Even If. (A Meme Filled Saga)

1.5 Sleep.

MACEY'S POV:

As I was nearing the stairway, I started trying to focus on my surroundings. I could hear the hustle and bustle of the hallways, the scraping of chairs being unstacked by teachers, and the overpowering, thinkly laced anxiety balnketing the halls.

And over all this disarray, beyond all this newness, I could hear something painfully familier. Faintly floating by me, I could hear someone singing along to Mansae.

Just another seventeen fan, I thought to myself.

I found myself listening to the voice, in harmony with all the other sounds calling around me. It was melodic, angelic even, and it had a certain tone that I swear I'd heard before.

I just can't put my finger on it. I haven't heard something like that sense 2 years ago...

Clare and I were singing Mansae, at The Goodberry after things went south. She helped me feel better... a lot better.

We weren't there for long, but long enough for it to be memorable.

It must be Clare's voice, I thought recognizing the beautiful sound, floating around the corridors.

Clare, I repeat her name in my head.

I wonder how she's doing. I know that the last time I spoke to her, she wasn't doing well. It was a bad time for all of us. I hope things have started to go up for her, however slowly. I knew she was in a bad state, worse then she had ever been in.

Last time I saw her, I saw the cuts all over her arms, and legs. Deep, ragged, and scabbed. She refused to clean them of blood afterword, so she let them bleed till they dried.

She usually let them in the open, when it was just 3 or 4, thinking no one would notice. But now she wears long sleeves, and longer pants then normal. I ask to check sometimes. She always looks away, knowing I'm going to find more.

I've recently heard rumors of her suicide. I haven't seen her around, so it worries me. I hope that at the most, it was an attempt. Then again, it could just be stupid rumors.

That's it.

Just stupid rumors.

Around the school you barely have to turn your head to here someone talking about her. People seemed to love her before all this. They loved how she helped everyone, her creativity and kindness.

As soon as you could see things going down hill they all turned. There was a word for it... fareweather. They liked the perky, quirky, perfectly imperfect Clare. That's how it works I guess.

"Did you hear about 'Psycho-Clare's suicide? I heard she jumped off the Brimton bridge."

"Really?! I heard she hanged herself. With an electrical wire!"

"Wow. How much of a crazy do you have to be for that?"

"How did she even lift herself up, she's so fat!"

"Let alone stand up on that chair! 100 percent she ended that chairs life as well."

"I just feel had for the people having to carry the coffin."

I try to stand up as much as I can. Telling them to fuck off does about as much for the situation as you might expect.

One thing I remember her telling me was how kind I was too her. How I listened to her, and stopped the torment from our peers when she couldn't even muster a breath.

I sadly also remember her at her worst. I was going over to her house to watch Death note with her, and maybe scroll on Tumblr.

I had texted her, and left a few messeges but she didn't answer. I decided to go over anyways, as that's what I usually do. I knocked on the door and there was no response. I assumed there was no one home so I started to walk away.