Chapter 4 "They Fall Back in Fear at My Burning"

Suicide, believe it or not, is actually a slow process. It's the self-destruction of your mind. It's the self-destruction of your beliefs, of your energy, of your faith. It's the final step to disappearing. It's the final show, the final magic act. There is no applause. There is no encore. It intertwines its vines into every other emotion you feel until you feel nothing at all. It strangles you, drags you by the ankle away from happiness, away from that light that you've searched your whole life for. Soon, the light fades deeper and deeper back into your subconscious, and you forget you ever searched for it in the first place. The illusion is glamorous. The promise is a gamble. You won't see what's on the other side of the curtain unless you peek through, but you must be ready to see the darkness of backstage. You must be ready to see the darkness where no man should go until the show is over, until the world is through. I'm scared for Tori, truly. I wish I could just protect her from all the corruption in the world, put her on her own little pedestal in the sky. But I can't, and I'm a failure, and I need to disappear.

This is too much. I can't even focus on Sikowitz's lesson of the day, something about "mock arguing". He's animated and weird enough to keep my eyes on him, but I'm just so tired. His arms sway every which way as he describes the perfect argument. "You have to impress and address," He says, "Impress and address. Scare your audience, scare them with intensity, this is an argument, folks, and I know you teenagers just have that natural angst running through your bloodstream." He walks over to his desk and takes a sip from his coconut drink.

"Arguments stem from emotion. You have to care about what you're saying. If you don't care about what you're saying, then you're going to lose your argument, and I know none of you like to lose. Heck, I don't like to lose, which is why I drink these coconut shakes, keeps me fit and fast."

"But you've never ran a day in your life past high school," Jade says, not raising her hand.

"Oh, well then…I don't know why I drink this stuff," He scoffs, and throws it across the room. "But you know what Jade? I'm the teacher here, I'm the one with the degree, and you're the one with the weird tattoos and piercings!"

Jade scoffs and rolls her eyes.

"See children? That was an argument made on the spot. I didn't mean it, my heart wasn't in it, and so I lost. Even if I was into it, Jade would have still won…"

All this time I've been the one protected. No matter how many times I resembled the silhouette of a heroic knight, it was her who was my guardian angel more than anything. More than my lover, more than my best friend, more than anything, she was the seams that held me together. And how do I respond to that? How do I react when I think of her broken and damaged with acid running down her cheeks? I suppose it's better than blood, but the pain still burns her cheeks to the bone, exposing all of her vulnerability, a trait she often reserved for solitary nights with me, intimate and never pressured. I'm finally feeling the blood seep through my shirt from Cupid's arrows, and I'm squeamish, I don't like the sight of this and I'm scared of what's going to happen. Subconsciously I hear, "Beck, you're going to pair with Cat, and then after them it's you, Sarah, with Andre, and then it's you and Vanessa, Timmy, and then I'll get to the rest of you all after these guys are done," From Sikowitz, and I can feel Sarah's excited gaze on the back of my head, but I feel the wet heat of the blood more so, and I can't be distracted from the pain no matter how hard I try. What's even worse is I can't remember what she looks like. Even though the school's surrounded by posters of the Drama children, with her in front, it's not the same. There is only that plastered smile that I can't help but know is a façade meant to keep everyone but me out of her head. I can easily see her face, but I can't remember the emotion behind it. I can't recall her closed tight eyes and bitten lip every time she buried her head in my shoulder during scary movies, the stuck out tongues and playfully rolled eyes every time we teased and picked at each other, the innocent and vulnerable look she gave during our kisses…Hell, I'd even go for seeing the acid down her face, anything as long as it meant she's still living, that that heart is still beating, because mine's slowing by the day, the hour, the minute. Every second I'm dying. Suicide is a slow process, and I'm self-destructing for every blink of my condemned eyes.

In my sleep, when I do get to sleep, I find myself waking up in a cold sweat, and my pillow is damp from it. The room is always hot despite the constant rain outside lately, and I'm always upset. Random bursts of anger emit from me every time I wake up to such a scene. But I cannot ever find myself the strength to move on, because I know that's not what she would want. And it feels like I can't even grieve right, because I keep trying to find ways around it, out of it, as if I'm giving up. My head and my heart are pulling me two different ways and I'm tearing apart rather violently.

"Andre, Sarah and you are up!"

I don't hear him at first. I'm lost in my thoughts as my empty eyes watch Sarah go up to the front of the class. In her shortness, she's peering over a few tall but sitting people to see if I'm coming. I snap back to reality when some random person nudges me with his elbow. My feet carry me up there but my mind is back at the desk, back in my car, back at my house, back at Tori's, back in her bed, back in her heart. Her eyes are full, and they remind me of Tori's. They're the same shade of brown, with that same intensity inside. I don't know how we'll start this off. I think I'm just standing here with a blank stare on my face by the look she's giving back, one of confusion, but also of worry. Everything feels so dark. Everything feels so…tiring. Every fluttery blink of my eye and exhale through my chattering teeth makes me wanna just fall to the ground.

