From the Beginning Again

But Not Really

My suspension only ended up lasting a month. They said a month was enough of a time to focus on healing and my schoolwork before I would start therapy and my anger management courses. I though they're words were shit, and I told them that, but then they just reminded me that they could always add on more therapy. I was to go to therapy every Tuesday after school (indefinitely) and anger management courses Saturday mornings (until I show "significant improvement", which basically meant whenever I stopped feeling the urge to scream at people and then jump out a window. A.K.A- never).

If there was one good thing to come out of this, it was the fact that Mr. Warner had chosen "to seek other opportunities." Otherwise known as straight up fired with no chance of returning as she took up asylum in a mental institution. Self-admitted, of course. Many other students in her class that day also either ended up with regular visits to the school counselors or their own therapist. It was an interesting thing, how little I cared about how they were. I didn't know any of them, all I knew was their annoying habits.

There were many terrible things that came out of this, my mother being one of them. She kept bringing up my brother. Your brother this... your brother that... I got tired of that real quick. My brother and I were nothing alike. I, for one, was planning on graduating from high school. My brother however, was probably planning on the initiation to his newest prison gang or whatever else teenagers that get tried as adults do. Not my problem. I shut her down once by saying "and guess what, you raised both of us. I guess the common factor is you."

Anyways, first day back. Not so great. They completely changed my schedule and kept reminding me that the only reason I was allowed back is because my dad is a really good lawyer. He must be really good, considering he spends all his time "at work." I didn't care whether or not I came back to the same school. I've moved enough schools at this point that nothing matters.

Sorry, rewind a minute. I understand that as a reader you're like "what's going on? Mysterious brother? And what's up with his dad, yo? Also, when will we get to the actual plot? This is boring shit that can be passed." I assure you, almost everything will be answered in due time, and the things that aren't... well guess what? There's a such thing as context clues and if you're not smart enough to use your powers of deductive reasoning then I suggest you get out of my story, like immediately. And to those of you who wonder when we'll get to the "actual plot," I'll try to sum up what happens: shit goes down. Now, that wasn't so interesting, was it? No, of course it wasn't. I'm trying to build the fucking plot and make this not a totally craptastic story, so if you're thinking shit like this then get the fuck out. Of course, I don't know what every reader is thinking, but fair warning: get the hell out of this mother fucking story if it pisses you off with all it's back and forth nonsense because I don't have time to be belittled by a bunch of strangers while I'm trying to write about a not so great time in my life. Okay? Let's continue.

Ah, yes. The first day back. Well I can tell you right now what happened. I staggered down the hallway on my crutches. I was still getting used to them, but it did help that everyone was so freaked out by what I did that they cleared the hallway quickly, leaving me an open path to my locker. Same locker, same combination, same depressing feel, but there was one thing different. Underneath the handle on my locker there was a little red dot, and I groaned in frustration. Great, I thought, I've been marked. To sum it up a bit: every once in a while we would have "random" locker searches for things like drugs or anything else that could be used to harm yourself or others. The reason "random" is in quotation marks is because everyone knew they weren't random, they put red dots on lockers that would always get chosen for "random" searches.

"Ah shit, man. You've been marked. Just letting you know that if you ever need to keep something at school, my locker is always open." my friend Josh leaned against the locker next to mine. Yes, I said friend. Were you under the impression that I had no friends? Because if you were, shame on you. People can go crazy and put in therapy and still remain in healthy friendships. Shame...

"Yeah," I laughed "because your locker sounds completely safe. It's not like your locker has been marked from the dawn of time. And besides, it's not like I have any drugs or anything."

"That's what you say now, but as soon as you come to your senses, you're going to realize it's going to take a lot more than wishful thinking to get you through this hell hole." with that, Josh slapped me on the shoulder and walked away. Until now, I didn't realize how truly poetic Josh could be. At the time, I was thinking surface level stuff, but I now realize he was talking more than just using drugs to get through school. There's always more under the surface. Like sharks, for example.

---

The first two class periods sucked, almost as much as Ms. Warner sucked dick. Too soon? God, I hope so. It's always nice to get things out while the wound is still fresh, otherwise it loses it's sting. The teachers were all scared of me, they strategically placed me away from windows, other students and them. I was fine with it. It's not like I had plans to jump out a window again, well technically I didn't have plans to do it the first time. Shit happens.

It wasn't until I was on my way to third period that things got even remotely interesting, if your brand of interesting is falling in the hallway and having no one around to try to help you up. I never really knew how those old ladies in the Life Alert commercials felt until now. I've truly fallen and was unable to get back up.

Pause.

This is the moment where most of you are probably thinking: This is where Elaina comes in and saves the day! Sorry to burst your bubble, but that's not true. Obviously me including an embarrassing moment in my life has to be somewhat relevant to the point, but it's leading there. Like, really soon, so hold your metaphorical horses and I'm going to try and get through this.

Continue.

Having a broken leg sure does put a damper on some things. I really didn't understand how Kelly Clarkson can say things like "what doesn't kill you makes you stronger." That wasn't true in my case. My broken leg didn't kill me physically (it did kill be socially. I went from a nobody to a social pariah in one short month) but it certainly didn't make me any stronger. If I was stronger I'd be able to pick myself off the damn ground instead of laying there, staring at the black ceiling.

"Why don't people decorate ceilings?" I asked out loud to no one. My crutches were scattered on either side of me, one close to my side while the other was pressed to the lockers. I laughed a little when I saw that. "Even my crutches don't want to be near me. Huh. Maybe it's a sign..." I trailed off a bit and stared at the ceiling a while longer. Why didn't people decorate ceilings? I mean, minus the whole gravity thing, I think it'd be really cool. Maybe it's because people paid too much attention to what's right in front of them instead of looking around and seeing the whole picture. Or maybe its because decorating ceilings is a dumb ass idea. Yep. That's probably it.

I can't say exactly how long I lied there, or why, honestly. Eventually someone did find me, a flustered teacher who was obviously on her way to either yell at someone or be yelled at. I don't remember much about our conversation, apparently on the way down I hit my head pretty hard, which actually did explain why I was thinking about ceilings so intently.

As Lance Armstrong once said, "Pain is temporary. Quitting is forever." I guess it's easy to say that when you're on performance enhancing drugs, though.