Complex Questions

Chapter 1

As I sit here in class, eyes wandering from person to person, teacher to whiteboard, windows to outside, the trees. I can't help but think, do teachers ever get tired of teaching? Do they get fed up with teaching the exact same reaction an experiment has, the same colors exploding in the air. The same complex equations, the same languages, and verbs they teach. What about teachers makes them exactly want to teach others? Especially teenagers of all choices. I just find it interesting to think about why people make certain decisions, how it reflects on them, how our choices may potentially change us, for better or worse. But we never know until we make that plunge do, we? We may end up in 20+ years shouting at kids for not paying attention because a teacher who doesn't know how to discipline. Like right now in class our teacher appears to be ridiculing some guy in the back of the class.

Then again, sometimes we don't have a choice in these things. Sometimes we are just thrown in and expected to deal with the fall as we plummet.

"BRIAN! Put. The. Phone. On. My. Desk."

"But miss!"

"Ah, no no buts. Put it on my desk, right now or I'm calling your parents."

A walk of shame ensues from Brian.

The phone is plopped down on the wooden desk rather harshly from good old Brian.

Brian who makes trouble every goddamn class he walks into, I mean don't get it twisted he's doing us all a favor we never have to do any work when this fella rocks up to class. I mean look at him, big dopey head on him, sleepy ass woke up at 10am and waltzed into school. "Hey miss! How was your weekend miss??" Throwing paper airplanes round the class, calling all his mates gay and saying he'd fuck their moms. The man is a menace. He's convenient, yet annoying. I feel we've all met a Brian at one point in our lives.

The bell feels like it's taking particularly long today, and I wait and wait, my eyes falling droopier until they shut for a few split seconds. Until the chime of the bell. They changed the tune of it recently, sounds more melancholy now. I pull myself from my chair, pack my stuff up but before I have enough time to put my books in my bag it's slapped out of my hand by someone. I jerk my head up to see who and ah, Brian and his beloved mates. There's the kicker.

Brian, Brian, Brian. Well, I am significantly pissed off now. Assholes. Dickheads. Pricks. Now, Brian dear reader is not the only dickhead in this class. There is Jack, Sean, Lucas, Andreas, and now I would go into an elaborate description about how much I dislike these fellas but frankly there all the same. Mmhm, yup there like copies and pastes of each other over and over. There your typical lads, well not all lads are like this I'm not trying to discriminate but eh. Well.

Misogynistic, Homophobic, Kind of racist?

But then! There are two girls, who accompany these lads. I don't really know them well in all honesty because they only go with them. Follow them. Like little sheepies.

''What the fuck was that for? Pricks.'' I say loud enough to hear, beginning to pick my textbooks up off the floor as somebody else appears to be helping me too. It's one of the girls from their group. I'm surprised, shit I can't remember her name. Bad memory. What was it? Was it Taylor? It began with a T anyway,

''Thanks.'' I mutter.

She locks eyes with me. Nothing else, no "no problem", just a look. A strange look which makes me feel things. I choose to not to think about that, though.

The day moved slowly as if time itself had been warped and spun in a loop and everything just was going in slo-mo like a movie, like I could see myself walking down the halls with a plain look painted on my face that I can't seem to wipe. I think I'm very tired. School normally has this kind of quality where it all feels like it's going by so slowly.

Lunch, Read, Music, Class, Class.

Sweet Relief. Escape. Leaving. Thank god.

After school that day I decided to just head straight home, to my lovely safe-haven bedroom. Passed the bus station, the cheap centra, I reach my house, it's a small 3-bedroom, 1 bathroom apartment and often it feels more like a hollow shell of an apartment rather than a "home". That would be the parents' fault as every day I come home expecting to hear shouting the usual kind of fights over nothing. Or over everything. It certainly always sounds like the whole world will crumble or well that's how it feels. So, in order to enjoy myself for the first time of the day what I do is go out on my skateboard and at night I graffiti. Now listen, I am certainly no pro, no expert but it's just a hobby y'know? I love sketching and drawing in general. It's helped me a lot and its sort of therapeutic in a way. It's a routine that nearly every other night I go out and graffiti some abandoned wall near the dodgier parts of town just to give the place some color as the dodgy parts of town can get bleak at times. I also carry around a little sketchbook on me for graffiti designs just in case inspiration strikes at the right moment.

That's one of my favorite things about drawing and art. When all the inspiration and ideas start flowing so naturally and pouring out of me, I just feel overwhelmed by wanting to create.

Not even awhile, not even a few hours later I can feel it starting. Y'know, when the tension is so high in the atmosphere you could almost cut it. Feel it in your teeth, your bones, your hands. That's what it feels like to live here. Waiting for it to start. Waiting to intervene. Begging for it to end. It ends. She invites him back. Roses. The cycle repeats. That's how it usually goes round' here.

''Jeremy. Don't you dare fucking TOUCH me. Get the fuck out of my house right now, if you do what you just did, I will kill you.''

''I didn't touch you; I didn't hurt you. It was an ACCIDENT it was a goddamn ACCIDENT.''

''Oh, but you did, YOU FUCKING CUNT, you did. And if you don't get the fuck out of my house right now. I KNOW EVERYTHING JER, YOU HAVE BROUGHT DRUGS INTO THIS HOUSE HOW MANY FUCKING TIMES BEFORE HUH? HUH? SAY SOMETHIN.''

Silence.

"ANSWER ME."

Silence.

''Your crazy."

"Oh, you think I'm crazy? I'LL FUCKIN SHOW YOU CRAZY."

Blows, and punches and a whole lot of hurt.

This has also become a routine in my life, one of the darker routines and trust me reader I wish I knew what to do to get it to go away. To go quiet, for it to settle. But know what's even scarier than them shouting and beating each other until there shaking and rushing for air? Silence. The thing I want most is so scary. So frightening. To wonder what would happen if it continued to the point, they weren't both shaking, but one of them was. And begun to wonder where the body should go? Wonder if the other is supposed to bleed that much? Now I don't think mum, or her boyfriend would go that far but one would wonder. Could it go beyond that? Could it go beyond an apology text from Jeremy? Could it be the last card, the last red roses, the last fuck? Before one of them ends up dead from each other's toxic habits. Roses. I hate roses do you know? Not because it is a symbol of their so called "love" for each other but I see bloodshed and so much hurt in those roses. I fear, every time I see them on the table in a tall vase. Sitting, starting the cycle, knowing I have to prepare for their next fight. And I'm not just talking about abuse, I'm talking about drug abuse too. But if this ever happens, if it goes too far, God knows I don't want to be in this house. I don't want the roses on the walls. Splatters.

Who knows? Maybe it's a good thing, no reader I am not insanely cynical or sadistic, what I mean is if they didn't abuse each other so much would I go out skating? Would I draw as much? I don't know. What do you think?

I bravely walk out into the living room taking a shaky breath before doing so,

''If you both do not calm down, I'm going to have to call the cops.''

''Delphine do NOT fucking call the police, get out get out.''

''Yeah, go back to your room let us sort this out''

And that's exactly what I did, I went back to my room just to hear more anger, more screaming, more hurt. And that's when I knew it was time to go out.