Psyche

Chapter One

I am a professional insomniac.

I could have gone to bed at 8:00 at night, fell asleep immediately, slept throughout the night, and I still would have been tired. But like any other day, I went to bed at 10:00 (well, that's not too bad, compared to the normal kids in my town). I had dreams-sorry, nightmares-and woke up at around four in the morning. I quickly fell back asleep, and I rose in a panic for school at 6:30 a.m.

And it never gets any easier. Then again, what's the definition of life? Hell, is it?

Shuffling to the bathroom, I took a shower, did my hair and makeup, swearing and stamping my feet when I stabbed myself in the eye with the mascara wand and streaked liner across my eyelid. Cleopatra eyes might have been sexy five thousand years ago, but in 2012, it's considered bad taste and 'dorky'.

I left the bathroom half an hour later, rushing to slip on my tattered sweatshirt and pull on my shredded jeans. I shoved my homework folder and book for English class in my bag, sliding my cell phone and iPod into my pockets, finding some tissues that I'd washed and dried in a pocket, and dried gum plastered on my ass. Pausing as I stepped towards the door, I glanced back over my shoulder. Striding towards the other side of the room, I slid the top drawer of my dresser opened and pulled a small wooden box from between my pile of mismatched socks and training bras I'd forgotten to ditch. I grabbed five dollars from the inside of a pair of leg warmers from my unhappy dancing days, and rushed out the door. After grabbing a high-schooler's survival kit-a granola bar from the pantry and a bottle of orange juice from the fridge-I go on my not-so merry way.

It's not that I'm not a morning person. But seeing as I never actually come out of the dark night of my life, it doesn't seem like I should be required to have a cheery, peachy keen outlook on life.

I pulled the heavy front door shut behind me, tripping on the doormat, and turned around to see the school bus racing passed the driveway, the roaring engine laughing at my failure to leave earlier. I cursed and shook my fist, then realized how stupid I looked, and went back inside.

"Mom!" I called out, stomping. "I missed the bus. Can I get a ride?"

To this she replied, "Ask your father." She doesn't even look up at me from the table, where she's at her laptop, tapping out some OFFICIAL PROCLAMATION (e-mail) to her royal whores (her employees).

I rolled my eyes and ran up the stairs to the office where my dad is doing much of the same as Mom. I posed the question, hoping the universe wasn't going to fuck me back for not going to church more. He replied, "Go ask your mother."

You know what? Fuck you universe.

Frustrated and sleep-deprived, I swore and started walking down the hall to my older brother's room. I knocked on the door and went in without waiting for an answer. Brave, I know, considering he's some senior dude. You know what I'm saying?

It turned out, Aaron was just about to leave, and he gave me a ride (sorry universe, thank you karma). While in the car, I glanced at the digital clock, and felt my head get light and my pulse go thready. "Why is your clock so fast?" I asked.

"August, that clock is ten minutes slow," He said lazily, his arm propped up on the window sill, his hand combing through his hair and rubbing his sleep-filled eyes. It felt as if Jack was talking as though it doesn't matter if I got there for the first bell. Then I realized, he just didn't give a shit. He doesn't have to go to school until second period.

Universe, shall I count the way I hate you? One, two, gazillion, infinity . . .

"We're forty minutes late for class!" I couldn't help but yell at the top of my lungs. I leaned back in my seat, 'accidentally' hitting my head on the head rest-a couple hundred times-which, apparently, does not feel good. "Well, I'm officially screwed."