Dead Inside

Chapter 3

A/N:  I really appreciate 36 reads! Thank you so much. My story's kind of bad, but it inspires me to write more knowing that people are reading it. Love you all.  

The moments drew out like a peice of awkward silence. Except that there was a bunch of sweaty, loud, annoying kids in the room. When there was less then a minute left of the game, someone hit her. It was a direct aim right at her crotch "Ouch. Fuck." It hurt BAD. The kid was laughing his ass off, and practically everyone was going into hysterics. I glared at the kid.

What was that? He can't just do that! She crosses the line of enemy territory and she gets up in the kid's face. "Are you kidding me?

Do you think that was some kind of joke? Who do you think you are?" With all her pent up emotions and her anger management issues she wanted to grab his neck and strangle him. In that moment she felt like she could do it. "You're a pussy," he says "You deserved it." Ok, now he's dead. She smiles, "And you're a dick." She kicked him where it hurts and she laughed in his face. He winces and buckles his legs.

In that moment she felt insane. She felt like she could do anything and not care about the consequences. "Go get dressed!" Coach says and she starts to bolt, but then he adds "Sam and Will come over here!" Will's look of chilled arrogance with a mix of pain fades to a nervous boy with a pale face. For a second, she feels a teensy bit bad. She also felt slightly fragile, for she's always feared everything to do with this class and its coaches but she manages to appear nonchalant.

"What do you have to say for your self?" Coach asks me. "Self defense?" She says, more of a question than an answer. "And you," he says, addressing Will, "That's no way to treat a lady." "Now, both of you say sorry." What was this 4th grade? "Sorry," she mumbles, rolling her eyes. "Yeah whatever sorry," Will says.

Coach lets us go and she starts toward the dressing room. Will catches up to her. "Crazy that he let us go, without a punshment." Why was he talking to her? "Yeah..." she says, with more than a hint of annoyance. "Look Sammy I was just teasing ok?" he says. "Yeah sure, and It's Sam," she tells him, not convinced that his apology was authentic. "You don't need to pretend to be nice to me, okay?" she adds, "Just leave me alone." "Wait, I.." He stutters. She go's into the girls dressing room, "Can't follow me in here!" She calls.

She puts back on her skinny jeans and when she trys to look in the mirror, she's shoved back by a girl who has over a pound of makeup on her face. This day has been terrible. She just wanted to go home. When school let's out, she files out the double doors and starts walking on the sidewalk that leads out of the parking lot. Her subdivision wasn't too far from here, so most days she just walked. It's better than the bus, because she always got bullied.

She honestly didn't have much to live for. She was failing at life. Aren't teenagers supposed to make friends, go to partys, be social? People stopped being nice to her in 5th grade. That was the year when she finally realized that she didn't fit in. Also, how was she ever going to get into a college with grades like these? She felt like a disappointment to her mom, and an embarrassment to the world. What's the point of staying alive if she would be better off dead?

She contemplated suicide. She still had bleach left from dyeing her hair. She could drink it and she'd be gone. But what if it didn't kill her and she was left with a horrible illness. She rubbed the back of her neck, some what aware that she was feeling dizzy. Her mom didn't have any guns, not that she knew of, so a bullet to the head was not an option. There was rope in her dad's old shed. She could use some to make a noose. She would tie the top to her ceiling fan and she would stand up on a chair and hang herself. She wouldn't have to bear the weight of life anymore. She would be free.

The idea of taking her life was pressing down on her, and drilling into her scull. Her head ached with a migraine but dark thoughts still penetrated. "Stop being such a pussy," she told her self. Why was she scarred of the inevitable?