The Clairvoyant

Five | 83 days, 20th hour

Three years ago during my first year of high school, I'd unintentionally started a fight. I'd started it simply because they were teasing me – yes. I was in that age where just getting teased at is simply unbearable.

And like that, I slapped her, she kicked me, end of the story.

For some reason I'd been labeled as some kind of delinquent in Regis High that year. My siblings were my only support, but because they were in different cliques, I'd stopped hanging out with them as well.

I know, it's a total b***h move, and even until today I think what I did was stupid.

Well, onto my story, I didn't get expelled since my dad had crazy connections in the school. And another thing is, I was on the board of top students in my year. So yes, Regis High kept me until I was finally kicked out during my third year.

Anyways, before getting kicked out, I kicked butts to live my reputation as they so want it. The people around me loved drama, loved seeing fights – so like an i***t, I did. I started fights. I looked for opponents to kick. I looked for girls bigger than me to beat.

One way or another, I got away with all those things.

I won. I faced them. I became the strongest.

Though during my third year, I felt it was becoming a drag. I stopped looking for fights and instead they sought me out. Still I won the fights, and they kept coming at me but still I thought it was getting tedious.

Until one night during a fight, a guy had come up to me.

I still remember the way he looked at me that night. That one night where I'd almost punched a girl on the nose and it would have led her to the hospital – I rarely did punches like those. He stopped me, told me that it was enough, and asked the same thing I had always been wondering of:

“Aren't you tired of fighting?”

I stared at him, thought he was looking for a fight, but when I went in for a punch, he stopped it like I was some kind of fly. I tried to kick him, I remember how hard it was to reach him since he was too damn tall for me, but I tried anyway.

“Why aren't you punching back?” I asked him after a few more punches.

“You're a girl.”

“And so? I've fought countless of guys before, and heck, they fought back.”

He shook his red hair, his green eyes glistening under the moon. “They're jerks.”

I'd pulled my hand away from him and we stood there, staring at each other. Frankly speaking, he was the first guy to ever not punch me back. But that didn't stop me from slapping him, and he didn't even slap back. Whatever I did, he didn't return them.

Finally, I got tired of him.

“Dude, what the hell do you want from me?” I asked, sitting on the ground and cracking my knuckles. I'd only been doing that because I thought it was cool, and hey, it's not. Or so he told me so I stopped. “It's late, why are you even awake?”

“I came to pick you up.”

“'pick me up?” I had echoed in a rather unbelieving voice.

“Yeah, Vincent told me to get you. Said its late already.”

I sighed, bent over, then stood up as I got his outstretched hand. “So you're like, my lackey or something? It's my first time ever hearing my brother wanting someone to pick me up. Who are you really, and what do you want from me?”

“I'm telling you the truth,” He answered, his grip firm on my wrist. “Your brother is worried.”

“They never showed it. They kept watching behind the scenes as if nothing was happening.” And this was a fact. They never stopped me even though I obviously told them I was going out for a fight. I wanted someone to stop me. To tell me that's enough.

But that was it. No one did. So I kept fighting.

“If you're waiting for someone to tell you to stop, then I will,” The guy had told me, releasing his firm grip.

“I don't want you to tell me that though.”

And like that, my night was done.

He'd driven me home; I'd learned his name was Jaime. Vincent and Jaime were apparently childhood friends, but it was only just recently that Jaime came back to Eau Claire. He lied about Vincent telling him to stop, that he only overheard small talk.

“Then why'd you stop me then?” I had asked him.

“Because he looked so much in pain, and it's as if he doesn't know what to do. And that's a first for me, being his childhood friend,” Jaime cracked up as he was driving his pick-up truck. “Vincent's a guy who's already made up his mind about numerous things, but he doesn't know what to do with you.”

“Sometimes my brother acts much more like my dad than my real dad.”

“I'd agree on that,” Jaime laughed. We stopped in front of my house – during this time my dad was still here on Earth, and my mom was working as a small time model. “You're tired of fighting, aren't you?” I nodded. “Then stop.”

“I've been fighting for three years now,” Were my exact words, my voice colder than the night outside the car. “You can't simply say I can stop the fights. And dude, other people would still come at me and I'd still fight even if I didn't want to.”

“Then lose.”

“I have never lost a fight.”

“You did just a while ago.”

I wondered back then for a moment who I'd lost to, then realized he was talking about himself. He told me that I'd given up before he did, and that he won the fight fair and square. I told him it wasn't fair. He said it perfectly was.

Then I stopped and got out of the car.

“You're going to stop fighting now,” He shouted from inside his car. “Tell them what you really wanna do. And hey, if you're ever looking for a fight, you could always just come to me. I'll fight with you, and maybe, just maybe, you'll lose.”

