A/N: sorry for being so annoying with my deleting and posting...I'm done now...
I didn't mind the questions people asked after I told them what happened, in fact I liked it when they asked questions, I like answering them, I liked the story.
By the time second period arrives I can hardly stand it anymore, my body is desperate.
"Just a little longer…" I keep my eyes on the clock, I don't have to sit in class long, after about twelve minutes of talking to us Mr. Parker wanders back behind his desk, never to be seen from again.
I'm up and out of my seat, no reason to look back, Mr. Parker is now a ghost, a shadow stuck to the corner. Halfway out the door I hear another person get up and follow me out the door, I never looked back.
I hear his feet follow me down the hall, then wonder off.
Shadows, we're all shadows.
I make my way to the front gates, they're locked, not that it matters. I find one of the support beams for the gate, its where the biggest gaps in the bars are, and I slide between them. My hips jerk to a side and I'm through.
Like I said, shadows.
I wander slowly through the front parking lot, stopping to wave at the cameras as I slither into their view.
I find my car and crawl into the front seat. Once settled I dig around under my seat until I finally find it. I pull out an already made joint, it's a little old, but it will do the job.
I light it up and inhale slowly, careful not to burn my throat, the last thing I needed today was to choke to death in the school parking lot. I exhale the sweet poison smoke smoothly, time is only capable of healing a few wounds, the rest are up to us to sucher.
My ears are already ringing.
"Did he say my name?" I wonder out loud.
I think I am leaking.
I finish off the joint and throw the butt outside the window. As I pull myself out of the car, out of the smoke, out of the dream, I am beautiful.
My hips sharp and sculptured, my hair fallen in my face, my legs thin and toned, my face free of achy and obstructions. I am so tiny, barely there at all. I play the image of myself over in my head. It makes me want to sway.
My lips are never beautiful.
I can't help but wonder what blue eyes would think if he saw me now. If he saw the beauty the parking lot gave me.
I shook the idea from my head; it was far to early for thoughts like that, not when my head is making such a lovely ringing noise.
I drag my bag along the parking lot floor, not caring. I slide back through the gate, not nearly as graceful as I had before. To high to care, to high to focus, to high, so high, but I still can't reach.
I don't even think Mr. Parker noticed I left. Would he care if I never came back? I take my seat again, just a few more minutes of being forced to breath this air.
I turn to my friend Linda in the desk behind me, she looks disappointed.
Desperate for her to speak, I ask, "He notice?"
She squishes her face up, looks at me, and looks away, then back at me. She reminds me of the cop, I bite my lip.
"No." angry voice.
"Sorry officer." I mock her, she is far too sensitive.
"Nothing…" nothing at all.
She still looked angry, like there was something I should have done, or needed to do.
Her face hovered in my brain all day.
The rest of the day is barely a haze, just memories of telling my story again and again. It never bothered me much.
I'm in my car again. 12 pm is a strange time for school to let seniors out. So much time for so much destruction. Or part time jobs. I can't start the car yet, my head is filled with too many strange thoughts. Plus the sky is such a pretty blue, maybe my favorite color.
Do I call Brian, the love of my life and tell him about what happened to me. Do I wait for him to call me? It is decided for me half way home, Ziggy Stardust rings in my car, music is strange in my car.
I hate answering my phone in the car, but I still find it in my hands anyway.
"Hey," most times, those are his famous last words, he got lucky with me. "You want to hang out?"
Do I? Do I want to tell him?
"I was attacked, kind of…"
"What?!" Bad choice of words, definitely bad. The urge to hang up the phone now is almost deafening. Almost.
"I…I.." I told the story a million times today, but when it comes to him, the words won't come out, they get stuck somewhere between my shame and pride.
"I'm coming over!" A knight in shining armor a day too late.
"I'm not home (now)." Lie, I'm staring at my dads drive way. He's not home.
"Where are you!?"
Where am I?…I am…
"I-I'm here." No, that's wrong, I am….I am… "I am home now" I can't lie anymore; it's breaking my heart for some reason.
"I'm coming over now!" I can hear him rustling around, he drops the phone and swears, before shouting again. "Vine?"
"I'm at my dads!" I hang up and throw the phone across the seat, I can no longer stand it, the sound of his voice.
I curl up in my seat, the idea of leaving the car does not appeal to me, most of all, I just want to drive away, as far as I can get on the tank of gas I have. But I can't do it…I don't want to disappoint him. He always has to love me, because if he doesn't, I am alone.
I hate being alone.
All the keys fit, much to my disappointment
The house is empty, thank god. I need some silence.
I have 10 minutes till Brian gets here, not enough time to do anything, so I fall onto the couch, and let myself go for a second.
I am drained, there is nothing left but the midday sun.
Why does he insist that I suffer so? I ask the ceiling, why must I suffer?
The ceiling does not answer me; it never does, like everything else.
Brian comes in 8, not a surprise at all.
He is frantic, pulling me close, pushing me away, asking me if I'm ok, and pulling him into his arms again. I can't help wondering if this is what my ragidy ann feels like. I should apologize to her.
The cop is back, damn him.
"I'm-I'm fine." For a second, it sounds like I'm lying. Am I lying?
We sit down on my bed, his eyes are full of tears, he's so pathetic, I love him.
"What happened?" he's looking right at me, into me, I can't stand it, it makes my teeth itch.
I told him all of it, the same way I did for everyone else, is that strange? Should it have been the same?
He listens, intensely, eyes widening and filling with more tears every few seconds. I wanted to stop, spare him the pain, but his eyes…they would not let me.
By the time I'm finished with my story he has me in his arms again, and someone is crying, and I'm almost sure (quite sure) it's me.
"I was scared." I was lying, even through my breakdown. I amaze myself.
He tells me things that I can't make out, not that it matters, he has no way with words.
I can't breath, something is choking me. Is this real? Am I finally crying?
Brian pulls me closer, my shoulders sting.
"I will keep you safe." He says.
That is laughable, but I let him have it.
I don't know how long I stayed there, not that long. I come up from him and suddenly he looks a little more beautiful then he did before. For some reason, that makes my heart ache.
He refuses to let me go.
I consider asking him to leave every time I hear the grandfather clock chime.
My father comes home late, I barely have time to tell the story again, but I do, and for the first time since I can remember. My dad closes all the windows to our house.
I love the white noise in a shower, water hitting porcelain, it's an amazing sound, capable of drowning out all others.
I submerge my head under to flow, letting the water run past my ears, the sound I hear is somewhat of a mix of my own heartbeat, and being eaten by a beast.
I close my eyes and let reality overtake me. And in this moment, the stars do not shine, for that I am sure. The memories flash in bursts. Hurting my eyes, my soul. Every muscle is telling me to break, unable to move, they overtake me.
Blue eyes, I can see him, I can feel him, he feels…familiar. Fingers down the glass, the smudges I never cleaned away.
Hands close down around my throat.
Terrified, I pull my head out of the water and lose my footing. I hit the floor hard. Dazed I reach up to turn the water off, my fingers shake over the knob, it takes twice as long to turn off.
I felt no real need to leave the safety of the bath tub, no direct reason flashes into my head telling me why I should bother getting up at all, ever. Habit is the only thing that gets me back to my feet, nothing more.
I don't dry myself well, and crawl into bed half soaked. I've always loved the feeling of wet sheets, it reminds me of something, I can't remember.
I sleep worst that night.
I dream worse that night.
And much to my disappointment, I never stop breathing. Not once.
um...dont do drugs!