Chapter 10: Band-Aids and Betrayal

Ten

Derek used to fight for me when we were kids. In elementary school, boys would pull my braids, lift my skirt, put things in my bag and desk to scare me.

He was always there—my bodyguard, my shield. I never had to ask; he just showed up, fists ready.

In middle school, a boy who liked me and was rejected got angry and, along with his friends, spread rumors that I had messy relationships and strung boys along.

The whispers followed me down the hall, notes shoved in my locker, mean texts from unknown numbers. I felt like a pariah, but Derek never let it go unchallenged.

Derek fought them one by one, until no one dared to spread rumors about me.

He came home with bruised knuckles and a split lip more than once, but he never complained. He just grinned and told me I owed him fries at McDonald’s.

Once, that boy who spread rumors called a few friends, followed Derek after school, and pushed him out of the school corridor.

They waited by the bike racks, voices low and threatening. I watched from the window, heart in my throat.

At that time, the corridor had floor-to-ceiling windows. Derek was caught off guard, crashed through the glass, and fell to the ground covered in shards. Luckily it was the first floor, so he wasn’t seriously hurt.

The crash was loud enough to draw a crowd. I ran outside, shoes crunching on broken glass.

But both his arms were cut up from the glass. When I found him, his uniform was stained with blood.

He tried to hide his injuries, but I saw the pain etched in his face. My hands shook as I pressed napkins to the wounds, tears blurring my vision.

His face twisted in pain, but he still gritted his teeth and comforted me, saying it was nothing, it didn’t hurt.

He joked about getting a cool scar, ruffling my hair even as the nurse bandaged him up. I cried anyway, clutching his hand.

I cried until I couldn’t see, helplessly watching blood ooze from his wounds.

That night, I couldn’t sleep—every time I closed my eyes, I saw red. I promised myself I’d never let anyone hurt him again.

From that day on, I always carried band-aids.

Dinosaur prints, glitter hearts, cartoon superheroes—he teased me for the patterns, but smiled when I stuck them on.

After that, no matter who bullied me, I handled it myself, never telling Derek again, afraid he’d get hurt because of me.

I toughened up, learned to fight my own battles. But the band-aids stayed in my bag, just in case.

But I kept that habit.

Even when we drifted apart, I still checked my bag every morning. Old habits die hard.

Derek used to tease me for making a fuss, but from the smile in his eyes, I knew he actually liked it.

He’d roll his eyes, but always let me patch him up. It was our secret ritual, a reminder of better days.

But when Lauren transferred, she saw the band-aids fall out of my bag and told Derek that using Hello Kitty band-aids at our age was childish, and even when hurt I was still pretending to be cute.

She said it in front of everyone, her voice dripping with disdain. One boy muttered, "Band-Aids are Band-Aids," but Derek just laughed.

Derek laughed and nodded.

He agreed with her, didn’t even glance my way. The band-aids felt heavy in my pocket after that.

...

The memories came in a rush—good and bad, sweet and bitter. I shook my head, trying to clear them away.

I pulled myself from my memories, looked at Derek, and shook my head gently.

I met his eyes, steady and unflinching. I wanted him to see that I meant it this time.

"I won’t give you band-aids anymore," I said. "Not ever again."

My voice was soft but firm, final. My hand twitched toward my bag out of muscle memory, then stopped. The words hung between us, sharp as glass.

Derek didn’t seem surprised, his face going pale.

He looked down, shoulders slumping. For a second, he looked like he might cry.

He laughed at himself.

It was a hollow sound, more pain than humor. The rest of the class looked away, embarrassed for him.

"I get it."

His words were barely a whisper. He walked back to his desk, leaving a trail of blood and silence in his wake.

His gaze darkened, like a falling star.

I watched him go, feeling both lighter and heavier than I ever had before.