2
Science; the class that brought something interesting to the atmosphere of a boring workplace. Mr. Stein was rambling on and on and on about our brains being so powerful that we are currently using only a tenth of its whole capacity. Usually, I would be enchanted – attentively listening to the words that pour out of his mouth and intently observing the diagram shown on the board but I seemed to have lost my focus.
No matter how much I force myself to let the information of our Amygdala, Hypothalamus, and Cerebrum sink in – the boy just kept on invading my thoughts. He seemed familiar though; like I knew him already.
"Caitlin?" I heard my name being called but it couldn't snap me out of my trance. I didn't even realize that Mr. Stein had called me 3 times before finally putting a hand on my shoulder.
"I called you a couple of times already. Are you okay?" He looked at me like how a grandfather would look at his grandchild. He was old; silver hair sprang from above his ear and wrinkles spread across his face.
"Hm?" Looking up, I felt the weight of every single person's stare waiting for my next move. I have never dozed off during science class. Ever. I was the one to answer all the questions, the one to be in a heated debate with Mr. Stein. Not today. As I looked back at him; I wondered. Does he know? Does he know that I mutilate myself? Does he know that his star student is a weak and insufferable being who is as pathetic as the next? Does he know that I want to die?
I wanted to scream at him, tell him the truth, actually. He was the closest thing I had to a friend. I wanted to tell him that I'm not. Never was and never will be.
'I'm not.'
"I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" He asked me, wanting reassurance.
'I'm not okay. My parents are getting a divorce. I cut myself every night to ignore my real problems. I stress myself out with all the schoolwork you teachers give. I fantasize about my death each night and marvel at all my scars alone. Nobody knows. Except for some freak. So no, I'm not okay. DO YOU THINK I'M OKAY!?'
"Sure, sir. Just a little dizzy. I haven't had much sleep the other night. I had to do projects and such but I assure you that I have been listening; the hypo-"
He smiled, "I do believe you. It just felt like you weren't yourself is all."
"Are you happy?" I asked a question not at all related to the topic.
He shrugged, "I guess."
Afterwards, he went on with his lesson and one by one their eyes left me. What kind of answer is, "I guess?" I guess I am or I guess I am not. Which is its tilt, positive or negative. A word, after all can change everything. Like when somebody asks you, "Do you love me?" When you answer with, "I guess I do", it's all good - happily ever after but when you answer using, "I guess I don't" then disappointment would be the receiver of you letters.
Don't you see? It's just balanced in every single way possible. 50 indicates the middle while the after or before part either adds positivity or subtracts it. I hear my classmates yelling out random answers and see specks of both disappointment and amusement in Mr. Stein's eyes.
"Is the brain important?" Silence reigned in the room.
"Caitlin?" This damn routine never changed. When no one can answer, the one who they feel like they could depend on will be the one they ask. Not even Mr. Stein could escape the grasp of sentiment.
I cleared my throat and answered in the most appropriate way possible. "Our brain defines us. It is the storage for our emotions. It AIDS us in what we do; allows us to think and observe. It controls our whole body and I am sure that without it, we are nothing. That's how important it is. It alters our perception on life, either turns us into a suicidal freak or a normal person. Our brain is US."
I have no idea on how I do that - turn my most violent thoughts into very hypocritical answers in the blink of an eye. I don't know how. Maybe I'm just good at lying. Mr. Stein looked pleased and my classmates couldn't care less.
"Mr. Stein, the brain is also important because without it, we can't think. We can't convey the thoughts that we wish to let other people know or well, as she said, 'turns us into a either a suicidal freak or a normal person'; we can't become who we would be without it."
Just like that, my whole world was thrown off its balance. I fisted my hands to my side and convinced myself that it isn't him but of course, of course it was.
All heads turned to stare at the person leaning by the door frame. "Sorry, a little bit late. Or 45 minutes late. I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Stein, I—"
"That answer isn't as remotely close to being as clever as your previous answer; Mr…?"
