*Wish I was too dead to care
If indeed I cared at all
Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest..*
The headache. The HEADACHE.. was still there. Harry felt like pulling out his hair. This time, unlike the day before when he had felt the farmiliar pounding as he rolled over and sat up, he felt it's wrath even before his eyes had opened. It was as if the headache had been asleep with him and had been awoken by the shrieking of the alarm clock, and was then terribly angry.
"Son of a.." he mumbled in a sleepy voice and sat up. It was time to wake up for his Thursday of classes but how he just wanted to fall back down on his pillow. Even though he had slept for a solid 11-12 hours, he was somehow still dead tired. Along with the headache, he almost felt really dizzy. What a nice combination. Now he was liable to pass out at school by three things.
Marvelous.
He made sure the alarm clock would not start up again in 9 minutes and made his morning ritual to the washroom to take yet more pills. He couldn't even remember a time when he had a headache this painful and annoying for three straight days.
The light went on again and this time the light did not just burn his eyes, it fried his brain as well. Slightly longer it took for him to be able to handle the light, and he popped almost what seemed like a full handful of pills. He looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. He looked like shit. There was no other word to describe how horrible his face looked. The bruise on his cheek had darkened and now left a noticeable reddish-purple mark there under his tired, quite pathetic looking eyes. Looking into them just depressed him. He turned away from the mirror and went to start the shower. He was hoping that the October morning would be one of the mornings that he would get the hot water.
-
Harry walked into the faculty office and went straight to the lounge for a cup of coffee to wake him up a little more before the morning bell (that was due to ring at any minute) could summon him to his classroom. He stalked right up to the coffee maker to (of course) find maybe if he was lucky, a 1/3 of a cup, and probably old and cold but then. He wasn't going to make a big deal about it though. If he had been smart and really wanted that coffee, he would have stopped somewhere to get it, because he knew that everyday he went for a cup and everyday the pot was empty. You think he would have learned by now.
Before he could really do anything, Ronnie had magically appeared at his side.
"Hi Ronnie, what brings you to the empty coffee pot.." he asked sarcastically noticing the cup in her hand. She looked down at it and put it beside the maker.
"Harry I have to tell you something.." she said quietly.
"What, that there's no coffee left? I think if I would have sat here for another good 15 minutes, I think maybe - just maybe - I could have figured that out myself," he said dryly and poured the little bit that was left in a white coffee mug, just as if to make a statement.
"Harry, listen to me-" she put her hand on her hip trying not to be frustrated with him.
"Listen to you glug down that last cup of coffee? Mmm Mmm the best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup-" Harry really didn't give a fuck about the coffee. Really.
"Shut up and listen to me. Ashley's dead," Ronnie spat out probably not caring whether she sounded sensitive or not anymore.
Harry stopped in mid-sentence in shock. He looked down at the sucked dry coffee pot, his brow narrowed.
"She committed suicide last night.. Oh Harry, I'm so sorry.." Ronnie touched his arm. Harry was still absorbing the word 'dead'.
"Why should you be sorry? It's not like you drove her to that point or anything.." he looked at her and said as casually as he could. A knife stabbed through his heart on the inside.
"Hary! You did not make or help in any way with her suicide," Ronnie sharply said and held onto his arm.
"Fine," he said with a srious face, took his arm out of her grasp and walkd out of the lounge and office leaving the half full cup of coffee there next to the pot.
-
Dead. She was dead. The thoughts bounced off the sides of his head and they kept repeating like a broken record would. DeadDeadDeadDea- You killed her. A new sentence was added to the mix. He walked down to his classroom, but he was blind to everything. The people around him, the busy children's voices. It was all gone. He walked in silence. But by all means, he was not alone - his headache kept him plenty of company. And it proved no signs of leaving anytime soon. Pound, Pound, Pound. Feel that blood pulse through your veins. With each pound, Dead, Dead, Dead.
