Still Alive: Part I

Chapter 1

Of course she likes Celia. All the evidence points to it. You were too busy trying to come up with the reality you wanted. You never noticed what was silently standing behind you a hair's breadth away from touching your back, breathing on your neck. Everything that you had hoped for came crashing down on top of you, shards and scraps of shrapnel imbedding themselves deep into your body.

It started with anger. First at her, but you quickly shifted it to yourself. You punched and kicked the walls and furniture of your room and screamed and yelled at yourself for your idiocy until you realized your fists were bleeding. You banged your head against the wall a few times, fighting back tears. You finally collapsed on your bed in a pile of rumpled sheets and cried yourself to sleep, still fully clothed and wearing glasses.

<<<< >>>>

You woke up in a cold sweat at about 2:45 AM. At first you wondered why you felt so rotten, and then you remembered. The scabs on your knuckles reopened as you clenched your fists, squeezed your eyes shut, and bared your teeth. Your eyes welled with tears. Then you decided to do something that had never really occurred to you before, the near-full moon as your sole witness. Dark fluid stained gleaming steel in the semidarkness, and everything seemed unreal as if in a dream. You couldn't feel anything except desperation.

<<<< >>>>

You slowly wake up the morning after, the sun casting a dreamy golden glow through the curtains. Your throat is sore from crying and your lips are parched. You vaguely remember doing something in the middle of the night. Or maybe it was a dream? You tense your arm and quickly yank back your sleeve, sitting bolt upright. You wince at the sight of the dark red lines grossly contrasting with your pale forearm, and flop back down on your pillow. Reaching up to the ceiling, you run your fingers over the dried blood, and examine your arm from all angles. It's there, alright. You can't help not staring at it, as if your arm is a horrible car crash to gawk at. You become sickened as you realize you can't ever just get rid of these scars, and shiver as you pull the sleeve of your jacket back down and flop your arm back down on the bed.

You stare at the wall, and notice smears of blood. You guess that was probably from your hands... You glance at your knuckles...

Trying to block out reality, you squeeze your eyes shut and clench your hands into fists, attempting to focus on discerning a conversation coming from downstairs. You hear the familiar voices of your father and your sister...

"So, how's the fencing team going this year?"

"Well, I'd say we're doing pretty damn well, considering pretty much all the good people graduated last year. Except for me and Carl and Abby, of course."

"Do you think that the team'll be any good next year?"

"Yeah, I'd say so. We'll still have Shaylor, and some of the freshman are nearly as good as him."

"Which one do you think is the best?"

"They're both pretty good for different reasons, but I know which one Elliott likes best."

"So he likes one of them?"

"He says he doesn't..."

You growl in frustration and anguish at their laughter and the reminder of her, and wrap your pillow around your head to block your ears. The smell of grilled cheese wafts through the cracks around the door to your room. They must be making lunch. The sounds of the kitchen and their conversation are muffled by the pillow.

A bit later, you decide to uncover your ears. The smell of grilled cheese has dissipated, and you no longer hear conversation. You deduce that your father has gone back to work after lunch, and that means your sister is probably working on her homework. You sigh for no reason in particular, and flop your arms down on the bed. Fighting hunger over depression, you lie in bed staring at your ceiling,  trying not to think about what you did, and deciding whether getting up to eat something would be worth it.

<<<< >>>>

At 3:46 you finally emerge from your room, looking sloppy and tired with bedhead and tear-stained glasses. You didn't bother to change into new clothes, and your jacket hides your arms. The wooden steps creak under your weight as you trudge down to the table, where you find a cold grilled cheese sandwich cut diagonally in your spot.

Since you are now ravenous, you hungrily rip a hunk off one of the sandwiches with your teeth and chew it dejectedly. The afternoon sunlight bathes the table in a warm glow, but you just wish that you could bury your face into your pillow for all eternity and just not be able to think or feel or remember. Feeling guilty and wary because of your arm, you force yourself to choke down the last of the first sandwich and grab the other half to take up to your room. You flop down on your bed again, and you suddenly don't feel like eating anything anymore. You just feel like vomiting up your meager breakfast. You hear a knock on the door, and you respond with a sleepy,"What?"

"Are you okay?" Came the concerned voice of your sister.

"Yeah," you blatantly lied.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Leave me alone, I'm tired."

"I heard you yelling and clomping around last night, and that didn't sound good. What was all that?"

"Nothing."

"Sure as hell didn't SOUND like nothing."

"Well it was."

Your sister opens the door and sits down on the bed next to you, despite your feeble complaints.

"Sit up," she tells you.

When you do this begrudgingly, she looks you in the eyes and says seriously,

"Elliott, you know you can tell me, right? I don't have to tell Mom and Dad if you don't want me to."

You sigh and prop your head up with your fist.

"I was just kind of angry, that's all."

"At what?"

"...Myself, I guess."

"Would you mind telling me why?"

You pause for a moment, trying to think how best to explain it.

She guesses,"Does it have something to do with... her?"

"...yeah," you reluctantly admit. "I..."

She interrupts you by remarking surprisedly,"Elliott, there is BLOOD on your wall. And on the floor. What exactly were you DOING? Oh sorry, keep going."

A shadow passes over your face, but you continue,"I was punching the wall... I guess I started bleeding..." You display the back of your hands to her.

"Ooh... Yeah, you must have been pretty mad. Don't do that... Did anything else happen?"

"Uhh, no," you lie again.

"Well, are you okay now?"

"Yeah, I guess," you rub the back of your neck.

Your sister thoughtfully pauses for a moment, and says,"I've been through this kind of thing before, it's okay. What I think you should do is first, take a shower and put on some clean clothes. Then, go for a walk or do something outside and get some fresh air and that will help you think clearly. Oh yeah, and we should also get the blood off the walls and floor and check out your hands more closely... But take a shower first."

You lean against your sister and mumble,"Thanks, Paige."

"No problem," she says as she puts her arm around you.

You both sit there for a minute or two, and she finally says, "Okay, go take a shower now!" She leaves you to strip.