"Allen. Barry Allen. A transferee from S.T.A.R University. And the real reason as to why I am late today is because I had to take care of some paper works. It won't happen again, professor; that much, I can promise you." He shuffled awkwardly and kept his head low. He acted nothing like how he approached me yesterday.
"Yes, well, Mr. Allen; next time, PLEASE try to arrive before the class starts and not AFTER."
Mr. Stein's comment earned snickers from around the class but I couldn't be more horrified. What is he doing in here? His eyes roamed the room and once it landed on mine, his lips twisted into something between a smile and a smirk.
I swore I saw him laugh but I couldn't bring myself to look because I felt uncertain. I don't know why. Uncertainty in myself and in him. The bell rung and it signaled the end of the day.
As always, I sat there until all of them went out. Mr. Stein always goes out first followed by one Barry Allen, presumably because of some papers regarding his transfer. He acted like we didn't know each other and that's more than just comforting. I wouldn't want any one of my classmates to know what I do.
It's a terrifying note. One by one they went out and piece by piece I came to the conclusion that I don't know who I am.
Am I on the side of angels or am I on the side of Devils? Am I good, am I bad? Too much lies obliterated me. I am sure of one thing though. I'm pretty damn sure that I'm suicidal. Pretty content with myself; I slid out the door, directing myself to the cafeteria where I smoked until I felt like myself again.
Ahhhhh. The sweet, sweet feeling of smoke destroying my lungs; death has never been as pleasurable as this.
The days at school were tedious, obvious, and predictable. Mr. Homicidal wasn't as much as a nuisance as I thought he would be. Both of us acted like we never associated in any way. He even made new friends and doing way better than me in terms of my social circle.
I shuddered at the thought of a social circle. Then I felt kind of blank. I used to have a social circle. Until one of the three of us unexpectedly disappeared.
The weekends finally came. Dad was away, probably kissing some hooker as mom was getting her hair softened in a salon. I was sitting on my bed, reading a textbook for an exam for the third time. People think that if you're an honor roll, you'd love studying but you don't. I hated school, the system, I mean, what kind of teenager doesn't?
What's the use of putting pressure on children, it breaks us, or that's what I thought.
"The bones of the body are full of calcium…"I trailed off, lost in the blaring music of my headphones. I used to put those headphones on my ears only because I was forced to. Nobody likes to listen to their parents screaming their lungs out at each other.
I remembered the first time I listened to Halsey. I was trying to study but my nosy parents kept on banging on my room; yelling and screaming, annoyed, I searched for an escape. I tried to read but couldn't. I tried to recite the human anatomy but I couldn't. I tried to draw but couldn't. So I stumbled upon my unused headphones and put it on. The first thing that loaded on the YouTube page was Halsey's song, Young God. I fell in love with it since then; how raw the lyrics felt. Since then, I learned how to cut, to smoke, to drink, and to feel empty. Living in this world, being able to feel; I wasted it.
I felt my headphones being taken away from me. As I looked up, I saw the same dark eyes of Mr. Homicidal smiling at my hazel ones.
"This is my room. This is personal invasion." I said, sitting up, and snatching the said headphones from the boy's hands but he wouldn't give it to me.
"I'm lonely. Talk to me."
"You have my dad for that. Now go and cry and share whatever psychological issue you have with him; not me." I harshly stated. His face didn't show anything but sheer amusement.
"Let's talk about something." He continued bugging me.
"Anything." Giving up, I agreed.
"Fine, let's talk about how creepy it is for a deranged stranger to walk in a teenage girl's room and demand a conversation."
"I'm technically not a stranger, I mean; we share about 3 classes together and each class, you manage to almost always ignore me. But I have to say, you're smart. Highly intelligent and unquestionable too. Tell me, how does it feel not being able to say what you want to say? The answer on brain; I knew you were thinking something different. So, how does it feel?" His emerald eyes flashed and his tone was far from threatening but I can't help but feel a shiver run down my spine.
I flinched and that seemed like a sign for him to back off.
