"'Cause you are one of us, right?" Allyson asked in a challenging tone, noticing that Hayden was hesitant. "Of course," she answered coldly. "Sorry, Rika," she said turning to her classmate, "Gotta go."
"Whatever," Marika replied, turning away. "Oh and don't call me 'Rika', that's just what friends call me." Hayden watched Marika walk away, with a million thoughts crossing her mind. A part of her was saying 'you're doing everything wrong' and the other part was saying 'don't give a fuck'. Trying to go back and fix things is harder than simply keeping going in the wrong direction.
****
"What are we doing here?" Hayden asked as they entered the town's drug store.
"You're getting your cigarettes," Kristina whispered to her, smirking.
She knew what that meant: shoplifting. "Think you can do it?" Allyson challenged her. The store was basically empty, except for the four of them and another customer busy choosing which gossip magazine to buy. Or to get. The cashier was at the counter, sorting things out. "
It's a piece of cake," Hayden said, heading to the tobacco area.
"Great. We'll wait outside." Allyson winked at her, and they left. Obviously, Kristina had already hidden inside her jacket a pair of sunglasses, and some candy. If it's free, it's never useless; that was her motto. Hayden made sure no one was looking at her, then she slipped a pack of cigarettes into her pocket. Her heart was pounding fast. She pretended to walk around the aisles searching for something before finally walking outside, with her loot. The girls were waiting for her at the corner, not too convinced she'd make it.
"Did you get it?" Kristina asked, while chewing on her free candy.
"Naturally!" Hayden said, showing off her brand new pack of cigarettes. "That was easy."
"Nice job," Ashley said.
Hayden knew there was really nothing to be proud of, still, their approval made her feel fulfilled. Yet, no matter what she did during the day, once she returned home self-harm was a must.
March 13th
Dear Diary,
I can't help but feeling hopeless every-fucking-day. I wake up hopeless and go to sleep hopeless. Sometimes I even wonder if I'm alive. Does breathing and having a heartbeat mean you're alive? I think the definition of “alive” is overrated. I'm just watching my life go by, that's it. Let's just say I died at 16 and I'm just waiting to be buried. A lot of people die but don't get buried until they get old – it's really sad, but it happens.
I cut as a reminder of having a functioning body; bleeding and pain keep me awake. I have no more dreams for my future; but now I wonder: have I ever even had dreams? I can't remember how my life was before the accident. I've forgotten where I came from and I have no idea where I'm going. I don't know who I am anymore. I'm just waiting around for a heart attack or a truck with no brakes to run over me. In the meantime, amnesia would be nice. But I am getting better at fucking everything up when you least expect it. I guess that's a skill not many people have.
I don't understand the meaning of school anymore. What's the point in going? Can biology explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when you lose someone you love? Can history teach you how to fix the past? Can math help you figure out why 1 person surrounded by a dozen people is still not whole? Can English class ever give you the right words to express everything you can't put into words? I don't think so.
H.
PS. I stole a pack of cigarettes today. I guess that was fun.
TWELVE
What's going on?" It was four am and yet no one was asleep. Hayden opened her door to figure out was the fuss was all about. She found her brothers and the rest of the gang talking in the living room, with the TV on.
"You haven't heard?" Will told her, without even turning. That was as much attention as she could get from her brothers lately. "Marika Ross is dead." "What?!" Hayden said, rushing to the TV. The news was on. "Drive-by shooting. Still not sure which gang did it."
"Things are getting out of hand here," Alex stated, almost talking to himself. Gang rivalry was common in their town, and there were homicides basically on a daily basis...but killing someone who had nothing do with that sort of thing was something TV news would talk about.
"Maybe she knew something or saw something: the Felons kill you to make sure you keep your mouth shut," Jesse J. said, he knew pretty well how things worked.
"She wasn't part of any gang, as far as I know," George stated. "You knew her, right?" he asked Hayden.
"Yeah, I guess." She wasn't sure she knew anybody anymore. People change fast, she knew that pretty well. "She came to talk to me today."
"What did she want?" Will asked.
"I don't know," she said, turning away, "I ignored her."
Her last encounter with Marika would haunt her forever, not knowing what she wanted to tell her, and the way she turned her back on her was something Hayden was never gonna stop to dwell on. Could she have helped her? Was she looking for a friend? She'd never know.
****
"There's a campfire party tonight, you coming?" Ashley asked Hayden, when they met during English class the next day.
"Isn't it cold to have a party outdoors?" she asked. "Don't worry, there will be lots of alcohol to keep you warm," she smiled, taking her seat.
Hayden could not help but notice Marika's empty seat right in front of her. Everyone at school was talking about her death, but Hayden felt her absence more than anyone. They hadn't talked much in the last few months, yet now she missed her. That's how it goes, you always miss the things you can't have anymore. Memories came rushing over, and so did that usual guilt feeling. The idea of getting drunk in just a few hours suddenly became attractive.
In the meantime, the teacher had handed out an essay the students had done last week: Hayden had gotten a D+.
"What time's the party?" she asked Ashley.
