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Thirty-Three | STARS!

SOTC: Rise by Katy Perry

I could recite the beginning of my life in Washington D.C. like it was yesterday.

The first three days. How I stared off into the trees by day. No food. Water from a Dasani in the cup holder. By night, I clutched my phone, vowing to bash it on the head of any organism who dare take advantage of the bullet imprints in my windows.

The fourth day. How I finally got the mental strength to drive into the city to eliminate the problem.

"Geez lady, the hell happened?" the car repairman asked as he examined my windows.

"Robbery." I pointing to the holes I had smashed further with a hammer earlier to make it look so.

I remember sitting in the packed lobby after paying half my bank account, taking deep breaths before I registered what everyone around me was talking about.

That's when my head snapped up to the TV.

News reporters frantically reported the story of a Delaware high school. Playing behind them was a footage of a violent mob of high schoolers fighting their way into a blurred eye of the storm, deafening bleeps censoring every coherent word. On the left of the reporters was a photo of a girl with two black eyes and a face swelling from her broken nose to her unhinged jaw. On the right were five mugshots.

Three girls.

Two boys.

The three caused the swelling, the two made her know what she put her ex through at a birthday party.

"I cant imagine anything that Banadax girl could do to deserve that," the car repairman said when he found me staring at the TV.

How I managed to just nod I didn't know.

"Anyway, your windows are done."

The second week. Through a series of illegal events, I enrolled into Grandview High School and landed a job at an American Eagle in the largest mall I'd ever laid eyes on. I spoke as little as possible, but being around a lot of people was almost therapeutic. I quit vaping, which was easier than I thought. I learned to manage my paranoia about car living and switching trailer parks frequently. I even redesigned it to a VSCO aesthetic.

I actually thought, I'm finally okay.

Until the third week.

Headaches over watching a mom try to educate an employee that diminished when I took a deep breath escalated to daily crying fits over any trigger of before that day.

I cracked during school once when the teacher said, 'Singapore', having to muffle the congestion so no one would turn to me. A boy who did chased me down a hall to ask why I was crying until I spoke any language I knew besides English.

I never saw anyone run away so fast again.

The fourth week. Fs racked my report card due to staring off into oblivion rather than paying attention, especially to my teachers raving about their baby niece or nephew or neighbor. A bunch of girls attempted to become my friend over this one popular guy who asked me where the school gym was (how the hell do you not know where the gym is as a Senior?) One girl who tried to get friendly with me started raving about how she hated her step-dad because he hated her new Keds.

I bashed her face into her desk.

The fifth week. I spent every night just staring at my car ceiling like a drunk, reliving every flashback over and over. Without the feelings, just like I was watching an old airplane movie in boredom with stale peanuts. Which had made it worse.