So Alone

Chapter 1

beep beep beep

Without opening my eyes, I hit snooze on my alarm clock.

Another day in hell.

I finally pry myself out of bed at 7:28 and put on jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel. I head downstairs a few minutes later. My dad is poring over some old files on the kitchen table.

"Hey Stiles," he says when he notices me. "There's bread and butter on the counter, I think you have time to make some toast."

I flash back to last week. "Maybe if you weren't such a fat pig, you'd have friends."

"I do have friends. They're coming... my dad..."

"Well, they're not here, are they? Don't kid yourself. They don't care, they just keep you around to make you feel better about themselves."

"Stiles? Are you with me?"

"Uh, thanks Dad, I really have to get to school. See you tonight?" I grab my keys and open the door, hoping to leave before any further questioning.

"Do you have lunch money?"

"Yep," I lie. "Bye Dad." And close the door quickly behind me.

I take a deep breath. The same hollow feeling that fills my stomach, fills my soul. So poetic, Stiles.

My jeep starts easily today, and I get to school a few minutes early.

"Hey dude," Scott says, coming up behind me. "Did you study for the test today? I am so gonna fail."

"Uh, yeah," I reply distantly.

"Um, dude... you ok?" he asks.

For some reason, I feel the need to smile and say yes.

I turn to my best friend with a convincing smile on my face. "Yeah, sorry. Just tired."

"Oh, ok. Well, Mrs. Portman grades really strict, so... do you think you could help me study during free period?"

"Sure."

"Thanks, bro. You're the best," he claps my shoulder. "Gotta get to class. See you later, man."

"See ya." I stop walking as he goes off to class. I can feel the anxiety in every tense muscle in my body. My breath starts getting shaky, my hands trembling. Everything is so overwhelming; lockers slamming, people talking. I need to get out of here.

I close and lock the stall door behind me. Ok, breathe, Stiles. In and out. It's not that hard! You're such a freak that you can't even breathe right!

Ok, not helping. I put my hands on my head and close my mouth so I'm only breathing through my nose. After a few hard minutes, the panic starts to ease off my brain. As soon as I get feeling back in all my limbs, I collapse onto the toilet seat with a sigh.

The first time my dad found out about my panic attacks, he took me to a psychiatrist, who subscribed me some medication and left it at that. I guess he trusts that I take it, because he never asks.

I don't take it; I don't really know why. Maybe it just scares me, taking a drug that's going to mess with my mind. Even if it's in a good way; I don't like the idea of it. But I need something to get me through the school day.

My fingers fumble through the contents of my bag, trying to find the bottle, when something sharp pricks my finger. I take my hand out to see a small drop of blood on the tip of my finger. Strangely, it's almost like a bit of relief bleeds out of me with that drop.

Looking more carefully through my bag, I find what nicked me; one of those cheap plastic pencil sharpeners with the blade uncovered. The pills now forgotten, I use my fingernails to untwist the screw and take the blade out.

I hold it in my hand for a minute, wondering what was compelling me to do this. Curious, I roll up my sleeve and rest the blade against my wrist. I can see my blue vein through my pale skin as I press the blade in and drag it across.

I feel the pain, but it is drowned out by the relief. Small beads of blood bubble up from the small cut, my tense shoulders relaxing as they drip onto my jeans.

"Crap!" I say, a bit louder than I maybe should've. I grab some toilet paper to wipe off my arm and then try to scrub it off my jeans, to no avail. Whatever. It's not like anyone will notice.

The warning bell rings, and I wonder how it's only been a few minutes. I zip up my backpack, tucking my blade in my pocket, and head to my first class.