I'm Gonna Miss You

Chapter 24: Words Hurt

The past three days my teachers took it upon themselves to begin stacking up the homework. Each class would require at least an hour of pushing my pen on paper, squeezing all ideas from my head. So far, it wasn't that bad but this was still the easy part of the road, soon there would miles and miles to walk on uneven ground. Every night that I sat at my desk, putting the gears in my mind to work. In only a few days there would be no time left for me to go out and see friends, or even to just take a break to breathe. Honestly, I was happy about that. Any other person would be dying to have a night on the outskirts of town, but I was perfectly content staying in-- or out on my roof. At least this way, I wouldn't have to try and find an excuse to get out of my plans, I'd be able to tell them the truth.

Yes, this was the kind of hermit crab I became whenever school started. It was the only way I could keep myself busy. And I needed that more than ever right now. As if school wasn't bad enough with everyone aware of the recent tragedy that broke me into million pieces, I had people burning holes in my back from the story Walden had printed. I was tagged 'depressed' and 'abusive', those two combined labeled me a 'psycho'. 

When the story first came out, I tried my best to ignore it, to pretend that everything was okay and that the lies didn't bother me. But they did. It got to me in every way, shape, and form it could. I would be taking down notes and suddenly I would hear whispers from my surrounding schoolmates. On worse occasions I would catch a glimpse of someone reading the article on their phone. I thought that when Nelson's letters ended and I had fully accepted it, that I would never have to go through hell again. I was wrong. Life was playing a cruel trick on me, throwing me under the bus only to pick me up and chuck me over the edge once more.

It was easy to avoid the circumstances I had been stuck to, but eventually I couldn't hold up anymore. The only thing keeping me going was the fact that in ten months, I'd be able to leave this place. Only to return two months later to be subjected to the same exact treatment for a following year. There wasn't much for me to get excited about in the mornings anymore, aside from the usual breakfast with my extended family, but aside from that, school was no longer enticing. I kept my grades up and still managed to put in the effort required on my part, but my insides felt empty. There was a void in me, one that opened at the death of my brother, then stretched at the post of the news piece.

As I sat in Biology class, Mr.Shather went on and on about the reason we should already be studying for finals. My black heels tapped against the tiled floor as I sketched on the back of my quiz paper, taking only a fraction of the time allotted to answer it. I was wearing a black skirt that rested midway from my thigh to my knee, splatters of bold colored paint spread across the fabric. I had a knitted white sweater with a thumb hole at the ends, its sleeves covering half of my palm. Time ran by as I continued using the ink that filled my pen, the bell ringing just as my hand began to cramp up.

I picked up my black shoulder bag and headed to my locker, carrying my textbooks in my arms. My feet stomped against the ground as I pushed past the gossip and people swarming me. You would think that over the course of seventy-two hours, they would have found the story less interesting, but no, they found it more compelling than when it was published. The walk to the lab was the least bit delightful. I had just shut the door behind me when the bell rang, signaling the five minute mark before classes would begin. 

Pulling out my chair beside Angie, I sat down and gave her a weak smile as opposed to her genuine one. My mission, until this whole situation blew over, was to stay to myself and keep out of others' way, which wasn't really working. Especially since my seat in Chemistry was right up front on the first row. I was the very first thing anyone would see upon entering the class. My notebooks had just touched the granite top when someone leaned over my shoulder, asking a question.