Rex was not expecting to wake up to his parents in the living room. His toothbrush was in his mouth, and it sort of fell down with a silent tok on the marble floor.
(Hi?)
"We missed you," Robert said, hugging his son as if he was going to disappear. Rex was more than alarmed at the motion.
(What's going on?)
They both did not answer, creeping Rex out further. He struggled out of their hug first, looking weirdly between them. (You're acting strange.)
"We needed to be home... in case you found out."
(About?) Rex asked, confused.
"The culprit you put away... the school shooter..."
(What about him?) Rex signed, feeling a chill settle down his spine.
Robert hesitated, sharing a look with his wife. "He's been released. And now he's shooting schools looking for you."
-
Rachel was numb.
She felt like she was going on autopilot, being angry, being happy. Performing Lollipop meant to show that she did not need love. To prove to herself that she could do it.
To distract herself.
But now the next round of the competition was very far away and she was really, really tired. Being angry took a lot of hard work.
Of course, there was a part of her that was genuinely angry. Who wouldn't if someone you considered a friend just called what you do and what you are good at- the only thing you were good at- stupid?
Topping it off, calling each and every person Rachel was close to 'retarded' and 'dumbass' sparked that old protective flame that roared within her and it felt good to have something other than pure numbness to feel, even though it was dangerous, burning all her insides in wrath.
But now that the fire was dying down, who would have thought? She was losing control again. School, studies, friends, everything. No home, no identity, no nothing.
She screwed her eyes shut and vomited into the toilet bowl, hearing the soft clink of her alcohol bottle as she bumped it slightly, making a rattling noise as it failed to tip over. She was lost, very very lost.
Her throat burned as she coughed out what was left in her mouth and sagged against the wall.
She was shaking, the world was spinning, the room was spinning. She took another swig of alcohol, letting it burn her throat again on the way down.
It felt good, the pain.
She closed her eyes and savored the soreness before her eyes cracked open with another thought.
What if she cut again?
Slowly, methodically, she touched her scars and decided.
It could not hurt to try again.
Pain was delicious, as any numb person would tell you. Pain was a relief from not feeling human, to feel.
Just one cut. She still needed to hide it after all. Just one cut.
And another. And another.
YOU ARE READING
Memory Lane
Jugendliteratur"The truth hurts, memories definitely hurt but we all still try to hold onto them. Maybe one day it'll be okay. It's not okay now, but we will get through this. We will get through all of this, like we've done before." Meet the strange cast of a wac...
