Pulse

4

The sunrise this morning is beautiful, casting rays of light into our-.... I meant.. My bedroom. It glows through my window and shines directly onto your perfectly made bed.
You would have taken a photo, you always loved photography.
I stand in front of my bedroom mirror... Of course i see you looking directly at me... and attempt to untangle my short black hair. I hate it. I've dyed it so many times that now its dry and when I brush it the knots are so thick that sometimes I have to cut off a clump.
And since I don't have any time this morning to brush out this tangled mess, thats exactly what I do.
As the scissors slice into my straw textured hair, I watch strands of it fall to the deep brown hard wood floor. It lands on the mountains of clothes that have pooled around my feet. Chains, chokers, black leather boots. I've been quite the emo type lately.

That's because you're avoiding me you fucking bitch.

When I finish making myself look more alive (and after I cover my clumpy un-even hair with a beanie) I go downstairs and grab my backpack. Neither of my parents are home this morning so there's no confrontation. There's no awkward silences, or forced greetings. I'm not sure if I should feel ashamed or relieved.

Ashamed, fucking ashamed. Its all your fault, you know.

I slip my ear buds in and decide that today is a good day to walk to school. Who needs cars anyways? Especially when you have a pounding migraine that never goes away.

You're welcome.

****

school today is slow as always but different. I can't stop thinking about yesterday in the school parking lot and I can't help but look for mike. My eyes wander to his desk several times and I notice all the small things about him that I hadn't noticed yesterday. The dark rings under his eyes, identical to mine. He must be low on sleep. He's dressed in a button up flannel and black jeans. Every couple minutes he checks his phone and texts a message to someone, and a few times he notices me staring at him. Of course, he's not in all my classes. I'm pretty sure he's a senior whereas I'm only a sophomore, so by the time its lunch we are sent put separate ways. By 4th period my head is starting to throb and all I can think about is the memorials hung in every classroom, decorated with flowers and notes about how beautiful of a person sar.. I meant.. You were... I'm not saying that name.

Just fucking say it. Say my name. Say
"s a r a h".

I rub my forehead and shut my eyes, trying to ease the migraine slowly building inside my skull. I count to ten and breath out slowly.

You don't fucking like it, do you? You don't like pain?

1..2..3..4..5..6..7..8..9..10... Exhail.. Repeat..

Go swallow more fucking pills. Swallow more. You want to get rid of me? Don't you?

I bite my lip, tap on my desk. Around me people are talking, slinging their backpacks over their shoulders and heading to the next class. Next class.. Its time to go to biology? No.. Math? No.. what class is next again...

Dead.. You Fucking killer.. You killed me.. Its your fault.

Whatever my next class is, it doesn't matter. I don't care. I need quiet... I need the bathroom! That's where I'll go.. I have the pills in my backpack..

Go take more you Fucking druggie.

I rummage through my back pack once im in a quiet bathroom stall, but im not the only person in the girls restroom. One left. There's only one. One fucking pill.

You don't like it when you don't have your fucking drugs... Fucking cunt.. Your fault..

I burst out of the bathroom stall and practical sprint to the sink, shoving past two girls that are smoking...

Fucking bitch.. Fucking cunt..

I splash cold water onto my face. My skull feels like its cracking open.

Fucking killer.

"Hey?? You alright?" One of the girls behind me asks. I don't turn to look at her.

I hear her light up another cigarette, and I feel a tap on my shoulder.

Fucking killer. Your fault. Your fucking fault.

I spin around to see her holding out the lit cigarette. I take it and sink to the ground.

"I don't smoke." Is all I manage to say.

The girl has punk rock blond hair and thick eye liner, and is wearing a tight white T-shirt that shows off her breasts. Her friend is standing behind her and look basically the same.

"Just try it. It helps us calm down."

Fucking smoker, your disgusting.

I inhale with my lips to the cigarette, and start coughing the second the thick smoke fills my lungs. I'm starring down but I just know the two girls are starring at me, I can feel it.

That's because they know you're a fucking murderer.

I inhale again and a third time until the smoke feels smooth when I breath in, and as I blow out I watch the Grey clouds swirl around me. I feel light headed, but feel myself calming down. I don't pay attention to the chatter between the girls, but I notice as they set a full pack down next to me along with a bottle of ibeprophen. As they leave the bathroom they wish me luck and tell me they hope I feel better.
I slip the cigarette pack into my pocket and take 4 ibeprophen tablets. I swallow each one dry and lean back.
I close my eyes and listen to the sounds out in the hallway. People walking, lockers closing. The sound of backpack zippers and the familiar smell of the janitors disinfectant soap brings me back to a numb trance, where emotion doesn't exist and the smell of smoke coming off of me isn't real.
I've never seen those girls in any of my classes, but maybe I should figure out their names... This year has been torture. most of my friends from middle school and elementary school were only friends with me because of my sister and now that she's gone... Just..
Never mind... Let's not go there.

I stay in the bathroom for the last 2 periods of school. somehow I go unnoticed, and when the last bell finally rings I fallow the oh so familiar dance that every student in every school ever has been programmed with.