Jet Black Hearts / l.h.

𝟑𝟑

Monday, November 10, 2018
12:30 p.m.
Franklin High School

I tap my pencil against my desk and bounce my leg. I get a few annoyed looks by the racket I'm making during class, but I send them sharp glares and they return to their own business.

I've been getting looks all day. As soon as I stepped into the school, it felt like everyone was staring at me. I don't blame them, my arms are pretty messed up. It looks like I lost a fight with a blender, and it's all up and down my arms. The ones on my upper arms are scars and are fading, but the ones on my forearm and wrists are more fresh. It'd be weird if they didn't stare.

It's only the second period of the day and I'm falling asleep. Nothing the teachers say register in my mind. I don't try to focus either; I'm already failing the classes, so why start trying now? There's no point. There's no point.

There's no point in anything.

The class passes in a blur and the next thing I know the bell is ringing. I jump in my seat, blinking and looking around at the students rising from their seats and leaving the room. I slowly start collect my things and stand as well.

I'm halfway out the door when the teacher calls my name.

"Brinley, could I see you for a moment?"

I roll my eyes and turn, a blank expression on my face. "What?"

The teacher and I are alone in the classroom. She is ordering the papers on her desk, glancing up at me. She sets a hand on her hip at my attitude, but surprisingly doesn't bring attention to it.

Instead, she looks back down at her papers and says, "I saw your arms. Are you alright?"

I scoff. "Bye." I turn around and walk out into the hallway. Before I can get far, the teacher leans out into the hall and calls my name again.

Tired, I turn around. She gives me a look of mild concern and frustration.

"Do you need to see the councilor?"

"I'm already getting help," I snap, but then add a quick, "Thanks." At least she's pretending to care.

After that encounter, none of the other teachers bring up my mutilated arms. Some bug guys on the football team openly laugh at me in the halls and in class. At lunch, someone tells me that cutting vertically is the right way to kill myself.

I don't respond to anyone and let the day go by in a haze. 

I'm still in my haze when school gets out. I grab my backpack and head towards the big front doors with the majority of the school, but before I can reach the front lobby a hand grips my left shoulder and I'm shoved roughly into a wall of lockers.

"I always knew you were a freak," Ryan, a well-known lacrosse player, snickers. Two other boys stand behind him with their arms crossed in an intimidating manner as they laugh along with their friend. I recognize one of the other boys as Jeffrey, a kid in my chemistry class. I don't recognize the other kid, but he has a pretty big nose and flushed cheeks like he just got done running a marathon.

I look at the group of boys, unamused, and attempt to step around them. Big Nose shoves me back into the lockers. My back hits the metal harder than before and I wince.

"What? I thought you like the pain," Big Nose taunts.

I glare at him. "Fuck off."

Big Nose's hands grip the front of my shirt and he slams me against the lockers, pinning me there.

"You want to say that again?" He hisses in my face, spitting slightly. When I don't respond and only stare at him, he lets go of my shirt. "That's what I thought, you fucking freak."

With that, the three jocks send me a last taunting look before deserting me in the middle of the hallway. I look down at myself and adjust my shirt, brushing it off before heading towards the front of the school to leave.