Marked

Chapter 8

        Three days passed. Three days of silence. Three days of complete and utter pain.

        The day it happened, Marcus held me while I cried. He called the cops and reported the crime, after searching the house they came up empty handed. The murderer was gone; I had never hated someone so much.

        He drove me to Jen's where I slept the rest of the day. The first day I was reluctant to go to school, I felt alone, my parents were all I had and I was all they had. It was only each other. But she forced me to go; she said that maybe the feeling of normalcy would do me well, but I really couldn't tell the difference.

        I walked down the halls soullessly, empty, sad. No one said anything about it but I didn't care. All I wanted was not to feel. And then I had my extra classes with Mr. Simmons, and he surprisingly understood: he did push or put on pressure, he allowed me to not feel because he said I was in mourning. I couldn't help but think what he had lost.

        Because we only ever understand others when it's happened to us.

        The second day was nearly identical copy of the first, but when people used to turn heads they just minded their own business and I was glad that they did, but they would always whisper, their empty words never ceased.

        The third day was the relapse, because I had to go home and grab some things and the minute I crossed that front door I could feel all the feelings coming back, drowning me.