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Chapter Twenty-Three - Wandering

I walk through the crowded hallways, surrounded by bodies, yet I feel apart somehow, detached.

Students shove at each other in their rush for the irrelevant, rushing to reach that thing that seems so important to them; classrooms, friends, lovers.  It is all pointless in the end. 

Deep down I do recognise that this isn't the right decision, to close off like this, but it is just too much to take. I need this detachment to keep going, to stop from breaking down to the point of no return.

When I reach my homeroom I find my seat at the back of the room and wait for time to pass. I wait for the teacher, the students, the endless droning to begin for the day. Not for the first time, I admire the strangeness of how some things are always the same, no matter where you are, who you are, or what you do.

I look at my hands and move one back and forth across the other, stroking with my fingers, thinking about how I'm here, life pumping through my body, and others are not. I hate the smooth, softness of my skin in that moment, the pale, youthful complexion showing how many years I have left.

I pinch a section of skin, squeezing until it bleeds, watching small trails of blood flow over the perfection. I revel in the pain, and I want it. It helps me feel alive, distracts me from all the rest.

That's what I needed, more distractions. I remember what I did back home; parties, drinking, messing around with guys. It didn't last long, didn't fit into the role of being my mothers supportive daughter. Stabbing pain shoots through me when I think of her. I wasn't a daughter now. I was just May.

"What is up, Chickita?" Tony says, taking a seat at the desk next to mine.

I turn my gaze toward him, wondering what he wants. Tony had the whole cheeky player vibe going for him, all smirks and teasing eyes. He's definitely hot. Maybe he could distract me?

"Shit. May what happened to your hand?" He asks, worry lacing his words. "Are you okay?" He holds my hand, lifting it up to get a closer look. His reaction is a bit much, it's not that bad.

Uhg.

Maybe Tony's not the guy. He isn't the leave it alone type. There would be questions I didn't want to answer. He is Mr. Popular though, maybe he could still be helpful.

"Where's your girlfriend?" I say, ignoring his question, changing the subject, attempting to shift his focus, plus I know it will annoy him. Still, I notice the dull tone of my voice.

"Please, just don't. She called me twelve times last night. Twelve." Tony lets out a grown and puts his head into his hands scrubbing his face in his frustration. He continues on, starting a long rant all about the messages and agitation it's causing him. Apparently this has been going on a while now.

A tiny smile tugs at my lips. This is good; I can't concentrate of the trivial things, just to pass the time.

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