"At seven."
Hayden had finally something to look forward to now. Bothering to inform her brothers she'd be going out that night didn't even cross her mind: what difference did it make? They barely spoke anymore. They won't even realize I ain't home. I wonder how long it would take for them to notice if I just disappeared. With these thoughts in mind, she ran home after school, changed clothes and left.
The party wasn't as crowded as she thought it'd be, but there was enough alcohol and weed to satisfy the whole neighborhood. Loud music was coming out from a car stereo. Hayden and the three girls soon began smoking and drinking, and as they got high social interaction for Hayden came a lot easier. A guy named Luke started hitting on her, he was probably in his twenties. She thought he was cute, plus when you're lonely – and drunk – you'd let anyone close. You get fooled with just a smile. She had seen him around town, but they never spoke.
"You cold?" he asked, not because he really cared. "A little. This vodka's not warming me up as it should," she laughed, and took another sip.
"Let's go sit in my car," he said while putting an arm around her neck. "It's warmer there."
She looked around searching for her friends, or an excuse to not go, but she didn't find either.
"Okay." They started walking away from the party, until they reached a secluded place inside the woods.
"Where's your car?" she asked.
"Oh it's here, just around the corner," he said.
She was drunk but not completely brain-dead: there were no corners in the woods.
"Let's go back," she said, halting.
"Why?" he asked, pushing her to a nearby tree. He started kissing her, but she was reluctant.
"Stop!" She was too stoned to yell, and had never been a strong girl, so getting rid of him was close to impossible.
"You're pretty," he said, ignoring her order. He was now trying to take her clothes off.
"Let me go!" Tears were running down her face by now. His lips locked onto hers.
"Come on, relax. I know you want it too." He smelled like alcohol and weed and danger, and Hayden thought she w
as going to faint any minute.
"Get off me!" She fought hard, and harder, but it wasn't enough. Her lips were trying to say something but nothing came out. And soon she was on the cold ground, his hand on her mouth to keep her from yelling, and his sweating body all over her. Her skirt was up and his pants down in an instant. She wished her brothers would come and save her, but she knew no one would show up. He was strong and heavy, and panting, and longing for more. She was weak and small, and longing for air; and freedom.
This isn't happening.
It happened and, it was over soon, but not soon enough. He zipped his jeans and left her lying there, but before disappearing into the night he said, "No one will believe you."
How many times can your world crumble, before you go down with it?
When she regained enough strength to go back to the campfire, she found an empty place: no cars, no music, no people. Just empty bottles lying around and a burnt-out fire. Everyone had left, and she was completely alone.
She walked home slowly, in a state of confusion. The cold was burning up her flesh. His voice kept echoing in her head "No one will believe you."
He was probably right. It was past midnight when she got home, and James had just gotten back from work and was cooking dinner for himself, while Mike and Will were playing poker in the living room.
"What happened to you?" they both asked as she walked inside. Was her body speaking for her, or just her eyes?
No one will believe you.
"Nothing," she said, avoiding any eye contact. James didn't ask anything, what was there to say? After all, getting drunk and stoned seemed to be her favorite diversion lately and he had no idea how to help her. Can you help someone who doesn't want to be helped? Incomprehension was separating them more than they could ever imagine. Hayden could still feel Luke's hands on her body, his lips, his smell, his sweat, and it was unbearable. She went to the bathroom and locked the door, turned the shower on and hot water came pouring down. She took her shoes and clothes off and walked inside the shower, her underwear still on. There had to be a way to rub off his memory from her skin. She started scratching her skin until it began to bleed, and she cried. The shower covered up her sobs. Hot water kept pouring down, and the bathroom soon turned into a dangerous place. There was no air, and dizziness took over Hayden. She lost track of time, but at some point someone knocked on the door.
"Hayden?" James asked, but got no reply. Water kept running, and Hayden did not have the strength to move or speak. Her muscles were relaxing, and her mind as well. By the time they opened the door, she had fainted and was lying on the ground. The room was full of steam, and it didn't take much to figure out what had happened. James was the first to rush inside. He promptly picked her up and brought her into the living room. The air was breathable again.
"Hayden, can you hear me?" But she was still unconscious. Her cheeks were red, but that was not the only detail that grabbed their attention. She was skinny, too much. She had lost so much weight lately, and they hadn't even noticed. Her arms and legs were full of scars, some were bleeding, and she had small bruises around her wrist. The fresh air coming from the open windows, along with the wet cloth Will put on her forehead, allowed Hayden to come around in a few minutes. Her vision was blurred, but she could now hear her brothers talking.
"We're going to the hospital," James was saying.
"They'll ask questions!" Mike pointed out.
There was no way the doctors weren't going to call the cops or social workers, seeing her in that condition.
"I'm fine..." Hayden tried to say, but standing up was unimaginable: everything was still spinning.
"Here, eat this." Will gave her a chocolate bar. "It'll make you feel better." He was sitting by her side, while James and Mike were standing near the door. As soon as she gained consciousness, they approached the couch.