That night, like some kind of miracle, my parents were home, my brother back for the weekend from his university, my siblings still awake even though it was practically past midnight. They told me they needed to talk and I sat down in front of them.

“How are your college applications?” My father asked me, though the question seemed off topic.

I told him that it was fine, that I took three to four schools – two of them being purely backup just in case JulieArts and Vanderbilt didn't like delinquent students. My mom asked me what I was taking, and I told them (which is a lie) that I didn't really care since I might not even be able to get in.

I told more lies than just that (something about working as a cleaner or something), and maybe that's why my mom suddenly started crying. I know I should feel guilty for making my dear mother cry, but I didn't. I just stood there, watching her cry in my father's arms.

Chey and Ian were the ones who got angry at me, told me to take things much more seriously.

These two had already made up their mind and I envied them for that. Even Vincent had decided to become a cook or a bartender way before he even graduated. But I was stuck below them, not knowing what to do. I wasn't pretty like mom; I was more like a guy than Ian too.

“I don't know what I should do,” I had blurted out. “You guys just keep watching behind the scenes. I feel like you don't even care, so why should I, right? I'll keep on fighting, maybe someday I'll be this infamous fighter – it's all I got.”

For the first time in all my years as a high school student, my dad had gotten up and shouted at me. He told me to take care of myself, that I shouldn't keep thinking like this. He told me that he loved me as equally as the other two, and that he cared.

He really did.

He said that I could still change. That it wasn't too late.

I asked them if it was alright, and they said it was. I asked them why they never stopped me, said I looked like I was having so much fun. “I would have stopped you,” My father had said as he held my mother. “But it was the only thing I saw you happy with.”

The idea of taking something that made me happy with pained my father.

It was the reason why they never stopped.

And that weekend, I changed. I promised I'd never fight ever again.

But it just so happens I got expelled for “brutally” hurting a student – it was that girl I almost punched in the nose. I honestly didn't know she was a student in school. Then my mom had connections to Memorial High and I went there during the second semester.

All those time, Jaime's words ringed in my mind – I never really did speak to him after that, just small talk over the phone on how I was when he was supposed to speak to Vincent. Through the net. Through my cell phone.

But now Jaime stood in front of me, his hand on my shoulder, his left hand on my arm.

“You okay, Stella?” His voice is ever as soothing as it was a year ago.

“I...” And then there's that buzzing thing in my head. A twitch in there like a while ago when my legs gave way. I clenched tightly onto my head, my free hand gripping onto Jaime's arm. He's asking me if I'm alright, I tell him I do inaudibly.

“Stella!” I hear someone shout my name, but I don't have the energy to look and see who it is. “What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” I feel as if my mind's overwhelming me or something, and my eyes are tightly closed.

Then like that, it's gone. The pain in my head is gone.

“Stella?”

I open my eyes to see my siblings looking at me: Chey's deep blue eyes and Ian's turquoise ones that mirror mine. They have these worried expressions on their faces and from the background, I can see Vincent also looking at me.

“What happened?”

“I'm fine,” I mutter, and they ask me what I said. I repeated it again, and then realize that what I heard wasn't really someone's voice. Rather, it was Cain's thought all over again. He must be inside the Zone, somewhere out there, because he's not with Chey and the others.

As if knowing that I'm looking for something, Chey shakes her head with a frown.

Where are you? I send to him, knowing full well he can hear me.

Just near. I'm with some friends at school though, they attacked me.

“Where's Cain?” Ian asks furiously. “He should be here with you. Taking care of you.”

“Well, we kind of separated from one another,” I mutter, letting go of Jaime's arm and taking a gulp of air.

“Was your head in pain?”

“Maybe you should go to a doctor or something.”

“Are your knees okay?”

I wave a hand at them tiredly. “Please stop talking all at once,” I frown at them and turn around, my eyes looking for Cain in the crowd. “And I'm fine, I don't need to. Besides, I've already promised a checkup with Dr. Joelle tomorrow.”

“Why don't we just go home for tonight?” Chey pleads.

“But Cain...”

“He's with some friends,” Ian angrily replies, more like he snapped at me.

I look at the far corner, and indeed see Cain with friends. Or more like, his fan girlfriends. They're all around him, and he's not that far away. Maybe around a few meters or so but I see him, and he sees me despite the girls around him.

Are you going home?

They want me to.

I'm sorry I wasn't there during the headache.

I blink, my surrounding suddenly quiet all of a sudden. The noise isn't as unbearable as it was a while ago, and for a second, all I can focus on is Cain and his mind – even though he's thinking about how annoying the girls are.

You know about the headache.

I've had it before, he replies moments later.

I stay quiet, Chey and Ian asking if I'm tired already. “I think I'll go home,” I reply to my older siblings and they sigh with relief. I turn my head to look at Cain who's still talking to his friends, and I know he'll hear me.

We need to talk.

And that's all I have to send.