Stained by Invisible Ink: A Virgin's Suicide Note

TWO

TWO

Beep. Beep. Beep. The sound of the alarm was incessant, quickly filling the small room and bouncing off of the walls as though it was an echo in the Grand Canyon. My steely hand shot out from under the sheets and slammed down on shrill sounding machine. It was a Monday morning, of course. What other day would cause the alarm to sound that damn loud? I arose from the bed without a sound. For if I made a sound, it implied I had something to say, and who has anything to say early on a Monday morning? The sunlight snuck through the cracks of my blinds and danced on the roof and walls of my room. Drawn to the mirror on the opposite side of my room, my eyes flashed as they met my reflection. Hair tangled and make-up smudged, I looked like I had murdered someone.

“Fuck.” I ran a hand through what resembled more of a bird’s nest than long hair that reached my waist. Well, attempted to anyway. My hand got caught about a third of the way down and remained there until I gathered the courage to remove it by brute force. The moment before I did though, and with hand securely gripping arm, I stopped. Directly above my hand, on the softest part of my wrist lay an artwork of crisscrossing scars. Each held a story; each was a reminder of what had happened five short years ago and how I lacked any ability to cope with it at all. They weren’t noticeable, for they were only thin, white lines- almost invisible against my pale skin when I thought about it. But to me? They were like blood in the snow; constantly screaming out how they were there. How they weren’t leaving. I slowly applied some foundation to cover the marks and then proceeded to fix my hair. I had stopped marking myself on my wrists years ago, fearing that someone would eventually notice. I started to take my rage out on my body in more discreet ways. Ice burns, rubber band snaps, tiny little cuts on my hands that would be mistaken for paper cuts. No longer was I obvious. I would never let anyone know about my little secret either. It was my burden to bare, my demon to live with.

The next thirty minutes of my life went by in a blur. I couldn’t remember when I changed nor did my make-up, but the next moment I was outside the school grounds, looking up at my own personal version of Hell. The stares of vulture like students burnt into the back of my neck as I trekked my way to the heart of my destruction. They thought that I couldn’t see them whisper and turn to their friends. They thought I couldn’t see them point and gawk. How stupid they were; childishly believing the fact that I was incompetent enough to look over their existence. I never would though. I knew every face, every name, every set of eyes and every lurching arm.  They would never be forgotten to me, and they would pay for their mistakes all too soon. They would never see it coming. Like a Japanese submarine, I would invade their minds without their knowledge. I would rip every ounce of sense and control from their subconscious. I would do this without fear, without regret and without feeling. It would only be fair after all. For their words- their mimicries and taunts, they broke me down and stomped me into the dirt.

“Estelle,” my train of thought was rudely interrupted by Rosie sprinting up the corridor and linking arms on my left, “How was your weekend, babe? I didn’t see you at Riley’s on Saturday. Man, it went off. The cops rocked up at like one and sent everyone home. And you know Shawn Kipper? The dude who sits in the back of English? Well apparently he was busted smoking weed round the back of the house. Cops took him to the station and his parents had to come pick him up and pay all these fines and shit. Funniest thing ever!”

I allowed Rosie to continue recounting her weekend as I felt Sharnae slip silently onto my other arm. Sharnae knew where I was this weekend. She was with me after all. She sent me a sly smirk as Rosie continued talking about Shawn’s drug bust, as I returned the favour with a knowing look. The only reason Shawn got busted at the party is because Sharnae and I supplied him with the weed. Shawn usually doesn’t do stuff like that, but Sharnae and I convinced him otherwise. We left the poor boy laughing at his own reflection before the cops came. I know it isn’t necessarily ‘right’, but to be quite honest, I haven’t had a kick like that in years. It was a new form of power. It was addictive. And I was power hungry. It wasn’t the first time Sharnae and I had done something like that either. Every party on the weekend, someone was given it; convinced that it was just for fun. Whether it was alcohol or drugs, they were always fed that little bit of Hell. And there was no real reason behind it, we soon discovered. We just wanted to make someone feel the kind of Hell that we felt. A kind of Hell that even Rosie would never understand. As we walked, I felt eyes on the back of my neck. Eyes burning with a different stare. This one wasn’t of curiosity. This was a stare of pure and utter hatred. I threw a glance over my shoulder as casually as I could manage with Rosie and Sharnae clinging off me, trying to see who it was that was shooting daggers at me with their eyes. To my complete and utter shock, there stood Shawn Kipper. With fringe sweeping over his eyes, his upper lips curled up into a snarl that would send even the fiercest lion scurrying away like a tiny kitten, and I felt all the saliva fall down my throat with a giant gulp. It appeared that I had pissed off the wrong person last weekend, and for the first time since I came to high school, I felt the unfamiliar pang of fear ricochet around my stomach.

The bell for lunch bounced aimlessly off the empty corridor, and in a split second, the slamming of classroom doors, scraping of chairs and subtle squeak of week old sneakers filled the space, all but negating it. I pushed my way out of my English class and started heading towards the front gates. No one ever stayed on the school grounds for lunch, no one with half a social life that is. Sharnae and Rosie would meet me at the local café like always, and together we would sit at our usual table just outside the door and sip on French lattes. None of us liked French lattes, but they made us look more sophisticated than the other girls with their cappuccinos and iced coffees. Boys would walk past our table and smile at us, their white teeth flashing and their hair combed perfectly. Rosie would flick her hair and giggle, and the boys would blush like nothing else. Sharnae and I would just laugh as they worked up the courage to give Rosie their number, or even come close to the café ever again. Each lunch was different, yet somewhat similar, but I somehow never found myself getting bored of what went on. It made for a good distraction from the rest of the world. I reached the café before the other two and waved at the owner. Charles knew all of us by name, face and order. He smiled back and set to work making our lattes. I sat down outside and flipped through a book, waiting for the other two. I enjoyed nothing more than sitting in the sun and reading through my favourite book, again. I was just about to flip to the centre of the book when a shadow cast itself over my sunlight. Looking up to identify the culprit, I found none other than Shawn Kipper. The pang of fear rushed back through my body and I closed my book slowly, placing it delicately on the table.

“What do you want Shawn?” my voice showed no hesitation or fear, but on the inside, past my façade and my mask, it was a completely different story.

“Nothing much Estelle. I just wanted to know if you got your kicks from getting me arrested the other night.”

My heart stopped. Surely he couldn’t mean what I thought, right? My best option was to play dumb. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Shawn, it’s not my fault you got busted.”

“Oh cut the shit, Estelle. I know you set me up. I know you’ve set everyone up this year. Tony, Johnny, Daniel. All the others. I know it was you. But what I don’t know is why you do it. Why you get enjoyment out of watching other people suffer. Mark my words Estelle, I’m going to figure out what’s going on in your head, and I won’t rest until I do.” With no final words, Shawn simply turned away from me and walked calmly down the street, as if nothing had ever happened.

“The fuck?” my words were soft and muttered under my breath. Shaking my head I tried to go back to my book; my temporary escape. I was only able to flee for fleeting moments when I was finally joined by my two counterparts. Within minutes of us all being there Charles brought out our drinks and smiled at us all affectionately, the way a father would smile at his daughters. The rest of lunch, and the day for that matter, went by without a hitch. I saw no more of Shawn Kipper, and his apparently meaningless threat soon left my mind. I didn’t have time for empty words, my time was far better used examining the people around me and adjusting my mask to fit the current social situation. Everyone hated Jessica because she was apparently a back-stabbing bitch who spread rumours about everyone. If everyone else hated Jessica, I guess I have to too now, and I was surprisingly ok with that.