"I'm not hungry," she said, between coughs.
"Eat," James ordered. You just do what you're told when James tells you something in that tone. So she took the chocolate bar and ate a small piece.
"We should call George," Mike said.
"I don't need a doctor," Hayden said, "I just want to sleep." She was cold now, and covered in a blanket which didn't really keep her too warm.
"Hayden," James said, kneeling besides her. He wasn't mad, just really worried. "I need you tell me what is going on." So many things were going on that not even a lifetime would have been long enough to tell him everything. Hayden's mind was so full of things, memories, people, feelings, that she could have exploded any minute. Putting words together seemed impossible. Have you ever felt like you had so much to say that you end up saying nothing at all? Well, that's Hayden right there, right then. She started crying, quietly.
No one will believe you.
"I just want to sleep," she repeated, and went to her room.
You'd think that keeping people away, not letting anyone in, would save you. If you don't open up, no one can hurt you, right? Wrong. You end up killing yourself, one piece at a time. You are your worst enemy.
That night, only the sight of her blood pouring down from her wrists calmed her down.
March 15th
Dear Diary,
If I don't talk about it, maybe it won't be real. I'm not really sure people want to know, and I'm not really sure I want to tell them: it's the perfect combination, right? He said no one is going to believe me, and I think he's right. So I'm not even going to try to tell someone. No one's really listening to me anyway.
It happened and I've got to live with that. It happened and I can't change that. It happened and I can't forget about it.
Give me madness. Give me memory loss.
H.
THIRTEEN
Hayden woke up two hours later bathed in sweat. Nightmares had never been more vivid, and so real. She dreamed about Luke, and about her parents. The crash. Marika. So many things to bear, so little strength to make it through it alone. Bloodstains were everywhere, but her wounds were not bleeding anymore. And a terrible cough had been her only companion for the night.
The loneliness she felt was so overwhelming she could barely breathe. James's door was open. He had probably left it open on purpose to hear any movement coming from Hayden's room. She tiptoed inside his room and lay down by his side, under the covers. She wanted to feel safe and protected, at least for one night. Unfortunately for us, we can never quite survive without our roots. You can go on for so long, after that you die.
He turned around to look at her and they stared at each other. "Can you just hug me? No questions asked," she said, between silent tears. And he did, and it felt right. Home is the only place where you can find your lost soul, if you dare. Where you can go look for yourself, and find who you used to be. And he was home.
****
"Where's Hayden?" Will asked while he was making breakfast, as James walked inside the kitchen "She's not in her room."
"I know. She slept in my bed."
"Is she okay?" he asked after a moment of hesitation and wonder.
"I'm not sure," James said while sitting at the table. "She had nightmares the whole night. I don't know what's going on."
"There were scars on her arms. She's been... cutting?"
"Yeah...I noticed."
"Those three cunts she's been hanging out with are the problem, lemme tell you."
"Yes, I know. How the hell am I supposed to prevent her from seeing them?"
"We should just tell her."
"I don't think she'll listen, but we can try," he said while getting up. "You staying for breakfast?"
"No, I'm late for work. See ya later, bro."
It took a while for Hayden to recover from the limbo of drowsiness that prevented her from completely waking up that morning. She was dreaming and remembering and having flashbacks of a long forgotten past. She was in James's bed, but it wasn't today. It was way back, when she was little and used to have sleepovers in her brothe
rs' room, she was sure they'd come wake her up any minute now, by tickling her, and they'd start jumping on the bed and their mother would come inside yelling to stop and come eat breakfast. Moments of evanescent happiness that would never be relived. She opened her eyes and in an instant it was all gone: the laughter, the smell of homemade breakfast, her mother's voice. All gone. It would have taken a lot of strength to get up and face a new day, after all that had happened that night. That's why she turned around, and went back to sleep. Life could wait a few years.
A couple of hours later, Hayden woke up to an empty house and a high fever. She was sweating and coughing a lot, and feeling so weak that getting up seemed close to unimaginable. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult. She slowly got up and walked to her room, feeling like she could drop dead at any step.
What the hell is going on? Calling her brothers was out of the question, so she called the only person she thought could really help her. She sat on the bed and reached for the cellphone on the nightstand, and dialed George's number.
"Hayden, what's up?" His voice on the other side of the line was cheerful.
"George?" she said, between coughs. "I'm sick." "I'll be right there," he said, turning serious all of a sudden.
George was a good doctor, but he was an even better friend. The two of them had always had a special feeling, he cared for Hayden like they were siblings. She threw the phone on the bed and rested her head on the pillow. She covered herself under the blankets, trying to calm down the shivers. But nothing seemed to work.
Five minutes later, which seemed like a lifetime to Hayden, George walked into her room. It was a good thing they had the habit of leaving the front door always unlocked. She didn't even have the strength to turn around and greet him decently.
"Gosh, you're burning!" he said as he sat down next to her and placed his hand on her forehead to feel her temperature. And as she started coughing bloody mucus, he stood up, alarmed, and said, "I'm taking you to the hospital."
BF 2nd edition Page 5