Better Judgment Ch. 01

Author's Note:

As this story is quite long and I have yet to figure out some plot points, I am submitting this story in bits and pieces. Any and all characters engaging in any form of sexual activity are going to be 18 years and older when such an act occurs. So please be mindful.

Also, I have self-edited the copy and apologise for any and every error. Mea Culpa.

*****

August 8, 2008:

*CRACK*

With that sound, a tear formed in the space-time continuum for him. The gasps of those surrounding him, the singgers of those who wanted this to happen to him sooner than later, the wide-eyed disbelievers whose hopes of a novel romance fell a notch all would remain frozen for him in the moment that he would relive despite him desperately not wanting to do so.

Had they been right all along? That him being loved by the queen of the high school social hierarchy, broke the rules of nature? That she was lying when she had told him those three magical words in the resonating silence of that empty classroom.

Had they known that her honeyed words, said with heavy breathing over the telephone on those darkened nights had just been lies? That the hearts she scribbled that closed all her secret notes she wrote to him were only false hopes she planted so he would do her bidding?

How could have he been so foolish? How could he, the horn-rim bespectacled, dangerously thin and book-smart, class-clown, nerd believe even for a second, that he was loved by the most beautiful, most popular girl in all the high schools in the city?

How could he ever believe that Sarah, his Sarah, was lying through her teeth when she called him in the middle of the night, much to the dismay of his parents, only to hear his voice before she fell asleep holding the phone close as he narrated the poems of Wordsworth he had memorised just for her.

But his then disbelief, though shared by most in their high-school, was negated when she had cozied up to him when they were decorating their class for a project, whispering sweet nothings into his ear. When she slipped those nimble fingers into his, grasping his hand and squeezing it gently as to affirm her emotions, during the one moment they met after recess, near the water cooler every single day. When they talked in sign language, across windows on opposite sides of the school building, only to tell the other that they missed each other.

Ten years later, from when he had first exchanged words with her when he was only nine, all that remained of those cherished memories for Matthew was the sound of that crack. That crack that had sounded when she had slapped him in front of the whole senior class because all he was begging was for answers.

Answers for why had she done so? Made a joke out of him. Cheated on him with his supposed best friend. Made him believe for the last three years they had been together that she was truly and faithfully his. Shattered his hopes and dreams for their future together into a million pieces only because she wanted to be someone's arm-candy.

As burning tears rolled down his numb cheeks, he saw her let out a mirthful laugh as she saw him slowly dismantle her house of lies in his mind, turn slowly and run into the arms of his now former best friend who squeezed her arse in front of everyone when their bodies melded.

As Harold, now the target of Sarah's affection, and his henchmen doubled over in laughter at Matthew's foolishness and gullibility, pointing their fingers at him, all Matthew could do was remain rooted to where he was standing and see the world that he had so carefully built over the last few years, burn slowly, completely, as his will to live went up in smoke.

As he about fell on his knees that had been wobbly for the last few minutes, in front of the now smiling Sarah, he felt his throat constrict and his heart stop its beating, his eyesight becoming blurry and all he could hear was the laughter of Harold, his henchmen and dragging footsteps of the others as the world around him went about their daily-lives, having received their daily dose of entertainment at Matthew's behest.

And all that remained engrained in his memory, before he felt his body lose consciousness, was the feeling of Sarah's lips on his. That one moment he truly believed had come to define his existence. That one moment when all the stars had aligned to prove to him that he finally belonged to someone. Her.

*****

The next thing Matthew remembered was being wet. Not just his eyes, his entire body was wet. And it scared him. Though he was not afraid of dying, he did not remember reading anywhere that he would feel wet after dying. And that is what scared him. Being wet. It meant he had not died. And after his brain kept painfully reminding him by playing the memory of his ignominy again and again, he had hoped for and welcomed death with open arms.