He reached the classroom and found the seats occupied already as he knew they would be. The bell had rung on his walk down. He was sure of it.
It hit him hard as he entered the classroom as Ashley's empty seat slammed more nails into his chest. A mix of pain and guilt.
Casual chatter continued throughout his students and it died down when he entered and sat down at his desk. He said nothing. He thought nothing.
Stab Stab Stab.
The class sat silent, watching him and sometimes looking at one another for an explanation to explain his silence and blank stare.
"Ashley Whitmore is dead," he said quietly, not moving his blank robot eyes off the legs of a desk he was unintentionally staring at. Staring *through* rather.
"Who?" he heard someone say in the silence very quietly as if not to be heard and Harry's eyes snapped up to his students at the word. He wasn't going to freak out. He had decided that already. But boy did he feel like it. Who.. He smirked to himself angrily. Who.
"She killed herself last night," he spoke once more, not changing his tone from the robot voice. His class didn't look directly at him and some squirmed uncomfortably in their seats now knowing what to say or if they should have said anything at all.
He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. To scream that it was THEIR fault. If they would have gave her the time of day or..-But the fact was, it wasn't their fault. They were just kids. It was his fault. He was the adult. It was his damn fault and nobody could convince him otherwise. The class sat silent for several minutes, hopefully reflecting and re- evaluating their behavior, but it was doubtful. Knowing them, they would be thinking of the next time they could light up a cigarette or whose party they were going to on Saturday, Britney's or Sarah's.
Suddenly something boiled deep inside of him. Anger, terrible anger. Rage, in fact. Still staring blankly, he stood up and simply walked out of his classroom leaving his students to question what to do then, and wonder if at that time they could ditch and go smoke a doobie behind the school. He walked up the stairs and managed to walk right out of the school without Harper or Guber to nitice. If he had been confronted then, he would have surely taken his rage out on them and not the person he wanted to. Ashley's father, Harold.
Stab, Stab, Stab.
If indeed I cared at all
Never had a voice to protest
So you fed me shit to digest..*
The headache. The HEADACHE.. was still there. Harry felt like pulling out his hair. This time, unlike the day before when he had felt the farmiliar pounding as he rolled over and sat up, he felt it's wrath even before his eyes had opened. It was as if the headache had been asleep with him and had been awoken by the shrieking of the alarm clock, and was then terribly angry.
"Son of a.." he mumbled in a sleepy voice and sat up. It was time to wake up for his Thursday of classes but how he just wanted to fall back down on his pillow. Even though he had slept for a solid 11-12 hours, he was somehow still dead tired. Along with the headache, he almost felt really dizzy. What a nice combination. Now he was liable to pass out at school by three things.
Marvelous.
He made sure the alarm clock would not start up again in 9 minutes and made his morning ritual to the washroom to take yet more pills. He couldn't even remember a time when he had a headache this painful and annoying for three straight days.
The light went on again and this time the light did not just burn his eyes, it fried his brain as well. Slightly longer it took for him to be able to handle the light, and he popped almost what seemed like a full handful of pills. He looked at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. He looked like shit. There was no other word to describe how horrible his face looked. The bruise on his cheek had darkened and now left a noticeable reddish-purple mark there under his tired, quite pathetic looking eyes. Looking into them just depressed him. He turned away from the mirror and went to start the shower. He was hoping that the October morning would be one of the mornings that he would get the hot water.
-
Harry walked into the faculty office and went straight to the lounge for a cup of coffee to wake him up a little more before the morning bell (that was due to ring at any minute) could summon him to his classroom. He stalked right up to the coffee maker to (of course) find maybe if he was lucky, a 1/3 of a cup, and probably old and cold but then. He wasn't going to make a big deal about it though. If he had been smart and really wanted that coffee, he would have stopped somewhere to get it, because he knew that everyday he went for a cup and everyday the pot was empty. You think he would have learned by now.
