Looking for my Angel
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the story.
Jamie Sullivan is anything but ordinary a firm believer in God with the help of her mother and a father who is more than often out of the house. With the bruises and cuts from her peers, Jamie is subconsciously searching for her angel.
Saints Are Selfless But That Can Be Their Downfall
Almost every teenager has been the victim and the predator. The one who taunts and the one who is humiliated, it can't be helped. But those who are different, they must somehow have to be punished because that is the society of high school. And those who befriend the different and are different themselves, are lower than the low in the eyes of judgmental teenagers.
And the social ladder is a frustrating thing. The popular students control the student body. And the ones below listen. Listen and nothing else.
'God, if this is your way to teach me, then I understand. I trust your decisions.' Jamie Sullivan covered her face with her arms, laying in a fetal position at a corner in the bathroom as the ends of flats and flip-flops came in contact with her stomach. Hard.
"Jesus didn't help my dad when he went to jail; he's not going to save you either, you religious freak," hissed Belinda. She swung her foot hard once more, clenching her fists.
Giving a hard kick, Tracie laughed, as if she was hiccupping. Or she was just stoned. "You just want to make the rest of us look bad, don't you?" A hollow thud followed as she continued, "You and your Saint-like ways. Parents love you and--" Tracie continuously kicked and drawled out, "--teenagers hate you."
Girls that entered the washroom were called over by Belinda, as she told them to give a kick. Their eyes contained fear but they each listened, afraid that they would become something like Jamie if they didn't.
Every kick was followed by a new bruise. But it wasn't a sharp stab of pain with each kick; it was just a nagging consistent dull throb as kicks continued on. 'At least they aren't punching me,' thought Jamie. Her tears had long vanished. It was just the bloodiness of her lip that replaced it. Jamie repressed her cries of pain by digging her nails in her palms and biting down on her lip.
The kicking worsened, and the insults continued till her stomach felt numb. Bile rose to her throat and the contents of her stomach came along with it, but Jamie forced it back down. She felt sick to the core where she began to shudder as well. Eyes shut; a gentle pained sound touched her ears. It took a few moments before Jamie realized it was herself.
A loud high-pitched whine emitted from the ceiling. More specifically, the built-in speaker was signifying the mark of another period. As Jamie kept her face hidden behind her shield of arms, a shadow grew smaller as the formerly standing figure knelt down.
A smirk evident on her pale pink lips, Belinda wrapped her left hand around both of Jamie's wrists, shoving them down, leaving her face and bleeding lip for the world to see. Belinda stroked her cheek and with a sickly sweet laugh, she whispered, "Jamie, don't hurt yourself there. Anyways, we had a fun time. Can't wait for tomorrow."
Being the kind of woman to look at a glass half-full than half-empty, the only thought that ran through Jamie's head as she heard their footsteps fade to nothing was, 'At least it's over.' She could only smile at her thought. No, she wouldn't plan to seek out revenge. No, she wouldn't cry out from her pain.
As Jamie attempted to move, her body burned in pain. But she had to. Being late to class was often – having to clean up after herself after each… chat with Belinda and Tracie. But she wanted to focus on her studies, make it through college and get a stable job. Nothing fancy, nothing amazing. She had no interest in dreams and wishes. Learning from a young age, dreams, wishes and hope were nothing but fairytales.
Her plan was nothing short of realistic. She aspired to be no one. If God wanted something else to be done with her, it would happen. Jamie had faith in that, and only that.
She pushed herself upright on her knees with her bruised arms. Jamie once again, bit her lip, struggling to stay quiet. As she shakily raised her knee to place her foot flat on the ground, Jamie held onto the sink near her, slowly but surely standing up.
Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at herself. 'I look positively horrible.' Gently, Jamie stretched out her hand, touching the mirror. "I'm sorry," whispered Jamie. Sorry for her existence, sorry for ruining her body which God had created for her, sorry for being so hurt.
She looked down, smoothing out the crinkles in her shirt. Wetting paper towels, she managed to wipe the dirt off her shirt, most likely from their shoes. Jaime straightened her knee-length pale orange skirt, grateful to have worn socks that went up to her calf. She gently pulled them up, inhaling a sharp breath every time her hand accidentally grazed a bruise.
As she finished, Jaime left the washroom with her chin straight. Not down, not up. Neither broken or confident.
Honesty was spoken about in the Bible, but it often conflicted when teachers asked for a plausible reason as to why she late for class. Jamie strongly believed in not involving adults into her own matters. It would simply be a bother to them; Jamie knew adults stressed more often than teenagers or children and she didn't want to add onto their pile of stress.
Selflessness could've been the reason of her downfall.
But the result of being consistently tardy, her teachers stopped giving detention slips and simply ignored her when she came in late. The power of annoyance was always a winner apparently.
And so she slipped into her seat, ready to learn and prepared for the oncoming of hate notes.
Author's Note: I hope you liked it! Review please! More reviews mean Vohx's fingers will have a higher wpm speed. Haha.
Side notes: Jaime does not have leukemia in this story; her father is not a preacher but Landon is popular and Jaime is an outcast. A typical high school story with more reality than exaggeration.