handful of other reasons as well. As Mr. McMonotone droned on about how Plessy v.s. Ferguson meant separate but equal, I felt my eyelids droop and my vision tunnel. I was befuddled for a moment, then I reached into my coat and felt along my gash. It was bleeding again. I groaned and clutched the side of my desk. Leara's eyes snapped to me.

"Rick?" She sounded so scared. I wanted to say something to reassure her, to let her know that she should never have such a look in her eyes over me, but all of the words wouldn't come out. All I could manage was a barely audible:

"Fuck…" Before I toppled from my chair and met the floor.