Pulse

14

Pressure is building against my head, really bad. I woke up with a throbbing headache, sweat pouring down my face.

My parents still aren't home.

I spend the short hour I have before school starts to make myself look presentable and to dread over seeing Mike after our little "date" that technically wasn't a date.

You're still wearing his hoodie you fucking liar.

Did I mention I ran out of my magic pills?

my hair looks terrible, and I don't really feel like showering and confronting the image staring back at me through the bathroom mirror, so that's not an option. I pull a beanie on over my head and and grab a full throttle. I still have several in the pack I bought last night.
My stomach growls so before I leave my house, I make a peanut butter sandwich. I try my best to choke it down while driving to school, tortured by Sarah's stupid voice.

And the peanut butter sticking to the roof of my mouth.

You should swerve off the road.

I shake away the urge to o pull a cigarette out of my pocket, guilted by the fact that its becoming a regular habit.
Taking a deep breath, I prepare myself for the rough and tedious day ahead of me, the weight of my light and happy conversation with charlie (who is expecting me to text him) still in my head.

At least you aren't dead. Fucking bitch...

****

As promised, several of mikes drawings are hung up on my locker. I hear whisper behind my back occasionally, rumors that Mike is "dating that goth chick."
I don't see Mike anywhere, and I can't help but look around in hopes of finding him as I shove my books into my locker. I consider taking his hoodie off and shoving it in there as well, but I decide against it.

It's to cold not to wear a hoodie....

The sound of manic teenagers echo through the hallway and the pressure against my head continues to build as I slowly pluck mikes drawings down from my locker one by one. Some of them are sketches of me in class, me in his truck, me wearing his hoodie.

One drawing in particular catches me off guard.

A picture of my staring into a mirror, my hands touching the reflection as if I'm trying to morph into the girl looking back at me. Except, the reflection of me has a tiny scar on her forehead.

when twins are forming in the womb, they often fight for the small space that they take up. This typically leads to one or both twins having small scars, or a particularly odd birthmark reminding them of their battle for survival. I have a tiny scar under my ear, barely noticeable. Sarah's was more distinct, running right above her left eye, a unique mark that might as well have been stamped onto her forehead. A mark that often times was the only thing allowing people to tell us apart.

maybe the scar in the drawing was an accident. Maybe his pencil slipped when he was filling in the eyebrow. I shove the drawing into my locker, unable and unwilling to carry it around with me.

A tap on my shoulder forces me back into reality and i spin around to see, guess who?

Mike.

I look away and a deep blush begins flooding my cheeks. My entire face feels hot with embarrassment and I try to talk but all I do is stutter.

"You- you bastard." I say. Mike begins to laugh mischievously and that annoying grin spreads across his face. He's wearing a red flannel with black jeans. His hair is combed to the side but still appears messy in an adorable- i mean... Annoying way. I turn back to my locker and fumble with the lock...
Even though I already put my stuff in it.

"You're wearing my hoodie." He notes. I roll my eyes.

"It's cold in here." I reply. We both know that's not true though. Mike doesn't pressure me for any more answers about it though.

"Soo.. Where were you yesterday?" He asks. My mind wanders to my chat with Charlie at the convenient store, and his number that's saved into my phone. Maybe I should delete it?

"The convenient store." I say calmly, pretending to organize everything in my locker.

"For seven hours?" He asks suspiciously. I shrug
The bell rings, saving me from having to answer more questions. Thank god.

god can't help you, austin.

****

the clock is ticking, really loud. no one will shut up, literally no one. My head is throbbing, and the deep sound of gargling.. No.. talking that sounds like gathering, bounces around my skull and tries to break out. I did my nails into my arm, and breath in slowly. Her voice is loud and sharp. The headache that has been increasing since this morning has finally reached its breaking point and the pressure that was building against my head now feels like I'm trapped under the ocean, unable to breath. Unable to think.
Panic washes over my and im itching everywhere. Im skin itches. I think back to the contents of my backpack, my bottle of pills that are empty. Looks like Ill be making a stop at Mrs Kathy's house to "clean" after school.

Druggy, murderer, killer, sociopath, psycho.

I pay next to no attention to the teachers words and I try my hardest to focus on breathing. My phone is buzzing but I don't check it. I know its Mike, probably.

First period went okay. Second period did as well until her voice started rattling off. Mike is at his desk, but I don't look at him. I feel his eyes on me, as well as the rest of the class. I feel like everyone is watching me.

mom and dad are missing. They left you. Or maybe they are dead.

I stand up and grab my stuff quickly even though the bell hasn't rung. everyone turns and looks at me as i fumble with my backpack zipper, my hands shaking. I sling it over my shoulder and start walking towards the exit when the teacher stops me abruptly.

"Austin, exactly where do you think you are going?"

Panic rises into my chest and my heart pounds hard, fast.. Without rhythm. I glance over to Mike who looks just as confused as everyone else in the room. I search my words but am unable to come up with any.

"I..I don't- don't know." I stutter. my mind races.

Idiot.

I hear the teacher still talking but I don't listen as I turn around and exit the classroom as quickly as possible. embarrassment and shame floods over me and I feel tears in my eyes. I whip them away and practically sprint to the buildings exit.

I'm in the parking lot, almost to my car when I feel a hand grab my wrist. I twist my arm out of whoever is gripping it and turn to see Mikes questioning face. I bite my lip.

"Austin, where are you going?" He asks, his eyebrows raised. I look off to the side, anywhere but his eyes. I don't know how to explain the overwhelming feeling that is rattling every cell in my entire body.

murderer.

"I'm going home." I say as calmly as possible. Mike asks why and he also asks if I'm okay but I'm long gone before he can even try to help. I don't need his help. As I pull out of the school parking lot I get a glimpse of his confusion and... Sadness? he watches as I drive away.