Page 19 of Outcast

There was no response. She was usually dressed and out of the door by first bell. I was on my own. A rush of icy panic shot through my veins, and I stuck my face under the spray of water. Before I could wash the liquid out of my eyes, the stream dribbled to a halt.

A gasping sob escaped my throat. I’d threatened to throw ink in their eyes, and now, they meant to blind me! I scrambled out of the bath and groped around for the sink with trembling hands, breathing hard to stay calm. Panicking would only make me lose my sight. When my fingers met porcelain, I turned on the taps, pooled the warm water into my cupped hands, and splashed it onto my eyes. My scalp burned, and foul liquid poured down my shoulders and chest and back, but I ignored it. I had to protect my eyes.

Moments later, the tap spluttered, and the water stopped. All the breath left my lungs in a scream. What did I do next? My wet hair slapped me across the cheek and burned my skin. I had to cover it up. I rushed blindly to the right side of the bathroom, where we hung towels on a heated rail, and wrapped the nearest one I could find around my hair. I used another towel to dab at the sensitive skin on my face, then I groped around for a robe and threw it on.

By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, my face had dried, but my vision blurred.

A male voice huffed out a laugh.

I groped around for a weapon, but my hands only skimmed an empty table. “Who is that?”

He laughed again.

“I-I’m calling the police,” I said. “This is assault.”

Footsteps trod across the wooden floor, then the door slammed shut. I screamed and rushed after him, but he turned the key in the lock. The bastard, whoever he was, had trapped me so the liquid could take effect and eventually burn out my eyes. They’d gone too far. They needed to die.

I banged on the door. “Someone, help me!”

Footsteps shuffled outside in the hallway, most likely the bullies standing around to gloat, but I had to keep calling for help, even if it meant giving them what they wanted. My eyes were too important.

I slammed my fist on the wood over and over again, screaming, crying, pleading for someone to open the door and help me.

“What’s wrong?” shouted a male voice. It sounded like Blake, but I couldn’t be sure.

“There’s something in my eye. Open the door. I need to get to the infirmary.”

He paused, presumably to laugh. “Have you tried washing it out?”

“They’ve turned off the water.”

“There’s plenty in the toilet bowl.”

My nostrils flared. This was their plan all along. To make me so desperate for water, I’d plunge my hands into the toilet to wash my face. There was no point in continuing the conversation. They had trapped me, and I had only one option left if I wanted to save my sight.

Pipes coughed and spluttered, and a stream of water gushed out of the taps. Relief burst through me like a geyser, and I rushed back into the bathroom, stood at the sink, and gathered the precious liquid between my cupped hands. The soothing water washed the tampered shampoo off my face, making me cry out my relief. When my vision cleared, I climbed back into the shower. Cold water streamed out, making me gasp, but I turned around, tilted my head back and let it wash away the doctored shampoo.

Tears gathered in my eyes, providing them with much needed relief, and I let out gasping sobs. How could they go so far? I hadn’t done anything that warranted such a violent retaliation. These people were truly sick! Rita’s words returned to the forefront of my mind. She’d told me things would get worse, but I’d thought they’d focus on more humiliation, not maiming.

I stood under the stream of cold water until my teeth chattered, and I’d lost all the sensation in my fingers and toes. Whatever they’d put in my shampoo had gone, but my eyes felt like they’d been rubbed with steel wool. I shut off the water, climbed out of the shower, and reached for a towel. There were none on the rack, none on the door hook, and none on the floor. A whimper reverberated in my throat. Someone must have come in while I was showering and stolen all the towels.

A cold rage surged through my veins. I hated them. Hated them with a passion. These people were truly evil, and the worst part was that there was nobody to stop them. I wrapped my arms around my middle and shivered. What was I going to do now?

The door leading to the hallway clicked shut, and I rushed out of the bathroom. The edges around my vision blurred, but I could see that no-one was in the room, and they hadn’t left a towel for me, either. There was only one thing I could do: pull the sheets off my bed and use them to dry myself off.

It took an hour for sensation to return to my fingers, and I dried my hair as best as I could, put on my regulation sweatshirt and track pants, then tried the door. It opened. The hallway was deserted. I’d already missed the first period, and I expected everyone was in class. I eased myself down the stairs, walked through the hallway, and knocked on the housemaster’s door.

“Enter,” said a deep voice.

I stepped inside. Mr. Jenkins sat behind his desk, looking through a pile of papers. His thick mane of silvery hair flopped over his face. When I cleared my throat, he glanced up and frowned. “What can I do for you, Miss…?”

“Hobson,” I rasped out through a throat raw from screaming. Couldn’t he even remember me from when Blake had introduced us on our first day?

“Ah. The American.” There was no contempt in his voice, and he gestured at the chair in front of his desk. “Do take a seat.” The older man leaned forward, waiting for me to talk.

I coughed. “Someone put something in my shampoo this morning and shut off the water in my room.”

His brows drew together. “Are you sure? Students don’t have access to the plumbing.”