FLATLINE

Chapter Five; bad time for a good time

I was standing in the bathroom on the second floor looking at the reflection staring back at me. I hated that I felt good leaving school today. I hated that when I was about to start the 15-minute walk home, I was smiling. Because as I stepped out of the school entrance, Sasha was there in a beautiful truck my stepfather probably would have killed for. She honked twice and waved one hand out of the vehicle whilst the other steered the car out of the school's parking lot. Several heads turned, and I was quick to stare at my feet, terrified to meet anyone's curious glances.

But the reason I smiled is because someone here thought of me. For months I had made it clear to myself that a solitary life would not be too bad. I even went as far as disconnecting with my already good friends in the city. I made peace with myself, and occasionally my family, being the only ones who cared about what happened to me. At least, ever since him. Or Brandon. I really needed to start using his name instead. The school psychiatrist said it would be the first step to actually dealing with everything. So, ever since Brandon, I vowed to never let anyone get close to me again.

I hated myself for feeling good when I didn't have to go out of my way to be noticed by someone I found myself thinking about an off amount of times. I hated myself for being able to smile when I was supposed to be grieving. I hated that I barely struggled. I should have struggled more. I really should.

Which brings us to the moment in front of us. I was staring, or rather, glaring at the two sets of blue eyes glaring back at me. My hair rested like a bird's nest around my head from running my hands through it too many times. My skin was pale. I was mad at myself. I felt disgusted of how I allowed myself to be happy, and to move on so quickly. I cringed when I saw myself in the mirror the moment I walked in, but it proved to be excellent punishment for my guilt.

I don't know how long I stood there. Seconds, minutes, an hour? I didn't care. Because what stared back at me made me scared of what was about to come. It made me scared of the future. How could I possibly move on and be happy when Brandon couldn't? How could I look at anyone and find solace? How could I find comfort in someone else only to know that it would be taken away at any second?

Somehow, that was the tipping-point for me. Anger was flowing out of me in the form of tears, and I had to clench my teeth so hard my jaw became unhinged. My hands gripped the sides of the sink, wishing the marble could crumble into ash at the pressureof my hands.

I still felt it. The numbness. The nothing. And I wanted to feel something so desperately. I wanted to feel an emotion I knew I deserved.

Before I could properly digest this thought, my hand went soaring, heading straight for the reflection in front of me. A loud crashing sound pierced my ears, but it still felt like nothing. Despite the falling glass around my feet, I heard nothing and felt less. I felt nothing as I saw the blood on my knuckles drip onto the floor. I felt nothing as I saw the tears in a broken set of glass. I felt nothing as my chest heaved; up and down and up and down.

I failed. Even pain felt like numbness. One second I was in front of the mirror, the next I was staring at the broken glass and the red staining the floor.

"Jenny? What did you break just now?" Mom's voice echoed down the hall, and panic finally shot through me. Mom couldn't see me like this. She wouldn't bear it. I knew she wouldn't. My mother didn't cry a lot. She was delicate, but she was strong - she only cried when she saw fit. She had only cried when my father had left the hospital in the midst of all the tragedies.

I quickly looked for the door to check if I had remembered to turn the lock. I hadn't and I sprang on the glass sprinkled across the bathroom floor in panic, desperate to reach the door in time to lock it.

"Come on, I won't be mad... what did you-" Mom pushed the door open with a playful look on her face only to pause when she saw the glass bits on the floor. I could see the wheels turning in her head, as if she was denying it over and over again in her mind. I could see her jaw clench, and her knuckles turn white as she gripped the door in anger. She was still staring at the bits of glass scattered around the floor. She followed them until her eyes looked at the broken mirror, and then she turned to me, a look of utter disappointment latched on her otherwise strict features. I found myself holding my breath, because the moment I saw her dissapointed face, I knew I had officially broken her, which finally brought me the pain I had yearned for since the moment I got here. "Jenny, no."

She shook her head, expecting me to say something. But my words cut short this time. I had nothing to say. Apologizing would be useless now.

"You said you would try," she whispered, her arms crossed with a stern look. Her dissapointment cut in me even deeper. "You said this infliction would end. You promised, Jenny."

I looked down at my bloodied feet, unable to hold her eyes any longer. I found myself shaking my head slightly. "This is me trying-"

"This is not you trying! Don't you dare say that!" Her voice echoed in the hallway, and I had to force myself not to stumble back on the harshness of her voice. Gone were the dissapointed whispers, and her stubborn lecturing tone replaced it. "If you were trying like I know you can, you wouldn't be in here alone. You wouldn't spend every waking hour frowning and feeling bad for every little thing that you do. That's not the Jenny I used to know."

"Funny how you didn't know me at all-"

"This isn't you, you're letting this eat you up-"

"I'm not letting this eat me up! I'm trying-"

"You can't possibly mean that pushing everyone away is you trying? Jenny, I know you."

"No you don't! stop saying that!"

She shook her head. "This is not the way to go about it. It's okay to share the hurt in you, okay? We've made it clear that we're all here for you, why won't you open up?"

I clenched my hands together. "I'm trying to be strong for you-"

"You're being weak, Jenny, and you know it."

A sudden stillness sounded around us, as if the house was holding its breath and the world was waiting to collapse. She was being a hypocrite, and I imagine her black work-pants catching on fire. I had been strong for the family for too many years to count. I had done the grocery shopping and I had made sure Kevin had lunch for school the next day. I found it ironic, the way she demanded me to open up when all she had ever done previously was to tell me to 'shut up and clean the kitchen'. She sighed, letting out a breath filled with tension. I looked up to see her looking around the room in despair, her arms hanging around her and her shoulders slumped. She shook her head slightly, and pushed her hands in her pocket.

"Go to your room, I'll get some tweezers to help you with the glass. The Romeos are on their way to have dinner here, and you should be dressed and ready by then. This doesn't mean I'm letting you off, this means I need you to show me that you're trying. Got it?"

I simply nodded in return.

It took my mom half an hour to pick out the glass bits stuck on the back of my hand. She cleaned the wounds and wrapped it in a bandage. She did this all in silence, and just as she finished, she looked up at me in the eye while she gripped both my hands carefully. "I love you very much, Jenny. But you need to realize that pushing people away is much easier than letting them in."

She sent me a relaxed smile before she kissed bandaged hand and pushed herself off the chair. She left my room just as the bell echoed through the house. Once she had exited the room, the first thing I did was unwrap my hand and rewrap in the way I liked it.