"Boring, let's talk about scars."His voice echoed as his mood shifted in a snap. For the first time, I actually felt something pull myself closer to the boy.
"What's the deal?" We both sat down on the floor, the carpet sharing dust with our clothes. "Cait." His gaze was odd. It felt like it could burn me alive and the fact that my nickname slid off his tongue so easily made my ears burn.
"Don't." I gritted out the word. He looked at me. "I hardly think it's important. So-", pulling up the long arms of his sweater, he showed me a burn, a fresh red burn on his wrist. "Cigarette burn. Blades bore me." Taking off the 5 bracelets on my right wrist, I showed him numerous cuts. "Cuts, last week, but someone interrupted me." I smiled as he laughed again, "It was because you were doing it wrong. Have some respect for the dead." I joined in his laughter this time.
It's been a long time since I felt this happy.
"I actually used to be like you – suicidal – really. I began giving away my stuff, ran away, and then you know, put a bullet in my brain but it didn't really work out because-", he motioned to himself as I locked my eyes with his, "I'm alive today. The stupid gun didn't blow my head off." We sat there, facing each other and I looked deeper and deeper in his eyes. Despite his boyish smile and his positive vibe, I couldn't see any of those.
Nothing. I saw nothing, broken and haunted.
"It's funny because you want to die and I want to see someone's life fading in my hands. A sadist and a masochist, huh, must be fate. Homicidal and Suicidal. I tried it before - a fight." He was serious this time, hints of madness showing in his face.
I wasn't afraid though, I was curious. "What happened?" He looked at her, "Nothing much, just stabbed him a couple of times in his arm with a pen. We weren't friends after that and I was suspended. Dad…" I saw hesitance flick over his features.
"Never mind." He finished, a little distraught.
"What's with the nickname – Mr. Homicidal? Shouldn't it be Mr. Suicidal too?"
"Let me finish. I get off when I kill. Suicide just wasn't enough for me anymore. I don't like cutting myself – too slow and painful. By accident, I killed a cat but once I felt its blood stain my fingers. It was wonderful, so warm – so refreshing. And from that moment on, I decided I liked killing more. It's a bad, bad way to go around." I couldn't help but notice just how animated he looked like once the topic of killing was brought up.
I liked it.
I made no sound but asked, "Do you hurt others because you feel guilty about something?"
He flashed me a cheeky smile, "You act so much like your dad, you know? Always asking me about my gory fantasies; well, doctor, I'll have you know, I'm fine now, just targeting little fantasies. I'm not guilty, I just feel like experimenting. And as much of a psycho I am, I suddenly feel lighter talking to you."
I felt something drop in my stomach, a huge question, how could someone like me inspire someone else to live?
"Well, it's past 4 already, Dad's going to think I murdered someone at this hour." He joked and rushed out the door not without whispering a 'thank you' and a 'good bye'.
"Oh wait. I just remembered, I don't have a dad. Just some foster substitute." Barry breathed out. So, family issues too. We had a lot more in common than I thought. As the boy walked out, I opened up my text book and began reading in the unit of physics.
I felt the sudden urge to understand Newton now because I couldn't understand the gravity that pulled and tugged on my stomach earlier. I studied and studied and studied until I finally understood gravity.
Everything, no matter how heavy, how light, falls.
I didn't sleep that night nor did I cut nor took any pills.
I felt happy.
Aaaaaaand that's it. Thanks for all the reviews and all necessary support. I really really do appreciate them all. And yes, this fic is a little bit weird. Okay, it's weird. Really, really weird and I should have given some kind of heads up and for that, I'm sorry. It's just that I just wanted something new.
Also, thank you so much for the advice, Bluedog270, I kept in mind.
Thanks to all who reviewed! I'm kind of awkward at saying my thank yous. So. Again, thank you to: ShanouNash, MissingBrittana, Bluedog270, and Guest, and another Guest.
You people make me smile.
I'll try to update as soon as possible. Tell me what you think, okay? Be honest. Be BRUTALLY honest, if needed. I don't want to be serving you crap now, do I?