There is an awkward silence in the room until I say, "Where did you think I was?"

She starts to compose a counter improve and replies, "I just never see you anymore, John."

"I was just out with the guys from work. Can't I do that every now and again?"

"It's much worse than that, I just…I never see you."

I say nothing.

"What's her name?"

"What?"

"What's her name, John?"

"What the heck are you implying by that?"

She exhales an exasperated sigh. "Is she prettier than me?"

"No one's prettier than you."

"Then why don't you ever come home at night? I lay awake wondering if you're okay, and then I always remember that you do this often and you always say you're out with your friends. And I never know if I should be relieved or bitterly angry about that."

I slam an open hand on the prop table. "I go out and work for hours on end so I can keep that damn necklace around your neck, we can keep this house, and our kids can be happy and you question me with this?" I may have gone too far since I knew Sarah's mother got her that necklace before I even knew her, and to even bring such a personal item into our mock argument was low, and my swearing probably didn't help. But I just can't stop myself. "I try and I try, Sarah, but nothing's ever good enough for you, is it? When I try to hold you and spend time with you, the kids need taking care of. When I try to take care of the kids, you need taking care of, and I can't do two things at once."

"John…what's her name?"

I grab Sarah by her shoulders and fling her against the wall next to us. We stare at each other a while, I can feel her hot breath against me, all shaky and formless. "There is no other. There's only you."

She whispers out a broken, "Liar." And I wind back my left hand and slam it against the wall centimeters from her face hard and fast so many times I've lost count, and she jumps and squeals at every single one of them. She's terrified, and I'm blistering angry, but I can't hold back. I just can't. I turn my head and see our nonexistent children, Jack and Lauren. Two beautiful children stained and tainted by the tears down their cheeks, and it's my doing. Their mother is weeping and nearly broken right next to me, and that is my doing. They fall back in fear at my burning. I can barely see them through my narrowed eyes, but it's all the same as if I had no eyelids. It's so clear that they hate me, and she hates me, and I hate myself for putting them through this. Lauren breaks my heart the most because she flees the room before she completely breaks down. She's seen me yell at her mother, the one thing I promised them I'd never do. I promised them we'd never fight, yet here we are, and soon I'll be gone.

"Lauren!" I shout, extending my arm for her, but she's already gone.

"Jack, go get your sister, tell her everything's alright. And be nice!" I tell him, posing my hands around my mouth because he's already on a sprint. I look back to Sarah who's by now slid down the wall. I put my head in my hand and sigh.

Sikowitz and the rest of the class is in an awed state. Sarah brings herself back to her usual composure and a smile forms on her face again, she's ecstatic on a job well done. But my head is still in my hand, this method acting and lack of sleep is getting to me. I'm so weak and I'm so tired and just…wow. Damn those beautiful eyes as they cried. Damn those astonishing lips as they quivered. Damn her smooth hands as they trembled in fists at her sides. Damn that waterfall of hair flowing down her back. Damn the sound her broken voice made when she spoke, and damn how I noticed. Damn when she told me, "I love you," and I had no answer. Damn her. Damn me. Damn it. Damn it all so much that damn doesn't even seem like a word anymore. It just becomes another jumbled clutter of mess inside my head, confusing me and isolating me from everything. I never expected such a crashing low. God, this feeling…it's like losing the will power to do anything, let alone fight for the girl you love.

"Um…Andre…that performance obviously impressed us. It impressed us, and addressed us. It addressed us that: You're angry, you're frustrated, and you're tired. Your wife is tired herself-nice job by the way Sarah-and she's always quizzing you, of which you don't always have the answers. Nice addition of the kids, too, Andre."


Tori

This pillow cannot hear my screams anymore, because my lungs are in my throat and blocking my air waves, but sadly not blocking my anguish. I can't live here anymore. I can't take it. I've a mother who won't put her foot down against an abusive father, and an abusive father who won't treat his family right and is an alcoholic bigot. I need to escape, I need to just…get away. I can't go to Andre because he's better off without me, I can't go to my friends because Andre's sure to be there, I can't go to the police because they'll take Rick away and well, he's still my father. I can't go anywhere, or to anyone. I'm just a malignant disease barred in chains and thrown to the deepest and darkest trench, cast off from the world forever. I'm a curse that's soon to become an urban legend in people's minds and in Andre's heart.

I just…need to get away, even from me. My mind is a meteor hurdling down and without Andre, there is no hero to save me from myself. I believe that in death, I will find salvation, that escape that's eluded me. Or maybe I just need a distraction, and school would be a good enough one, and I find it unfair how Trina can go but not me. Like I said, a prisoner that's believed to harm anything it comes in contact with. And in this trench, so deep and so dark, I can scream into a tear-stained pillow for the centuries I'll lie here, but no one's got the stomach to come and find me. No one has the courage to see their own demons in this darkness to save me. No one sees the benignity inside of me. No one cares except for Andre, and I'm pushing him away. What's wrong with me?

