And the story continues...
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Part Four
I did not go to the damned cafeteria. I am not like everyone else.
People would eat with their friends. They would gossip on the same meaningless crap. 'Oh, he likes her' and 'did you see what she was wearing today?' and 'I can't believe she had the nerve to do that to him!' I had given up on that shit in sixth grade, three years ago. Three years before Craig.
Instead I went to the bathroom. In a public school, it was really the only place one could find privacy. However limited it was. I opened the door to the restroom and quickly checked under all the stalls for anyone else. No one, as usual. ~ Only a loser would willingly spend their lunch hour in the bathroom. Well shit on that idea... ~
Going into one of the stalls, I turned around and locked the door. Reaching behind the toilet, I found the plywood board I had placed there a year ago. One year before Craig. It had been a great idea I had come up with so I wouldn't have to balance all of my food on my lap.
Taking out my lunch, I set it up on the tray as I always do. Mathematically.
Peanut butter sandwich in the middle, apple on the right, and juice to the left. I took the knife out of the inside pocket of my jacket. I lay it down horizontally across the top of my "tray". I would later use it on my apple.
I like cutting up apples. I like cutting up anything. To stab, to hurt, to maim, to kill. It is the best high I have found. Even better then burning myself. It usually gets me through the day until I get home. That is when the fun begins. Ok, I confess, I don't actually do that. I just like to pretend I'm sick and twisted so people will ignore me.
I look around the stall while I am eating and see someone has written something new. This one really got me off. It said, 'Craig should go fuck himself'.
I pick up my knife off the tray and start slashing it off the stall wall. ~ Damn motherfucking whores. If anything, he should fuck me. ~ I didn't stop until it and the space two inches around it was completely blacked out.
Right above the former obscenity, I inscribe, 'Craig is hot you jackhole.' I start hyperventilating. To think, someone would come into my stall and write such a thing!? ~ Fuck the shitty goat fucker! ~
I hear noises. The door opens and a couple people enter the bathroom. I quickly bring my legs up to hide my presence. I am like that. I do not like interactions with others. Using the exercises I had been shown, I tried to get my breathing back to normal.
I can hear them talking, the kids.
"Hey, so I was in Mr. Simpson's Media Immersions class today and somehow everyone was sent a message that said that Mr. Simpson was boning Emma Nelson's mom. It was fucking hilarious!"
"Like I give a shit! And who the hell is Emma Nelson?"
"What the fuck is your problem?"
"God, I am just having a rough day! Maybe you should-"
They leave.
Putting my legs down, I tried to remember who Mr. Simpson was. My mind sometimes becomes very hazy. I am supposed to take medication to take care of that. But I say screw it. Why bother? Save the fucking money for something important. Like leaving this shit-ass town.
Mr. Simpson... Oh! He was that teacher who hates me. I think it had something to do with spilling water all over a keyboard. I thought he was gay or a pedophile or a zombie. He sure acts like it sometimes...
Emma must be really upset to have the entire school know that Mr. Simpson was boning her mother. HA! If only I cared. Good. Maybe the little bitch will finally get off of her high horse. Maybe she will commit suicide. Seppuku. ~ I hope so... ~
Damned bitch.
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'Were were you when they decided heaven was a more intangible idea 'n you couldn't, you couldn't really get there?' -- A Ladder to Heaven, South Park...