Permanent Scars

Better Off Dead

November 15, Friday. 1:17 p.m.

I keep having strange dreams. My arm is still numb, and as one can imagine, that makes it very difficult to function. Especially in school.

   On the subject of dreams, they seem to continue even several minutes after I wake up. It's quite bewildering, causing me to stumble around my house as if still in some foreign dreamland.

   I'm so glad no one else is around to see me do stuff like that.

   To make things worse, I've been tripping a lot—on people's feet and random objects that aren't directly in my way yet I find a way to smack into them somehow, unintentionally. Adam's been teasing me for being a klutz and telling me to get more sleep. He should talk, being an insomniac.

   Panic attacks have been rampant the past couple of days. I haven't used the journal Dylan gave me for my birthday. In fact, I'd completely forgotten about it up until recently when I pulled out my uke to attempt playing it. With my right arm being numb and practically immobile, that proved nearly impossible.

My soul aches, having been deprived of music. Sure, I've been listening to music constantly—I always do—but making music, that's another thing entirely. Adam has been asking when I want to take another lesson from him, and I've had to turn him down with lousy excuses simply to cover the fact that my arm doesn't quite work. At first he seemed content with my—polite, may I add—refusals of his offer, but then Mia started chiming in and now she's pushing me to just practice.

"Mimi, she doesn't have to, it's fine. I'm cool with it." Adam shakes his head at her and playfully shoves her shoulder. "Leave her be."

"But she never comes to our jam sessions. And if she's part of the band she needs to keep her skills polished, right? Don't we have a tour coming up?"

Adam bites his lip and his eyes flare as if angered, like she wasn't supposed to say that. "Look, she's been to a few practices, hasn't she?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"And she's good, is she not?"

"Yeah, she's good, I..."

"Lastly, the tour. I still don't quite know what the hell is going on with that. Please don't say anything more. Thank you and good afternoon." Smirking, he winks at me and pops one of his earbuds into my ear. I love how he knows just how to drown Mia out, even if I'm pretty sure they secretly kinda like each other. Well, she's obvious. He isn't.

   "What'll it be?" He asks, nodding at the open music app on his phone. I take the device from him and select one of my favorite playlists in his library. His eyebrows bounce up when he sees what I've picked. "Ooh, good one."

   Smiling tiredly, I push play and pass the phone back to him. In place of the device, he puts half his sandwich in my palm and smirks warmly. My stomach twists unpleasantly at the mere thought of food. But I don't want to disappoint him, especially after turning down a guitar lesson, so I take a bite and realize how much I've actually missed eating real food. His food specifically. It's dumb, but when he makes sandwiches they're one hundred times better than anyone else's, even if they make it the exact same way. I don't know how he does it. In a way, everything he does seems to be like that.

   Honestly I'm just glad he's sitting at my left and can't see my lousy right arm just hanging there, elbow kind of bent with the hand resting in my lap. Sometimes, if I concentrate hard enough, I can get my fingers to move but I can't ever feel them. Really, I should tell him about it. But I don't know how he'd react. I don't want him to worry. And I don't know what his foster mom would do about it, seeing as he'd likely rush me straight to her. That stuff she gave me when I was "poisoned" was pretty interesting. I don't remember much of that whole ordeal, just that I was phasing between dreams and consciousness as I have been lately. Have I been poisoned again? Or do I need routine filtering for the rest of my life due to one little poison incident?

   The music stops, jolting me from my thoughts. Adam has taken the earbud and is standing on the bench, glaring across the cafeteria at something or someone, I don't even know. The sandwich I've devoured is not settling. In effort to distract myself, I watch one of Adam's sneakers touch down on the tabletop as he takes a catlike leap off the stainless steel surface, landing gracefully on the smooth tile floor and taking off like he's running track for the olympics. Sometimes I just don't even know what goes through that boy's head. He's already made it to the other side of the cafeteria, tackling Algie.

"What's he doing?" I lean toward Mia and she tips her head knowingly.

"Oh, Algie and Syd got engaged and told everyone except Adam. He said he'd get revenge."

"He's insane."

"Oh, you just realized that?" The attitude in her voice is shocking, even for her. I'm not used to her using that tone on me. In a way, she almost sounded like Vicky.

The panic I'd previously curbed returns, squeezing my lungs and making my hands shake. Yes, my numb hand is shaking. I can't even control it, it's so bad. Mia turns from observing Adam, her bemused expression morphing to horrified upon seeing me.

"Honey! What's wrong?" She slides close to me and pulls me into a hug, soothing and motherly. This is the Mia I like. I wish she'd show this side more often. Lately she's just been a bit of a snob.

I can't get over how her voice sounded like Vicky.

"Can you speak? Tell me what's wrong."

No way in hell am I gonna tell you.

My mouth opens but I can't say anything. And anyway, I don't want to. I just want my chest to stop hurting. I want my head to stop pounding. I want to feel normal. I want to feel my arm, for heaven's sake!

I want Adam to hold me, not Mia. Heck, I'd even take Dylan's presence over hers, but he's in one of his advanced classes right now. I wish I could forego lunch period for the sake of advanced classes, even if I'd only be bored to death.

"The boys have told me you haven't been yourself lately, and I've noticed it myself. We're all worried about you, little sister." She releases me from her arms and gently sweeps my bangs out of my face. "Would you like to come home with me this afternoon? We can bake cookies or something."

Something inside me, some tiny voice, says to give her a chance and say yes. Something tells me I can trust her, and it's weird because I can't and yet I find myself believing the opposite. Giving in. She hugs me again and the shaking starts to rapidly subside. But I still feel queasy, so I mumble something about going to the bathroom and manage to make it to the restroom where Vicky and the girls are waiting for me.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm better off dead.