Fade Into Nothingness

Chapter Five

Three years
Three weeks
Zero days

Ever since that incident with my hand, my mother has avoided me at all costs. She doesn't even look at me but it's something I'm completely used to. It's her routine, you see; she does something wrong, apologizes non stop, guilt takes over, she disappears for a couple of days, then she acts as if nothing happened a few days later.

It's only day three.

I didn't go to school yesterday or the day before that, due to the extensive amount of pain. The pain is slightly subsiding but it's still there every time I accidentally touch it or touch an object with it. It also looks revolting, and it smells awful. I hate taking the bandage off to replace and clean it. The smell of my dead skin is unbearable. The odour is that bad.

Now, this is my routine when this happens; don't go to school, cry yourself to sleep, don't show mother you're crying, clean the wound, shower with a plastic bag wrapped around the wound, then repeat until completely healed and all that's left are scars.

Oh and also let the traumatizing event haunt you till the day you die.

Today is my first real day back to school, since I've skipped all of my classes the first day.

I shower, replace the bandage and put my clothes on; a grey sweater with black leggings and my adidas superstars. I put my wet hair into a top knot, and grab my stuff with my unwounded left hand.

"Bye mom!"

Silence.

At least I tried.

I take my keys out of my bag and get into my crappy car.

I immediately regret this decision due to the fact that I only have one functional hand to drive with. I fight through the painful feeling and place both hands on the steering wheel. I immediately feel the jolt of unpleasant feelings running down my spine.

Fuck my life.

With every single turn, and there are lots. It feels like my hand's sending signals to my brain saying; now! Give her pain now!

God, just one day, please. One day of no drama, no conflict, just make me invisible.

I say to myself as I grip my hands tighter around the steering wheel, bad choice.

*

After fifteen minutes, I finally make it to the school. The ride felt longer, maybe because of the horrible torment of my hand.

I run towards the front doors as I glance at my phone for the time. It's 8:29, I have one minute left before the bell rings! I run even faster, completely ditching the thought of going to my locker, and head straight to English.

I know it seems as if I'm overreacting but I hate being late, and it hurts knowing you're marked tardy when you were literally twenty seconds late! Right?

I run into the class right on time. The bell rings and I sigh in relief, also breathing heavily, as my hands are on my knees. Even though I've only ran for like thirty seconds, it felt like I've ran a marathon.

"I'm still alive but I'm barely breathing," I sing to myself through uneven breaths, feeling like it's the right time to do so and it's relatable as well.