Before he could really do anything, Ronnie had magically appeared at his side.
"Hi Ronnie, what brings you to the empty coffee pot.." he asked sarcastically noticing the cup in her hand. She looked down at it and put it beside the maker.
"Harry I have to tell you something.." she said quietly.
"What, that there's no coffee left? I think if I would have sat here for another good 15 minutes, I think maybe - just maybe - I could have figured that out myself," he said dryly and poured the little bit that was left in a white coffee mug, just as if to make a statement.
"Harry, listen to me-" she put her hand on her hip trying not to be frustrated with him.
"Listen to you glug down that last cup of coffee? Mmm Mmm the best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup-" Harry really didn't give a fuck about the coffee. Really.
"Shut up and listen to me. Ashley's dead," Ronnie spat out probably not caring whether she sounded sensitive or not anymore.
Harry stopped in mid-sentence in shock. He looked down at the sucked dry coffee pot, his brow narrowed.
"She committed suicide last night.. Oh Harry, I'm so sorry.." Ronnie touched his arm. Harry was still absorbing the word 'dead'.
"Why should you be sorry? It's not like you drove her to that point or anything.." he looked at her and said as casually as he could. A knife stabbed through his heart on the inside.
"Hary! You did not make or help in any way with her suicide," Ronnie sharply said and held onto his arm.
"Fine," he said with a srious face, took his arm out of her grasp and walkd out of the lounge and office leaving the half full cup of coffee there next to the pot.
-
Dead. She was dead. The thoughts bounced off the sides of his head and they kept repeating like a broken record would. DeadDeadDeadDea- You killed her. A new sentence was added to the mix. He walked down to his classroom, but he was blind to everything. The people around him, the busy children's voices. It was all gone. He walked in silence. But by all means, he was not alone - his headache kept him plenty of company. And it proved no signs of leaving anytime soon. Pound, Pound, Pound. Feel that blood pulse through your veins. With each pound, Dead, Dead, Dead.
He reached the classroom and found the seats occupied already as he knew they would be. The bell had rung on his walk down. He was sure of it.
It hit him hard as he entered the classroom as Ashley's empty seat slammed more nails into his chest. A mix of pain and guilt.
Casual chatter continued throughout his students and it died down when he entered and sat down at his desk. He said nothing. He thought nothing.
Stab Stab Stab.
The class sat silent, watching him and sometimes looking at one another for an explanation to explain his silence and blank stare.
"Ashley Whitmore is dead," he said quietly, not moving his blank robot eyes off the legs of a desk he was unintentionally staring at. Staring *through* rather.
"Who?" he heard someone say in the silence very quietly as if not to be heard and Harry's eyes snapped up to his students at the word. He wasn't going to freak out. He had decided that already. But boy did he feel like it. Who.. He smirked to himself angrily. Who.
"She killed herself last night," he spoke once more, not changing his tone from the robot voice. His class didn't look directly at him and some squirmed uncomfortably in their seats now knowing what to say or if they should have said anything at all.
He wanted to yell. He wanted to scream. To scream that it was THEIR fault. If they would have gave her the time of day or..-But the fact was, it wasn't their fault. They were just kids. It was his fault. He was the adult. It was his damn fault and nobody could convince him otherwise. The class sat silent for several minutes, hopefully reflecting and re- evaluating their behavior, but it was doubtful. Knowing them, they would be thinking of the next time they could light up a cigarette or whose party they were going to on Saturday, Britney's or Sarah's.
Suddenly something boiled deep inside of him. Anger, terrible anger. Rage, in fact. Still staring blankly, he stood up and simply walked out of his classroom leaving his students to question what to do then, and wonder if at that time they could ditch and go smoke a doobie behind the school. He walked up the stairs and managed to walk right out of the school without Harper or Guber to nitice. If he had been confronted then, he would have surely taken his rage out on them and not the person he wanted to. Ashley's father, Harold.
Stab, Stab, Stab.