I can hear Rick. He's yelling downstairs again. It's always "new day, old problems" with him. Mom's probably cleaning up the broken glass plates looking through two black eyes and a swollen cheek, even more swollen than mine. I smile as I think of how Andre would hold me and kiss my swollen cheek and swollen nearly shut eye. He always loved my flaws and didn't give a damn what it was. It was never the fact that I sometimes snorted when I laugh or how I usually laughed at things that weren't funny. Well now I find myself not laughing these days, and I usually cry at things that aren't sad now. The door's barricaded, the window shades are drawn. I just want complete and total peace in sleep but I can't even fall asleep. I bet he's the same way…wherever he is. And all I can think about is that letter…I need to write him…I should write. But…I'm a dangerous disease, right? He's better off without me…he's better off.


Andre

Language Arts is next on the list. We're studying some old geezer named Countee Cullen or something, was a Harlem Renaissance poet back in the day. The halls are packed with rude, obnoxious kids that didn't learn "excuse me" by their parents as they grew up, obviously. I silently brush and scoot my way past them, and in the blur of kids I see a flash of red. I turn to see Cat talking to a group of guys surrounding her by her locker. That flirt. She's truly unaware of her effect on Robbie. She's always talking to guys. Like, always. But I don't pay them attention as I drag myself to the bathroom. It smells in here, of weed and misaimed piss. I avoid my reflection in the two big mirrors on the discolored, once-white wall as I head towards the line-up of urinals. I look at the idiotic writing on the wall as I relieve myself. I flush and wash my hands. It's now that I realize that one of my friends, Doug, has been having a discussion with me since I've walked in here. Well, I don't think it's a discussion if it's a one-way talk. I don't even know what's he's been telling me, something about the stars? I don't know. I walk to the doorway and discover I'm late, and they've started the lesson without me. The teacher's telling the back story of Countee, and begins to recite one of his poems.

"Your grief and mine, must intertwine, like sea and river, be fused and mingle."

I love this.

"Diverse yet single, forever.."

I really love this,

"…and forever."

I hear a scream from down the hall that I guess no one else heard because no one moved, and I decide that class can wait because I recognize that voice, it's Cat. She's in trouble. I hurry down the hall to see her being bullied by that same group of guys that I thought she was flirting with. I thought wrong.

"Leave her alone," I shout.

One of them comes up to me and lightly shoves my shoulder. "And who are you?"

"Why are you picking on Little Red?"

"Why not?"

And really, that's all it takes. I spit in his eye and punch him in the throat. If he dies, I don't care. I have no future anyway. The jerk's friends make their way towards me with ill intentions and I just stand there. I can't bring myself to fight back. I can't bring myself to defend. I deserve this. I deserve all they throw at me. Why? Because I'm me. My arms are down, my eyes are looking dead at them and I don't say a word as they brutally assault me, an elbow to my cheek, a knee to my gut, a punch to my thigh, another punch to my temple. Everything else is pretty much a blur right now, I can't even see anything but black and red. And I think I'm on the ground covering my face, at least I have the common sense to defend now. Little Red's yelling for me to fight back but I couldn't answer her if I tried. Through the mismatched colors, I see someone fighting off the group of bullies, with shocking efficiency. As the broken rainbow haze dissipates, it's Beck I see. He's got a bloody lip and he's holding his limp arm, but he won. I don't know how. Cat and he rush over to me as I cough a storm up. The wind is knocked out of me and I'm pretty sure I've got a lot of bruises. I can move everything though. Cat's run off into a corner and is panicking, and Beck's simply calling for help through the crowd that's finally gathered at Cat's desperate but still shockingly adorable shouts.

It's funny how they think this ice is going to cool me off. It may take down the swelling but that's all it'll do. I've got a line of visitors in the clinic, and I can see police officers out in the halls questioning, interrogating and subsequently arresting. The person by my bedside now is…Trina? I nearly spring up from the cot.

"You look terrible, 'Dre," She says sweetly.

I just stare at her with wide eyes.

"Is it the black eye?" She half jokes.

"I'm just…shocked to see you. What is it with that black eye anyway?"

"It's, uh, nothing new. Home, you know."

I tremble slowly, "That means Tori's hurt too."

Her eyes are downcast. "She's more than likely fine by now. It was last night. We both slept it off."

"That asshole."

"Our father," She corrects me. But she doesn't need to correct me. I know what I said.

I get up from the cot, the nurse hurrying in from the halls but I wave her away. "We need to bring him down, Trina, now. Hand me your phone, I'm calling the cops. Better yet, go get me a cop from the halls."

"Andre no, that's our dad, okay? That's Tori's and my dad, we can't just give him up. We love him."

"That's a lie and you know it as well as I do."

"Andre...no."

I breathe heavily and it hurts my ribs so much. "Fine."

Then I'm going there...

...and I think I'm going to kill him.

A/N-Read and Review, lovelies!