I wouldn't call myself your typical 16-year-old high school girl. Some girls won't wear white because of their bra or scared their period might rear its ugly head. I can't wear white unless I want to showcase my artistically placed scars created an...
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Stepping into Mr. Toma's layer, I survey my surroundings. I take note that some students are wearing their uniforms corrects while others are seeming to be missing a jacket or have some buttons askew. Gabriel is one of the rebels. Sadly-or thankfully, he's not here.
The classroom is set up like all the others but slightly bigger. Windows line the wall like perfect picture frames, capturing the courtyard in such a manner that no one can help but stare. The students are huddled into what I'd say, packs. It seems to be a never-ending pattern of 'she said he said' colonies.
Scanning once more, I count at least 40 students. No longer feeling fazed by the students and atmosphere, I calmly walk over to middle row and sit on the seat one closest to the window. Too emotionally and physically spent, I don't even ponder the thought that these are tables and not desks. Someone will be in my personal space. Great, just what I need.
Seeing I have some time to burn, I think about my drawing. I go over every stroke I made and tried to see what Mr. Toma could have understood about it. I picture the girl's face I drew and the 'waterfall' coming from her eyes. The 'water' trickles down jagged rocks and weaves through dead trees when it finally comes to a cliff, however...only a single rough drop of water is seen going over it. The single drop of water in caught by two paws and cradle it.
That's what people are supposed to see anyway. They weren't supposed to see the face of the crying, heartbroken girl or the mound of scars that marks her face. The 'water' swerving through dead, soulless trees serves as a path through my darkest time of fear and hatred towards myself. The single drop falling from the cliff resembling me just wanting to end it all and leaving it all behind. The sorrow, pain, fear, torment...just to end it with all one swift pull of that small black trigger and that would have been it. I would have been able to stop it...stop my time.
************WARNING************
Just pull it, Sang, no one loves you.
No one cares.
Just do it, coward.
I hold the gun up with my battered and bruised hand and press it against my temple. Streams of salty water run down my cheeks as I sit in the corner of my bathroom. The cold metal sticks to the blood pouring from my scalp from the beating and whipping I just received.
No Screaming.
No uncontrollable sobbing.
No weak knife.
Just me...findingpeace.
I stare at the cracked open door of my bathroom and prepare for my final flight. My Finale.
My finger squeezes the trigger.
A quiet ting gets my attention and I look up at the bathroom door. There stood my two loves. The two things that kept me going all those years. My comforters-my healers.
I stare. They stare back.
My lip starts to tremble and I drop the hunk of metal to the ground. I succumb to back-breaking sobs that tear apart my throat. Milo and Axe calmly walk over to me and start licking my face as I grab Milos neck to bury my tears In his fur. They both start to whine as if finally understanding what I was about to do.
I sit there crying and hugging for hours until I finally pull back. Even sitting, they both tower over me and surround my world with love and trust. Axe starts sniffing my bruised and bloody legs as Milo shifts to my side trying to comfort me. He sticks his warm wet nose against my neck as Axe starts to lick my wounds. It stings a little and Milo, sensing my discomfort and emotional turmoil, digs his nose deeper. I finally comply and wring my arms around his furry black and white neck once more.
I realize then that I'm not alone. My 12-year-old self-has something to live for.
Them.
By the end, they both look at me with sad but trusting eyes. Both of them slightly dirty from being outside and Milos paw was bleeding a little from jumping through the downstairs window. They both know not to come into the house when my parents or sister are home. They would throw a fit if they ever found out I let strays in the house.
I look back down at Axe's black coat and turn my head to see Milo's thick tongue hanging out.
They patched up my wounds, they comforted me, they gave me love.
They saved my life.
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RING!
Jolting out of my flashback, I glance around a brief moment and go back to looking outside. It's not until I brush a small wisp of hair out of my face that I feel hot tears bleeding from my eyes. I shove my hand over my mouth and try to silence the grief I feel for leaving my lovers behind. A picture of Milo and Axe together forces its way into my head. Milo, with his full Alaskan Malamute glory, sits with his black and white head slightly tilted to the side and his tongue hanging out. Axe, with his sleek black coat sporting his stoic glare, his wolf genes prominent in his hard but loving gaze.
A stifled cry leaves my lips but I'm quick to silence it.
Just hang on for a little while longer Sang, just hold it in a little longer until you get back.
I take a deep breath and throw an imaginary bucket of water over my face. Doesn't take much imagination juice since my face is practically a pool of my own tears.
Thankfully, no one sat next to me probably seeing how much of an antisocial emotional wreck I am. It could also be because I shoved my book bag onto the seat making it look like someone is sitting there...oops.
Mr. Toma struts in the class a few seconds later carrying a black folder and History textbook.
He gets to his desk and scans the room with hawk-like eyes as if searching for something. I think he found it considering he's staring right at it-or me in this case. His eyes slightly narrow when he traces the wet trail down my right cheek and I hurriedly wipe it away with the sleeve of my blazer. At this, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in through his nose and out his mouth.
"Good morning class." Mr. Toma greets when he opens his eyes. The rest of the class gives a 'good morning' back in monotone voices making it well known that they would rather be anywhere else but here. He dives right into the History lesson and I continue to zone out through the window. Seeing that I already learned this chapter about two years ago, I deem it appropriate to completely disregard the living beings around me.
History goes by with a blur and I'm left scrambling to pack up my things by the end of class. My mind is currently in a dark place and I do not need a teacher trying to pry it open. Rushing out of class like the bats of hell are after me is an understatement. It was more like my butt was on fire and the only source of water was in the cafeteria.
