Palindrome

Seventeen

Took the SAT this weekend, suffice to say I will be signing up for another attempt after that chaotic mess. Anyhow lads, we're embarking on a dark arc of this book. 

But then again, 

This is Aarohi we're talking about. 

Chapter 17

"Low serotonin levels are connected to the gut and its functioning," Dr. Smith tells me pointing to her chart of the digestive system again.

I've been in this room way too much. The nurse at the front desk knows my name as a result of the number of visits I've had with her over the past six months. Usually, I just nod along to her words as if I understand everything. Swinging my legs over the bed I'm on, I rest a hand on my chin.

"Serotonin? As in linked to anxiety, sleep trouble, and depression," I ramble unable to stop myself.

Dr. Smith nods, "Low levels of it yes."

I guess ap psychology wasn't for nothing.

"Cool," I say.

"So what's next?" Ma asks impatiently. She's the one to ask questions all of the time, cross-examining them as if she were in court. If Papa does come along he basically nods along.

You can tell where I get it from.

"A colonoscopy and endoscopy," Dr. Smith says simply.

I don't bother listening to the rest, Ma immediately jumps to ask questions. Tuning her words out, I stare at my shoes. The last time someone in my family got a colonoscopy done, the doctor found stage four cancer.

Now I'm annoyed, why is Ma asking a bunch of basic questions. We know how this works. She's going to shove a camera down my throat and my ass that's it. We wait for the biopsy results, hope it's nothing bad (or hope it's something bad in my case). End of story.

"Thank you, Dr. Smith," Ma says, shaking her hand,

"Bye," I say with a wave.

Once we're out Ma begins going off on Hindi. Something about a second opinion, a diet change, and waiting it out. I don't say anything because there's searing heat in me. I'm pissed for no reason. If I say something right now I don't trust that I'll be able to hide my frustration. Which wouldn't be fair on her, she left work for this. Luckily, her phone rings, and her attention's on the person she's talking to.

We get into the car; she insists on driving despite being on a call. I don't bother arguing, settling into the passenger seat, and staring out of the window. I guess I should feel some sort of way. Anxious, full of trepidation maybe- I don't.

Ma ends her call, "Acha, Aarohi they must have released your SAT scores by now. Have you checked?"

She knows I haven't. Two weeks of peace, it's a gift at this point.

Shaking my head, I tug at the drawstrings of my hoodie, "No."

"Abhi check karo," she chides.

The excitement in her voice causes me to flinch. I'm going to have to go through this twice, once with her and a second time with my dad too. A third possibly with the two of them together, wallowing over my score. Logging into my account, I wait for the score report to load. It's a familiar action, one that I shouldn't be doing anymore.

For a fraction of a second, I'm hopeful that I'll finally have the 1580 they've wanted from me.

But hope's pretty fragile.

"1470," I whisper.

It's the highest I've gotten. 

It's way above the average sat score. 

It's also not a 1500.

"Hmm?" Ma hums.

There's a ringing in my ears as if there's a swarm of locusts all around me swallowing me whole. I'm powerless to them, just like I am to this one number.

"1470," I say loudly.

And cue the fireworks.

"What?" Ma exclaims. Her eyes leave the road, drinking in my face instead to make sure she'd heard right.

"A 1470 HOLY SHIT MA-"

The car swerves violently, and I'm thrown against the other side of the car. My arm hits the surface hard and a wave of pain washes over me.

"Are you okay?" Ma asks turning the car daftly.

Nodding, I sit up, "I'm fine."

She nods, then realization dawns in her eyes as she remembers what we were discussing before all of this went down.

"A 1470? Are you sure beta?"

"Yeah," I say turning away from her.

Despite that I can see her reflection in the window, she shoots me a weary look. The disappointment in her eyes is crushing, and it pierces me.

God, I'm so freaking stupid. You didn't have to get a perfect score, just over a 1500. And you couldn't do that. Because you're not worth it. This is why Javed doesn't text you anymore, why Bronwyn left you, why you can never come first to anyone.

For the rest of the car ride, neither of us says anything. She turns on the Indian radio channel and taps her fingers to the songs on the steering wheel. It's a habit of hers when she's anxious about something. I was the reason for it.

Why is it so hard for me to do something right. All I am is a Godamn burden. If I left it wouldn't even affect anyone. I know it wouldn't. They'd be sad for what a week at the best.

People move on.

All I did was take up space.

When we pull into the garage, I unbuckle my seatbelt quickly, sprinting out of the door.

"I'm going to shower," I shout over my shoulder, without waiting for a response.

My hands shake as I turn on the shower, setting it to scalding hot water. When I get in is when I allow myself to finally scream. Over the pattering of the water, my tears mix in with the hot water that drips from the showerhead. With my body shaking all over, I bang my head against the walls.

Again and again and again.

The pain isn't ample.

Clenching my teeth I strike an arm against the smooth planes. My hand retaliates, pressing a hand over my left wrist I feel a slight pricking pain. Devoid of marks but slightly seethed from being tarnished on the daily.

A sob escapes my lips. Gut-wrenching as I bit down on my lip to stop it. This is pointless, I'm not the victim here- everything that's happened to me is on me.

I just want it to stop.

Is that so hard to ask for?

Why can't I be happy?

Because happiness is wasted on you.

I can't breathe.

In the back of my throat, there's a needle pricking me. My nose is plunged by my fingers glued to it. Blazing water continues dripping down on my skin turning it red as my body fights for air. The feeling of my chest squeezing in my body is too much. White spots dance around in my vision. That's it, I'm almost there, just a few more seconds and it'll be over.

I can't.

My lips part, gasping for air as all around me the world seems to contract on my shoulders. Beneath me, my legs give in and I fold onto myself. Tears stay stagnant on my cheeks, staining them while I stare ahead at a point on the wall. Switching off the water, I sit there.

Warm air encasing me in a little bubble till it evaporated. If I don't move, I'll end up sick. The thought gives me a sort of gruesome satisfaction.

In this moment this is all I can do.

In this moment this is all I amount to.

In this moment this is all I am.