Happening >>Riley Matthews<<

Chapter 1

"Riley, are you okay?"

"Riley, what's wrong?"

"Riley, what's happening?"

"Riley, what's going on?"

"Riley, are you okay?"

I am sick and tired of people asking me that. Why? Because I don't know the answer. I haven't known for the past few months, I certainly don't know now. Something is happening to me and I want to know why. I'm fine with what ever this is, but it hurts.

Everyday it steals my soul like a criminal in a bank. Everyday it stings like soap in my eyes. Everyday it haunts me like a ghost in a graveyard.

Everyday it knocks on my door like a friendly neighbor. Except this neighbor isn't friendly. He has a gun. And as soon as I open the door, he shoots me. And then I lay on the floor as my vision quickly blurs. He comes and stands over me. He throws punches at me left and right. He sews up where he shot me and leaves me to suffer in pain and agony. After that, my mom rushes down and sees that I'm on the floor with a pool of blood by my side. She calls an ambulance as I slip out of consciousness.

When I wake up in the hospital, I see that my face is purple and I have this ugly scar up and down my arm. Then my neighbor comes in. He smuggly smiles at me and comes over next to my bed. I have no choice but to lay there. My neighbor starts to hit me. He brought a knife this time and cuts up and down my entire body. He strips me of my outer clothing and cuts my stomach, my legs, my arms, my neck. Then doctors rush in and stop him. But the damage has been done. I am permanently scarred.

That's how it greets me every morning and puts me to sleep every night. Just like that. And I don't know how to get rid of it. It stays with me throughout the day and doesn't leave me when I sleep.

I'm okay with it happening. But it hurts. It has turned my whole life upside-down. I act fine. I carry on with my life as if nothing is happening. But something is. That's the thing. Something's happening and I don't know what it is.

If I talk to my mom about it, she'll freak. If I talk to my dad about it, he'll freak. If I talk to Maya, Farkle, or Lucas about it, they'll freak. If I talk to Auggie about it, he'll tell Mom or Dad or both about it, and then they'll freak.

I don't want people freaking out. That's the second to last thing I want. Because then they're going to say I need help. And that's the last thing I want. I am an independent woman. I can figure stuff out on my own. I am strong. I can handle this.

But what if I can't? What if I can't handle this? Then I will just slowly sink deeper and deeper into this hole that I'm digging. I don't even want to dig, but I am. I can't seem to stop. Something is controlling me and I don't like it.

···

I walked into school after a five day weekend, staring at my shoes. No Thurday, Friday, or Monday. We had had conferences at the end of last week and yesterday was President's Day.

Having a long weekend was so nice. I had a lot of time to get my homework done. Maya came over once a day for about four hours each. That was the only time I actually smiled the entire weekend.

Maya had texted me earlier today saying that her mom didn't have an early shift and Mrs. Hart wanted to drive her to school. So I got to go to school. Alone.

Farkle and Lucas often carpooled with our school and Lucas's house being on Minkus's way to work. Which meant I was alone. My dad always drove because he claimed it to be quicker. The car actually was quicker, but he just drove because he was always too late to take the subway. Which meant I was alone.

When I reached my locker, I threw my backpack in, took out my materials for my first three classes, and started walking toward my dad's class. I was actually the first one there today. I must've gotten on the train one before the train I usually take.

I sat down at my spot and waited for the bell to ring. I looked up at the clock and saw that there were still ten minutes before kids were supposed to be allowed in the school. So how did I get in? I must've just walked right through the entryway without knowing it.

With all the time I had, I decided to take out a Sharpie and draw. On me. I had a long sleeved shirt on along with bell-bottoms. Perfect outfit to hide my misery. I took the black Sharpie and bolded the word HATE on my arm. I drew skulls on either side of the word. I started thinking about what would happen if my dad, Maya, Farkle, or Lucas happened to see it. So I quickly scribbled it out, making sure that there would be no trace of me writing or drawing anything bad on my arm. I then pulled my sleeve down so even if they looked at my arm, they wouldn't see a dark, black blob.

I looked up at the clock again. Four more minutes. I glared at my hand. Why did I even deserve to live? Or at least deserve to have a hand? I took the permanent marker and drew a fancy heart on my hand. Suddenly growing very hateful, I crossed it out. I drew a large square around it and filled it in.

Just as I put the cap on my marker, the bell rang. Perfect timing, I thought. I decided to keep the marker in my pencil pouch just in case I wanted to take out my hate of life on my leg later.

I stepped out into the hall and waited for my best friend to show up.