critical veins || peterick

chapter seven

[a/n: new cover m8]

As I walk into my house, Dad is waiting for me.

Negativity and panic sets in. I'm in trouble. I did something wrong.

"Patrick, um, so I noticed, kids your age have their own devices they take with them. So, um, I've sort of been saving up the last couple years, and I finally bought you a phone. It's an older generation, I'm afraid." He hands me small black box, the Samsung logo on it.

"There's a SIM card and everything; I've preloaded my number and whatnot." He goes on about the data plan, which is more limited, but I'm busy lifting the cover off. It's a Galaxy S2 Skyrocket. For something older than the latest iPhone, it looks okay. I take a moment to appreciate it- and another to appreciate my father, who I once thought was drained out of life.

I look up, partially because he's gone silent, and partially because I want to thank him. I step forward a few spaces and give him a hug; he lets out a surprised grunt, and hugs me back. My eyes fill. I haven't felt affection from a parent in so long.

"You're welcome."

*

But I'm faced with a considerable problem as I'm alone in my room- there's honestly not much I can do. If anything, I'd love to avoid all social media, and secondly, I only have two numbers on this phone; my dad's, and of course, 911. My head tilts back, and then I think of getting Pete's number.

Soon after that thought, I feel ridiculous. I don't really know Pete too well. Would he think of it weird if I wrote him a note requesting what his phone number was? I twiddle my thumbs, anxious. Perhaps, finally having a phone of my own was simply a stupid idea, knowing that I'm not a socialite.

And then I feel bad, because Dad doesn't know about my whereabouts when it comes to communication; plus, he'd been saving up for years for this moment to happen. Guilt bites me because I've always assumed he had lost himself in oblivion, when really, he was just trying to make me happy.

I exhale deeply. One day, when I'm not swallowed by the depression, when I've regained my voice, when I've finally fulfilled the wishes that once burrowed within my teenage mind, I'll make it up to everyone. Dad, Mom, every single human being I let down.

This period of determination lasts a few seconds before it crashes- hard- and I start sobbing. A result of depression. These periods of confidence last shortly and the finishing result is a strike of helplessness and grim reality. It's mostly accompanied by the tears that wet my cheeks, dripping from my chin.

Finally, I manage to calm down. Breathe in- breathe out. I grip the box tightly, and then loosen my grasp. Relax.

The rest of the day I spend reading books for school and completing homework, feeling daunted by the presence of my Samsung that sits nearby. I silently wish that someone- particularly, someone from school who I trust despite only knowing for a day and a half- will text my phone, in a miraculous moment that they have found out a new number has been registered.

Of course, that doesn't happen.

*

Pete is at the front of the school, seemingly and surprisingly talking to no one.

His head turns my direction as I trudge towards the entrance; he does a double take, and when he finally sees me in my entirety (which makes me feel uncomfortable, because when I'm being scanned it just makes the observer even more aware of how obese I am) his face brightens and waves me over.

As I finally reach him, he says, "So, yesterday, about what I said...That was pretty rude. I thought about it last night and it troubled me because I sounded like an asshole- which I am, honestly, but sometimes I hate being an asshole, and to be an asshole to you sucks considering what happened- so, uh, yeah. I know you don't talk much- okay shit, that was rude. Sorry. Sorry. But, like, I really genuinely do want to be friends with you."

Pete's ramble brings an actual grin to my face and I nod. He smiles back and we both walk into the crowded campus in unison.

Just for a minute, I let myself believe everything is okay.

As my mind comprehends a series of positive triggers, I'm shoved forward with harsh hands. I stumble into a group of people and they pivot with small, startled yelps. And then I'm falling.

On instinct, my hands shoot forward, and they break my fall. But it still hurts and my palm stings. Shuffling resonates in my ears as I lay in the awkward trance, paralyzed, until someone grabs my collar and chokes me back with surprising force- to the point where I lost my breathing.

A throaty sound emits from my mouth as they let go, followed by rapid coughing. People have backed away from me, fearful- no, disgusted- and I think, Where's Pete?

I look around, my darting gaze frantic as I see the faces of these slightly bothered students. Something inside of me snaps, dissipates, and boils as I run to the closest set of restrooms and lock myself in a stall with blurred vision.

Someone else is in here. I can practically hear their curious footsteps as they walk out, and I'm left alone once more.

There's something sharp in my pocket, something that I unscrewed from one of my pencil sharpeners.

I've done so many things to my body.

But I haven't tried this yet.