In Memory by CJ Lyons Page B

anticipate Noah would be so… refined when he ate. He eats like a proper gentleman. You know, he holds his fork and knife properly, and uses a napkin gracefully, etc. He was fun to watch.
    Apparently, I was watching him a little too closely, and got really distracted when his thin pink tongue flicked out after he took a drink of juice. It was like it played in slow motion, and I really stared. So… attractive?
    When I snapped back to reality, both he a nd Terra were staring at me. C huckled, and appropriated my staring to the fact I was still a little groggy. To cover up my embarrassment, I stood up, and gathered the used dishes, busily hurrying to the sink.
    Terra stood up too, breathing out a tired sigh. “Well, I’m gonna hit the sack, I’m beat.”
    W as going to comment on the irony of ‘hit the sack’/‘I’m beat’, and how they reference violence when they actually me an exhaustion, but I didn’t. G uess I could’ve.
    Noah stayed until after brunch, then mumbled something about going home before his absence was notic ed. W ondered if I should try and convince him to stay, thinking that if he went home, he’d just come back with more bruises.
    W as so torn, watching him go out the door in my clothes. S hould have washed his, and let him wear them. T hink even the smallest thing like that would set his father off. Maybe that’s just speculation from what little I’ve seen of him.
    R eally don’t want anything I’ve done for Noah to be the reason he gets hurt.
    It’s unfair that this sort of thought should occur to me. D on’t understand why he has to go through all that pain for something so small.
    If he’s hurt next time I see him, I’m going to be really upset. Although, I have vowed to keep a good humour around him, he seems less down when I’m smiling around him.
    H ad work today, mostly running errands for the doctors and spending time with the ladies in the senior wing.
     
    141 Days, 9 October, Thursday
    J ust about freaked out like crazy in class today. H ad just sat down in Math, and was digging in my bag for my calculator when he sat down behind me. T urned to greet him, and stopped short when I saw him.
    He looked terrible. Even though he is generally good looking, not even that could hide the fact that the entire left side of his face was swollen and pink. He had taped a couple bandages over some of the bruises, but they still burned through the off white gauze.
    I swallowed, opening my mouth, trying to say some thing, but nothing came out. J ust gaped, opening and closing my mouth, then stood up, slamming all my books back in my bag, grabbed his arm, and led him out of the room.
    I gnored the call of the teacher, marching down the h allway with Noah at my side. K new that some of the other students had gott en up and were watching out the door.
    Noah was silent, and fol lowed me without resistance. L ed him all the way to the infirmary, and sat him down on the bed.
    “Okay, tell me. ” I looked at him seriously. T ried to imagine how my face looked, and hoped I didn’t look scary and/or angry. He avoided my gaze, staring pointedly at the railing of the bed.
    “Noah. Tell me what happened.”
    “I went home. I was reading. He came into my room. Then he questioned why I was home at that time. I explained that I had been at your house and he struck me. Twelve times. I made an attempt to stop him, the thirteenth blow knocked me unconscious. I do not know if he continued after that.”
    I breathed out a heavy gust of air to stop myself from yelling. W anted to storm into the office and call the police and demand the arrest of his father.
    “Why?” I asked through gritted teeth. “Why can’t we go to the police for this? Why won’t you do anything about it?”
    “Because…” he faltered, “…because he owns the police. He owns everyone.”
    I furrowed my brow, trying to look him in the eye.
    “So he always gets away with everything he does, because no one believes a word