In A Week I Will Be Dead

Chapter Sixteen: Nonentity

!!!TW!!!

Suicide references, mentions of bullying and assult, unkind thoughts

IF YOU ARE STRUGGLING, CALL THE SAMARITANS ON 116 123 <3 <3 <3

Myself

Thursday sucks. School sucks. Life sucks. Like a plastic paper bag, I float through the breeze, although nobody would even consider paying five pence for me. Time ticks away as I get closer and closer to the end. I realise that I have to see Noah in the health centre; otherwise I might not be able to do it. We both need some kind of closure. He needs to know that he doesn't have to worry. I just need him to explain my story when he's gone. So, I stick my fingers down my throat and go to the place which supposedly heals.

It's pointless worrying about missing class, because I know it really doesn't matter, but I still can't help it. It's like I'm programmed to worry. Still, I climb into a bed made of white and pull out my phone. I email Noah using my school address, so that he knows it's me.

Email 1, To Noah, sent 16:45

I heard that Patiens has his hearing next Tuesday. Are you going to write your defence speech in the health centre? If you need any help, I'm just upstairs!

From,

Your Health Centre Buddy

I don't even care if I'm coming on too strong. Like who even cares. So what if I get rejected? It's nothing major, I'll just block it out in a few days anyway. But then I hear it, a patter of footsteps coming up the stairs. Oh my god. That was so goddam quick. I didn't realise he'd be awake at this hour.

He flies through the door in a cloud of steam, and comes right up close to me so that I can see the scorn on his face.

'What's your problem? Oh, so now that I'm school famous you want to talk to me? Is that it?' He throws my cup of water onto the floor and it cracks up the side.

'You're all the flipping same. So bloody shallow. Well guess what sweetheart, I don't care at all, so you can take that flirtatious attitude and shove it where the sun don't shine. You're all so fake, you were probably mass produced in a factory somewhere. Just leave me alone? Okay?'

I see the hurt in his eyes, because I've seen it before in the mirror. The slight welling of the tear ducts, the glazed expression, the deadness concealed by anger. This is where the mad people go. The water from the glass has now formed a puddle on the floor. It can't seep into the carpet because there is none. It just sits there, in a circle, wondering where to go next.

He stands there waiting for an answer. But I start to laugh. The paradoxal laughter coming through, loud and strong. His emotion changes from anger to concern, and he pulls his sleeves over his hands. He sits down on the bed opposite me, and just stares. But I don't care because everything is so funny. The humour hurts me as I laugh, so I laugh harder. I notice that my hands have grabbed the duvet, and my knuckles have turned the same violent white. It slowly dies down, and I wipe the deceitful tears from my cheeks as Noah begins to speak.

'It's because you're exhausted isn't it? The laughing I mean.' I just stare at him. I calmly pick up the plastic cup, and place its flawed appearance upon the side dresser. He waits for an answer that I don't give. Time passes agonisingly slowly. Eventually, he gets up, and heads for the doorway. He pauses before he exits, his hand resting against the doorframe. Without looking in my direction, he says, 'emotions cross over when we can't define who we are. We get confused about what feeling is, and when we finally feel, we let it go confusing it for insanity.' He finally exits through the door, his black shadow trailing him, whilst mine stays next to me.