After his parents painful death in a fire that tore his world apart two years ago, he had sworn to himself that he would not let anything break him. And he had made Sarah his emotional crutch ever since, not trusting his own heart and body to anchor his will to live. And that was a role she had played with aplomb. She had held him close to her when his endless shrieking at night, in the immediate aftermath of the fire, was the only noise he would make to communicate with the outside world. She had wrapped her arms around him when he drenched her shoulders with an endless stream of tears that replaced words whenever he remembered his parents.

She had chosen to uproot her life, albeit temporarily, from the safe havens of her house to his hotel room that was acting as his make-shift residence to be with him during his time of despair.

As flashes of these memories overtook his conscious mind, he seemed to make peace with his fate. Somewhere, between being broken by his parent's death and Sarah's inexcusable behaviour, he embraced being enveloped by numbness, that was slowly descending upon him. He liked it.

His life then flashed before him. He could smell the mac and cheese his mother made for him to cheer him up, whenever he was in a funk. He could taste the goat cheese omelette his father made for him, before he broke any bad news to him, knowing he could not stay mad for long because that omelette really made him forget his woes. He heard dying notes of Coltrane's Blue Train, one of his all-time favourite's, in the background. He could see his parents dance in a dimly lit room to that song, bringing a smile to his face. This was his favourite memory of them.

As that memory faded out, another faded in. He was at the door, watching keenly as Sarah pulled her car out of his driveway. She had just spent the evening with him, that too a few days before Christmas. For him, it was the highlight of his life. That five foot eight svelte strawberry blond had chosen to forsake an evening out with her friends to spend a few moments with him. He had asked her for some of her time, though not insisted on it. He knew, that was all he could do with her. Ask. And oblige, she did.

"You know, though I am happy for you, there is something about this girl that bugs me," he heard his mother say as he continued to stare at her car from his vantage point from the door as it went around the curb and into the night.

"You don't need to worry about her mom, she is just a friend," he said, failing to wipe the smile off of his face before he turned to face her after closing the door.

"Liar," she said smiling. Matthew's mother, the five footer with locks of silver hair to impress upon you her wisdom, was a psychologist. She probably could size up every person in every room she entered in less than five minutes, though everybody in that room would just be looking at her beauty with bated breath. His mother, much like his father, had an undeniable grace about her. She would remind you of a stoic portrait of elegance you would hang over the fireplace.

But, she always chose to keep her thoughts to herself when it came to Matthew and his friends. So her saying anything about Sarah was odd. "But why do you say that?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I don't know. Just call it a mother's intuition. You spent your entire savings to buy her that lovely necklace. And all she could ask you was how expensive it was, rather than enjoy her gift. And she got you nothing. It's just odd."

"Mom, don't you think you are reading a little bit too much into the situation?" Matt asked, trying to suppress his laughter.

"Fine, I'll back off. Just answer me this. How come she never comes to visit you before sundown and you never have an other friends around when she is here?"

"That's just the way she like it Mom," Matt said, trying his best to defend her.

"Hmm... Right. Are you sure that's it Matt?" She said, raising his eyebrow at him, as she looked up from where she had bent to clean the wrapping paper Sarah had left behind in her wake after she ripped open everything to get to her gift he had spent months of saving up his allowance to buy for her. The jewellery catalogue he had bought that month giving him the idea for the perfect gift for her.

He had hoped the sapphire encrusted pendant, intricately carved at that, would be the perfect necklace for her. It would compliment her eyes, he thought when he was arguing with himself after looking at the price. The steep price was worth the sparkle in her eyes when she first looked at it, he thought to himself.

Again, his vision faded and another memory faded in. It was the night before the big science exhibit. He had been preparing for this almost a year now. Going against the norm of preparing an experiment, he had worked really hard over the year to prepare his critique on the experiments of Marconi on the radio and created a small short-wave radio that helped him prove just that.

"You should really get some sleep. Staring at those papers will not change anything you already wrote on them," He heard his father's voice booming in his haze, knowing it came from the door his father had cracked open to check up on him.

