Fade

Chapter 4

I hate her. I hate Sylvie. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. After yesterday, she's just pretending I don't exist again. I tried to go up to her before school to talk and she walked away. She made eye contact and then just walked away.

Now I'm sitting in science feeling like a fool and watching her perfect fingers tap away at her school laptop. I wonder what she's writing. We used to message all the time, before the fallout. We wrote stories together- we were working on a book called Rise of the Sky. But that's all over now.

That's where the fights happened mostly, online. It started from little things, like arguing about characters names, and spread to bigger things, like her dog dying and her obsessing, or me failing a school test, or her not liking the way I acted when I was angry.

Once we started using all caps, it seemed we couldn't stop, and we said some pretty hurtful words. But it's not my fault, I was- am- depressed, and it's because of all that stupid stuff she said. I apologized. I felt remorse. She didn't. It's her fault I have such low self esteem.

I hate her.

The disgusting, vile, sneaky little rat, taking me back just enough to make me think we had a chance, and-

She's looking at me. Her eyebrows contract, she looks almost apologetic for a moment, I want to say something, and then she looks away and the moment is broken.

Of course.

I feel stuck, trapped, like it'll always be like this with me and her. Like there's nowhere I can move without making a mistake. I'm reminded of the feeling when I'm playing checkers and the opponent has all my pieces cornered, so no matter what I do, I lose.

Should I go back? No, I shouldn't. Can I bear the silence? I don't know. I want her back. No, I don't. I can't. I shouldn't.... but I do. Yes I do.

Or... don't I? She was so awful to me, there's no way I can want her back.

I turn my attention to the lesson. No use failing over this. But my mind, like my eyes, wanders back to her. I want her.

I get home and open the front door to Henry sitting on the living room floor, bawling his eyes out and beating the carpet with his fists. I let out a little sigh, exhausted, not having the emotional energy to deal with him, but knowing I'll have to.

"Hey, buddy." I sit down next to him. His crying slows. "What's wrong? Where's mom?"

"Gone," he sniffles, "Gone wif Caweb."

"Oh, you poor thing," I murmur sympathetically into his thin blonde hair. "What's wrong?"

"No food. Hung'y. Ye'w for mama."

"C'mere, you." I pick him up, hoisting him up onto my hip. "Do you want some leftover lasagna from last night?"

He nods and buries his face in my hair.

When Jasmine gets home, holding Toby's hand, (I assume she walked him home from the bus stop), we're sitting at the kitchen counter, and I'm reading a book about farm animals to Henry aloud while he scoops food into his mouth.

"Ayyy," she calls, hanging Toby's backpack in the shoe closet, "Gang's all here." She flops down in a chair next to me. "Where's mom?"

"Out with Caleb."

"Ah." Toby climbs up into her lap, and she begins fiddling with his hair in a motherly way. "How 'bout we all go out to Wal-Mart after dinner and get something new to play with?"
"P'way?" cries Henry excitedly, and Jasmine nods, winking casually at me. I know it won't be much, probably a cheap toy dinosaur or the likes, but the suspense- and the idea of new types of fun- will keep the boys quiet, at least for a while. They won't risk the prospect of going to the store, full of adventure and thrills, over something small.

My stomach aches with quiet sadness.

They behave themselves through snack time, through dinner time, and are civil in the car on the way. Technically, Jasmine is only legally allowed to have two siblings with her in the car at a time, but we all know that it's more dangerous if we don't stick together.

We pull into the expanse of mostly-empty parking lot in the cool, gasoline-scented dusk air, Jasmine navigating carefully between the yellow lines under the bright fluorescent light. She parks, I unbuckle from the passenger's side, slide out of my seat, and move around to the backseat of the little silver sedan, opening the door for Toby, who pops out excitedly.

Around the other side of the car, Jasmine is helping Henry out of his car seat, keys jingling brightly in her hand.

"Can I carry the keys?" I beg.

"No." We've had this argument before. She's being playful.

I ignore the sadness in my chest. I have to act normal.

"You won't have to have the daily key panic!"

"Just because I always freak out and think I don't have the keys doesn't mean I actually lose them. I'm fine."

"Every single time," I remind her, "You have the daily key panic every time you go to open the car. Please? I'll be careful!"

We call it the daily key panic because she usually only has it once a day, getting in the car to drive home from school, despite the frequent exceptions.

"No."

And so we banter, into the store, into the children's department, dropping it only to help Henry and Toby pick out one color of the super-tiny cans of Play-Doh each.

Henry picks red and Toby picks orange. They're having the time of their lives, picking colors and fantasizing about what they're going to make. I'm jealous- they're so young, so free, so happy. Today is an especially dark day, I don't want to do anything. I'm exhausted from nothing at all.

I give in to the pain when we get home- I lock myself into my room and fall to lay on my bed, facing the wall. I wonder if anyone can tell I'm upset, if anyone cares. I can hear Toby yelling excitedly downstairs. He doesn't care. Mom doesn't care. She's not even home. No one is here for me when I need them.

I wonder if they would miss me if I died. Probably not. Maybe Jasmine would. I wonder if Sylvie would miss me. Probably not. I indulge the thought anyway, imagining her getting the news of my death and weeping, crying, being so upset she can scarcely go on. Regretting hurting me, regretting leaving me.

I wonder how I would die. I explore several options- disease? Too painful. A car accident? Maybe. What would be quick and painless? A train? I imagine getting hit by a train, standing on the tracks and it hitting me at full speed. Would that kill me? No, not standing- laying. I could put my head on one track and my stomach on the other- then when a train came, it'd run right over me and I'd be gone.

I shiver and turn my thoughts away. It's like a forbidden idea, I'll save some of the thrill for later. What can I think about?

Homework. I have math homework.

I don't have the will to get up and do it. I can do it before school tomorrow. I push away the anxiety that the thought of homework brings. It'll be fine.

I imagine Sylvie, imagine her putting her hands on my hips and pulling me close, whispering my name, imagine her enjoying me. I'm miserable, but with her in my head, I can ignore it.

In less than a minute, I'm asleep, unable to bear the pain any longer, lights and clothes still on. Sleep is my refuge- no pain when I'm asleep.

I awake a few hours later with a start and a jolt of panic down my spine. Mom is home- and she's screaming.