This story is based on a true one. Therefore, any resemblances or references to any persons, living or dead, have been constructed entirely on purpose.

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ARC

I

The Beginning Of The End

I start to slam the door, then stop as I realize that Mom will only be madder if I do. Instead I close it gently and turn my back to it, sliding down to sit with my knees against my chest. I close my eyes and tilt my face toward the ceiling as I feel the familiar, disgusting tickle of tears crawling into my ears.

Tilting my head down again at my feet, I open my eyes and wait for them to focus. I hug my knees and bury my face in my arms as breath is forced in and out of my chest. How am I still breathing? It feels so impossible. The stinging tears march relentlessly down my face and dampen my sleeve. This won’t do at all, I say to myself. I can’t keep wallowing in misery like this: my sleeves are getting all wet and my butt is numb. Sighing, I stand up and flop down on my bed so I can wallow properly.

After a while--ten minutes, two hours, who can say?--I have a sudden realization, as though from a great distance; as though I’m at the bottom of a well, and someone has dropped this thought down through the water. This, it occurs to me, is the danger with firsts; you end up losing all sense of proportion. Gary is--well, was--my first love. It seems as though he’s always been here, a part of my life in this town, but then he...changed? One day, without warning, he appeared differently to me--bathed in light, with golden hair and sapphire eyes--and turned my fifteen-year-old world upside-down. It was all my fault, I tell myself --I knew he liked me--I asked him out. And then I made him my everything. It was all so wonderful, just being with him, even if he rarely had time for me; somehow I thought it would last forever. And yes, five months in a relationship does seem like a long time when you’re barely a sophomore in high school. Foolish girl. My parents, malicious spies that they are, have seen what’s going on with me. Now they’ve called me on it, told me that they know my grades are slipping, that I’m failing English and math. Now they’ve made me dump him.

I suppose I’d been planning to break up with him anyway; he kept ignoring me, he was always so busy. And I was always so needy, and he couldn’t deal with that. Whenever I tried to drop him, he’d come back with the most dangerous of rebuttals: “I love you.” Perhaps not very sincere, but oh, how I believed it. And it induced a panic in me that made me stay longer, made me love him more, until I drowned in my own blissful pain...

And so here I lie, face down on flannel sheets in a pool of salt and sorrow. Grief is a bitter thing; it’s...well, I can’t think of a decent analogy, so I’ll just say it sucks majorly. It sucks like a black hole. It is the übersuck.

I glance at the glaring red numbers on my alarm clock; they seem to say, “Why are you still awake, young lady?!” They’re right, of course. No matter how badly everything sucks, sleep is good. And it would be especially good right now, seeing as it’s nearly eleven and tomorrow is, after all, another day. And a B-day. Glory, glory, hallelujah.

I heave myself up off of the bed, dragging my forearm once more across my eyes, wiping away the last of the tears. I take a look at my boombox. Empty. This won’t do at all. I pop in a burned CD of Three Days Grace. Rebellious, frustrated, generally pissed off and melancholy; my kind of music. I sing along as I amble around my room, pulling off my tear-drenched clothing and brushing my hair.

I could be cold, I could be ruthless

You know I could be just like you

I could be weak, I could be senseless

You know I could be just like you

Still half-singing, I wander to the shower. The scalding water makes my skin at first scream in pink agony, then sigh with relief as the downpour washes everything away. Problems? What problems? I’ve got soap and hot water. Ha.

I almost want to stay here forever, to just stand here and look upward and let the endless water bathe my face, seeping into me until I drown like an Earthman on Bradbury’s Venus--but I know I can’t. Eventually, I step out of the shower and wrap myself in a towel, fluffy and secure. From there I stumble back into the real world, where there are indeed problems, lots of them, all mine. I remember my teardrops on the sleeve of Gary’s jacket. But at the moment I will pretend not to care, because I’m going to sleep now.

I put on some soft Celtic music, set my alarm, turn off the light and lie down. Instantly the muscles along my spine and shoulders relax; I hadn’t realized how tense they were. I close my eyes, then open them, then close them again.

I see Gary’s face, crestfallen; I hear his voice, telling me we can make it work. I hear him saying, “I love you.” I recall the feeling in my stomach, the love-butterflies I feel when he says that, then the heavy guilt taking over, making me feel sick.

I choke back a sob and roll over, waiting for sleep to claim me.