The best and most hilarious way to describe his father was how his mother did: He was a poor man's version of Albus Dumbledore. Behind half moon spectacles that hung loosely to the crook of his slightly crooked nose, were mischievous eyes that studied you endlessly. Being cleanly shaven, his salt and pepper moustache perfectly complimented his sheet white hair, giving the impression that he was aptly wizened beyond his age.

"I will Dad. Just five more minutes. Last minute nerves, I guess," Matt told his father, turning to the door to look at him. Matt was a spitting image of his father, Logan. Except the fact that Logan kept himself in top shape. As compared to him, Matthew looked like he had been starving for over a year.

Sighing deeply, Logan glanced at the vinyl styled clock that hung above Matt's bed. It was close to 11. The boy needed sleep if was to ace his presentation tomorrow.

Logan's reverie was broken by the shrill blaring of the house phone. It could only be one person at this time of the night, he thought to himself and sighed deeply again. That boy was never going to ace that presentation if it was going to be that girl on the other end.

"Matt, it's Sarah on the line. She says it is important," Logan heard his wife Samantha yell from the bottom of the staircase.

As Matt rushed past him to grab the cordless in the hallway that joined his room with his parents', Logan thought to himself: So much so for his presentation tomorrow. As he tried to interrupt Matt's chain of conversation to ask him to turn in early, Logan was met with a raised hand to be interpreted as a need for silence and a nod of understanding from Matt.

Taking it as his cue to leave, he shook his head as he went to his room to the warm bed and his lovely wife that beckoned him there.

Needless to say, a sleepless Matt stumbled and yawned during his presentation the next day and lost whatever chances he had at an academic scholarship.

Amidst all the cacophony of his thoughts, he felt a caressing hand on his forehead. He knew then, that if, despite his numbness he could feel something, it was an old friend who he had chosen to entertain only once before in his life. Death.

*****

Abe, a guy Matt barely knew from Mrs. Jennings' Art Class, was shaking him vigorously as he slumped to the floor, who had seen the glassy expression in Matt's eyes and wanted him to snap out of it, before Matt made a further fool of himself.

Towering over Matt by a few inches, a six foot four Abe knew this was coming. The minute he saw Sarah inch herself closer to a visibly crying and shaking Matthew, he knew something was about to go down that would be forever recorded in the annals of these hallways as a historic event.

Abe had been there before. He had silently lived through the humiliation of being slapped by a girl he had been in love with, who had subsequently given her mind, body and soul to Harold, the guy who was now busy in a slobbery spit-exchange with Sarah.

For Abe, reliving the same situation almost frame by frame was painful. He knew the drill. Vivid memories from the day he stood where Matt stood now were knocking on the doorway to his conscious mind.

He bent and leaned in closer to Matt, who was on the ground, still shaking and talking to himself in his daze. This was never a good sign. He raised and placed his left hand on Matt's forehead, to take him temperature while he checked Matt's pulse with his right hand, placing it on his left wrist. He then brought his ears close to Matt's nose to get an inkling of his breathing. Hearing faint breathing, he looked around him to see a few dozen bystanders who chose to glare at him working rather than helping him out.

He cringed at their callousness. He knew this all too well and was silently thanking Matt's stars that he was not awake to see this behaviour of people. Abe then felt Matt's forehead again. Matt was burning up and his murmuring was growing more erratic with every passing second.

Hearing a shriek from his background, Abe turned swiftly to see a horrified Mrs. Jennings looking at the both of them on the floor, while her hands covered her mouth to cover her dismay. But she did not utter a word further. She just spun on her feet and ran towards the end of the corridor.

Now was not the time to ponder on the behaviour of one of his teachers. Now was the time to help the convulsing, thin man on the floor.

Abe, using little force, propped Matt onto the lockers and made him sit. He had no idea what he was doing but something in his gut told him that this was the right thing to do. Checking Matt's wrist for pulse again, he had the sense to flip his phone from his left back pocket, standing from his crouch, and dialled 911.

"Hello 911. What's your emergency"

"Yeah, hi. Someone in my school collapsed in the corridor. He is burning up and his breathing is erratic. He is also mumbling something but it is making no sense at all," Abe barked on the phone, becoming more frantic with every passing second.

