Distance

Chapter Two- You Wouldn't Like Me

Six in the morning, my alarm blares some song about someone that probably wouldn't like themselves if they met themselves. I keep it going as I get out of bed; it has a catchy tune. I head over to my bathroom, brush my teeth, wash my face, brush my straight blonde hair, and then go to my closet to find clothes for school. Stupid school makes us wear uniforms, so I have to wear a navy blue skirt with a white button down shirt and saddle Oxford shoes. I put that freak suit on and then grab my bag and cell phone and head down stairs.

Kathryn is sitting on a barstool when I get there so I assume I'm making breakfast for myself or she's already made it.

"Hey, honey. You hungry? I made some stuff. You need to eat with your medications," she says. I look at her and see the same mask of worry she wears everyday. I know it's just a disguise to trick me into believing that she cares.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll get an orange or something. Is this both pills?" I ask as I pick up two pills lying in a glass bowl. Kathryn nods, so I pop them in my mouth and wash them down with a swig of orange juice.

"Are you feeling okay today?" she asks as I'm headed out the door. How should I answer this? Better than suicidal? Not much better than the last time you asked me? I decide I'm going to leave that one for the birds as I shut the door behind me.

School is pretty much a second hell. Well, unless you get everything you want because you're an insensitive bitch. Whatever. School sucks, and that's the opinion I'm sticking to. The big glass doors have little papers hanging all over them, telling people when the next pep rally is, when the next theater production is going to be, yadda, yadda, yadda. Once you get through the doors and metal detectors and all that stuff, you get to an endless hall of lockers.

I head to my first period class, which is math. Most of the stuff that goes on during school hours is completely boring; even lunch. So I'll skip to my free period, which is at twelve thirty. 

I sit in the hallway, against my locker, and sketch a girl on a swing. But then the girl turns dark and the ropes on the swing break, and she falls from the swing, and she dies. Oh well, I'm not going to draw right now. I close my sketch book and quickly stuff it back in my bag as Chase walks up.

Chase is my best friend. Well, best guy friend. He only knows about half of what goes through my head on a daily basis, because I already know he thinks I'm crazy. Delusional.

"Grace. What was that?" Chase says, and I glance up at him for a minute and then look back down and my fingernails, chipped and bitten. He eyes my bag, like he wants what I just put in it, but I'm not going to hand it to him. He'll just have to deal with that.

"My stuff. Why?" I reply.

He doesn't answer me, just looks at me, like he's mad, and then he acts as if he's about to walk away. I grab his arm.

"Hey, don't worry about it. I'm fine." I lie. "Hug me."

He looks at me again, with that worried look everyone else has, and for a minute I think he actually cares, that his face isn't just a mask like everyone else's. And then I tell myself I'm stupid. He hugs me, wraps his arms around me, and I put my arms around his neck for about three seconds, but then it gets uncomfortable, so I let go.

The bell rings and Chase walks the opposite way as me. I head to my next class, and pull out my sketch book to pretend like I'm actually doing something.

When I get home, I head straight to my room since Kathryn isn't home yet and David (father) is out of town for work. I have a bathroom in my room, and it's pretty spacious, so I turn on my radio really loud, plug in my phone and play whatever's on it.

As Otep blasts from the speakers, I go in the bathroom and strip out of my uniform. I stare at my naked body in the mirror, and I hate what I see. I have a flat stomach, because I never eat, but my hipbones are horrible. Big and just UGH. Why do I have hip bones like that?! I cover up my breasts and just look at myself. So much ugly in the mirror, I can't take it anymore. My eyes are boring, my lips are thin, my nose is too big, I'm just ugly. I am the definition of ugly.

Then I look at my arms, right above my wrists, and I look at my thighs, right below my hips, and I see them. The scars, the cuts, new and fresh, and old and scabbed. They make me look partially beautiful. I shift my eyes to the counter, right next to the sink, and there it is. A clean, sharp razor. To take my pain away. I grab it, clench it in my fist, and then bring it down to my arm. The bite of the razor makes my brain rush, my emotions flow together and I feel nothing for a moment, and then I feel everything. I feel pain, I feel love, I feel loss, I feel hope... I feel life. This is the high I love. This is what keeps me. This is me.