His Broken Angel's Dying Secret

The fluorescent lights in the main office buzzed like an angry hornet.

Claire stood at the front desk. She handed a pink absence slip to the secretary. Her hands felt incredibly heavy this morning.

"I have an appointment at a private SAT prep center downtown," Claire lied. Her voice was steady, practiced.

"Of course, Claire," the secretary smiled, signing the bottom of the slip. "Good luck with your studying."

Claire took the slip and turned around.

She nearly collided with a solid wall of black leather.

Bishop was walking into the office just as the late bell rang.

He stopped. His dark eyes flicked down to the pink absence slip in her hand. His brow furrowed slightly.

He looked at her pale face, but he didn't say a word. He just stepped aside to let her pass.

By noon, the smell of sterile alcohol and bleach filled Claire's lungs.

She sat in a large leather recliner in the downtown oncology center.

A thick IV needle was taped securely to the back of her left hand. The skin around the needle was already turning a sickening shade of purple.

The cold, toxic chemotherapy fluid dripped slowly into her vein.

A massive wave of nausea hit her instantly. Claire gripped the padded armrests of the chair. Her knuckles turned white.

She squeezed her eyes shut and focused on breathing.

Three hours later, the nurse finally pulled the needle out.

Claire slumped back in the chair. Her entire body felt like it was made of lead.

"You need to eat something, sweetie," the nurse said gently, handing her a small cup of water. "You're getting too thin."

At three o'clock, Claire forced herself onto a city bus to head back to the high school. She had left her AP Literature notebook in her locker, and she needed it to study.

She walked onto the campus just as the parking lot emptied out.

To avoid running into any lingering teachers, she walked around the back of the school, cutting behind the old, abandoned gym equipment shed.

The weeds here were waist-high. No one ever came back here.

Suddenly, the heavy, sickening sound of a fist hitting a jaw echoed through the quiet air.

Claire froze. Her legs were too weak from the chemo to run.

She crept forward and peered through the rusted chain-link fence.

Two massive boys wearing rival high school letterman jackets were circling Bishop.

Bishop's lip was split open. Bright red blood dripped down his chin and stained the collar of his white t-shirt.

But he didn't look scared. He looked like a feral animal. His eyes were wide and filled with a reckless, violent joy.

He lunged forward. He grabbed the heavier boy by the waist and drove him backward.

They slammed into the brick wall of the shed with a bone-rattling crash.

The second boy grabbed a rusted metal pipe from the dirt. He raised it high, stepping up behind Bishop's blind spot.

Claire didn't think.

She bent down, grabbed a heavy rock from the dirt, and threw it with all her remaining strength.

The rock smashed into an empty metal trash can.

The loud, ringing crash startled everyone.

The two rival boys looked toward the fence. Thinking it was a security guard, they dropped the pipe and scrambled over the back wall, running away.

Bishop leaned heavily against the brick wall. He was breathing hard. He wiped the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

He turned his head. His sharp eyes locked onto Claire standing behind the fence.

Claire gripped the chain-link wire.

The adrenaline left her body. The nausea from the chemo violently returned.

She doubled over, clutching her stomach, and began to dry heave onto the grass.

Bishop's eyes widened. The violent rage vanished from his face instantly.

He jogged over to the fence, pushed the broken gate open, and stopped right in front of her.

He looked at her pale, sweating face. He thought she was having a panic attack from seeing the blood.

He reached out. His large, rough hand awkwardly but gently patted the middle of her back.

"Are you stupid?" Bishop muttered, his voice thick with frustration and concern. "What the hell are you doing back here?"

Claire leaned against the metal fence to keep from falling. She looked at the blood soaking his shirt.

She forced a weak, trembling smile.

"I got lost," she whispered.