Before he could hear anything from the Operator, he was yanked from his position next to Matt, a movement that threw his phone and him backwards. Taking a moment to come into terms with the sudden flurry of movement, Abe shook his head and stared at the school's medic now crouched beside Matt checking his vitals.

He then felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Mrs. Jennings who was looking at him, apologising with her eyes for the actions of the medic. As her hands tightened on his shoulder, Abe was brought back to reality.

Hearing voices coming from his phone, he snatched it off of the ground and spoke to the Operator again. "Yes, sorry for that. The school's medic has arrived on the scene and checking the patient's vitals. Sorry, not the patient, my friend. I am sorry to have troubled you with this."

"That's not an issue. You did the right thing. I hope your friend get's better. Call again if you need any help," the Operator said.

"Thanks. Will do," Abe said, as he cut the call and felt Mrs. Jennings' grip on his shoulder tighten even further. He turned to her and saw her panic-stricken eyes. Bringing his free hand to her grip on his shoulder, squeezing it gently to assure her that everything would be okay, he glanced around him.

A small crowd had started milling around them now. Abe gave a look of disdain and then his body shuddered, something that was not lost on Mrs. Jennings. Gently tapping him on the shoulder, she nodded to her right to indicate to Abe to step away from the medic who was now trying to revive Matt from his state.

As they both stepped to the side, Veronica Jennings asked Abe in a rather hushed tone: "So, what happened here?"

Abe eyes went steely as he told her, the venom in his voice apparent, "Harold."

Veronica was no stranger to the antics of her students. Though she had only known Matt as the kid who was quite good in her class, she knew of Harold by reputation. The spoilt-rich kid who got everything he needed or wanted by throwing a tantrum in front of either his parents or ordering around his henchmen.

Veronica shook her head in understanding because she knew where this was going. But she needed more context to put all the pieces together. "You have to be a bit more specific for me to get a hang of the situation."

A vein popped on Abe's neck. Veronica could see that what Abe was about to say brought back a lot of bad emotions up for him. And she had never seen Abe like this before. Despite towering over her by over half a foot, he was a big ball of mush whose muscles, she thought, were just for the show.

"Harold pulled a Nancy on Matt," he said, trying to look down and attempting not to wince when he took her name.

Nancy? Did Abe just say Nancy? In the two years she had known him, she had not heard him say her name except the day they met and now was the second time she heard it. Whatever happened to Matt must be really important for Abe to bring it back up again.

Meanwhile, the medic took Matt's vitals and did not get any positive reading from him. This kid was going to need a hospital stat, if he wanted to keep his tongue. His convulsions made it difficult for the medic to administer any help. Turning to the man and woman huddled up beside her engaged in conversation, she cleared her throat in an attempt to get their attention.

The medic clearing their throat broke the flow of conversation between the teacher and one of her favourite pupils. The medic sensed something off about this pair that was standing in front of her. There was an ease yet a discomfort between the both of them. Or maybe, she was just wrong about the whole thing. However, her priority was not figuring them out but getting this sick kid to the hospital.

"I cannot help him out here. I believe he needs to be shifted to the hospital for better care," she said loudly, talking to no-one particularly, hoping that one or both of them would be paying attention to her.

"That's okay. I called the nearest hospital. They have dispatched an ambulance. It should be here any minute now," a voice bellowed from behind all the students that had gathered around Matt.

"If you are not in class by the time I get to Matt, I will consider it your acceptance to meet me in my office," said the same voice that belonged to none other than Principal Becker.

As Abe started to get to class, Principal Becker said, "Not you Abe. You stay. I need to have a word with you and Mrs. Jennings here."

"Before you ask me how I got to know about all this, I nearly collided with Veronica here when she was hurrying to get the medic down the hall. Upon asking her for the reason of her rush, I barely understood 'Matt,' 'fainted' and 'Abe' as she rushed through her explanation. So I got here as soon as I got everyone to class."