Helicopters

Rose

I hate my family. Bunch of douche-wads. They hate me more. I dunno why. They can't take me for who I am. The rest of them all get along. But me, I'm not like them. Not right. I like different stuff, act different. Look different. Guess that's why I'm doing this weird mental thing right now, thinking stuff, rather than just doing whatever. To let it out. Admit to myself all the stuff I never bothered to think too hard about before. Not much of a thinker, me.

My life's been a series of being accidentally forgotten. Guess I don't mind so much. I don't work well with other people. I'm "independent."  My first school teacher. That's what she told my parental units. Three days later I was kicked out of that school for breaking some kid's nose when he talked to me.

So my parents just chuck me into whatever school is stupid enough to take me at the time. They always have a spare school for me, just waiting for when i'm kicked. My family resent me for costing them so much all the time. But if they loved me it wouldn't matter. Normal people love their kids. No matter what.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm not related to them. But I know I am. I'm just not like them. They like sitting in the living room, doing a puzzle to some classical music. I prefer to sit on my own and listen to my metal. Or maybe break into houses and smoke with my team. I act up. Dunno why. Maybe to give them an excuse to hate me.

Right now I'm in the last class of the day at my new school. My first day today. Just got kicked from my old school, and they're saying something about a "clean slate". They it every time. And every fucking time I am out by 5 weeks, max. My record is three hours. Guess you could say it's a talent. 

Looks like the teacher's calling the absences. God, wish I was absent. I've got real practiced at reading lips after all this time listening to my music too loud when people're talking at me. 

"Yup," I mutter when her lips make the shape of my name: Rose. Everyone in the class turns to look at me. They're so small. 

"What?" I can't hear myself. 

"Never seen a new girl before?"

Some of them make sour faces. A few laugh. What? That was funny to them?! The teacher doesn't stop, and they turn away again. 

I am itching for a cigarette, but I don't want to get kicked out yet. Not today. Cause then I'd have to stay after. And my boyfriend and I had... plans. And I promised my sister I would try to last.

I can feel the rectangular box in my pocket, pressing into my thigh. That's how I got kicked most often. Last time it happened it was kind of on purpose. I was sick of my teacher bitching at me all the time. She left the class. When she came back I was blowing smoke rings out of the hole I'd made in the window. I was out immediately. No questions asked. But I'm actually kinda pro at smoke rings so whatever.

I ignore the urge and turn up the volume as loud as my iPod goes. I brush at the hair that covers my right eye. I can feel the foundation that covers the tattoos on my face and neck. Ew. I hate foundation. Eyeliner rules. I scrape my tongue spike across the roof of my mouth. Blood tastes weird, but the pain keeps the world sharp and clear. 

The girl one desk over (face like a jar of dirt(at least we know she has a heart), by the way) turns and looks at me, one eyebrow raised. Damn, wish I could do that. I can pretend by raising both, 'cause of half my face being covered by my fringe. Not the same though. I figure she can hear my music. Just sharing the love. She says something, but I can't hear. I roll my eyes, and pull out and earbud just in time to hear a bell go. The day's over? Time flies when one's having fun and not signing fanmail. I pick up my Bag and sling it over my shoulder.

Korbyn said we would meet at the park. I go into the public toilet and get changed into the clothes in my bag. I get a wad of toilet-paper and attempt to wipe off the disgusting (Ew ew ew(ew)) foundation. Once I am as foundation free as possible, I leave bathroom. My phone tells me it is 5:07pm. Shit, I'm so late! I'm surprised he hasn't texted. I was supposed to meet him at four! We wouldn't even be here anymore. He'll have gone home! But he hasn't.  

I can see him, sitting on a park bench. Recognise his silhouette anywhere, I would. But he's not alone. There is a girl there with him. She has short dark hair and is wearing a skimpy skirt. She just turned up now. Korbyn greets her with a kiss. My stomach twists. You knew, Rose, you knew he was a man-slut, don't be surprised, Rose, god Rose you're so stupid, you should have said something earlier...! My brain yells at me. I stand back and watch. He sits back on the bench, undoing his coat. Ugh, gross. You knew he was a creep, Rose...! The girl hitches up her skirt. Wow. It's like a fucking porno. No pun intended. Guess he forgot about our plans. Huh. I turn and walk away. Don't want to see any more. The wind or something is making my eyes sting. Weird.

I sit in the public toilets till 12:15pm, when l get a text from female parental unit, tell me to get my ass home. I ignore. l get eight more texts from her before l finally stub out my cigarette, making a hole in the toilet seat. I walk past The park bench. Korbyn is still there, but he is lying in the dirt. This time he is entangled with some blonde idiot. Ah, you see how this works, Rose, he goes through about ten a night, did you really think you were special, why would you be, there is nothing special about you, Rose...!  "Shut up!" I yell by accident. I feel Korbyn's gaze on me. I start to run. 

"Rose!" he yells after me.

"You know her?" I hear the girl ask sharply.

I laugh, Yes you evil little cow, Rose, laugh at the man-slut, you would have been one of those girls if it weren't for your makeup, you're so stupid, Rose...! 

I buy a 12-pack of beer on the way and scull them. By the time I reach the street there are three left. I pause by the fence and shove them into my bag. I spray on some deodorant, and pop a breath mint in my mouth. She'll know anyway, but the though that I'm trying to keep things from her will piss her off. God, Rose, no wonder they hate you, you're so awful - ! l block it out, and check my phone: 12:46pm. Odd. Mrs Carter has stopped texting. I look up, and my mouth falls open.

There is a helicopter in the garden. What the - ? And one next door. And... and... Why the hell are there so many helicopters?! Someone (probably Thomas (my brother)) squeals shrilly. I don't think I can go into the house so I climb into the garden and turn off my iPod. I curl myself behind a bush so they don't see me. Whoever they are. I watch as the people who live in my - the - house are dragged outside by people in black suits. They look like they are holding... guns. Big ones. Ohhhkaywhatisgoingonhere...? Thomas whimpers like a pathetic dog. 

"Zakryt' yego!" The person holding him snaps. Shut it, I translate, Russian.

The man pushes him forward. "Don't hurt him!" Mrs Carter shrieks, desperately, trying to shove her restrainer away. BAM! The noise is impossibly loud. She falls into the dirt, eyes wide and blank. I close my lips around the gasp. If she were alive, she would be able to see me. Mr Carter charges at one of the men like he's going to do a rugby tackle. BANG! A bullet from behind. I jam a hand over my mouth to keep my silence. Please, Thomas, I beg him silently, I don't think I ever liked you very much, but for gods' sake, don't do anything stupid! I've barely finished the thought before he starts running. No! You retard! That counts as stupid! My ears ring from the noise. I close my eyes as he falls. I hear a splatter of blood hit the leaves. I feel it drip onto my clothes. Something slides down my face. Frantically I wipe at my cheek, but it won't stay dry. It isn't blood. Water spills from my eyes, and it keeps falling, making my face damp. 

But l'm not crying.

l don't cry.

Not anymore.