A/N: To respond to that Goth-chick-esque-type-wonderful-reviewer (Ahem,
Goth-girl2), no, Heather Sinclair has never actually appeared on the show,
hence the mystery and freedom I own with this story.
I try, and fail, to vomit up the last few days as I lie on the washroom floor. It's sixth period but I have no intention of going to class because it is so nice here, among the toilet paper and tampons. I forgot, I haven't eaten today, but still a bitter taste remains from something I've been chewing for the last, oh, I don't know, lifetime?
A curtain of hair covers my face and as I brush it away I think of how annoying it truly is, being female. Hair and face, eyes and lips, open mouths like a fly trap. Like men are flies and we are just leading them into death. They are called Venus Flytraps for a reason, after all. I dare to exit my stall, walls hugging me in, to look at the mirror. There is a soft streak of unblended foundation on my jaw, and I realize now that I have been masking my face for two years now. When people look at me, what they look at is Maybelline. Neutrogena. A girl in the magazines. They see long hair, blemish-less skin; plump, kissable lips. A wish; a death wish. I cannot reach for the paper towels faster.
Covered with soap and water, the rough paper turns my natural skin a rosy shade, the color it turns when someone looks at me. Without cover-up, I see the adolescent skin. Soft pink craters, freckles that formed sometime when I wasn't looking. My lips are chapped, the color of a dusty, dried, and dead rose. My bruised, sleepless eyes are foreign in the light; the same eyes I despise at night, that I cover during the day. Make-up-less, I am ugly. And here, in the girls' washroom, with no shield between reality and my skin, I'm no longer worried.
As I dry my skin and tearless eyes, my hair falls and rests in the sink like a snake, waiting to strike me. That is when I make an executive decision, reach in my bag, and strike the snake, letting it fall dead in the washroom sink. Now, as I look in the mirror, one third of my hair comes to my chin. Before I can say, 'Oops', the rest matches, uneven and amateur. The locks in the sink are like soldiers in a lost battle, motionless and bleeding.
The bells rings and it hits me that I have no fucking clue what I have done. Hastily, I shove my hair into my bag and leave. I nearly knock Manny Santos over as she walks in, but I'm moving too quickly to feel anything. Faster than the speed of touch. I'm leaving a trail of strands behind me, like Gretel. My name is Gretel, not Heather. Don't look at me.
I burst through the doors of Degrassi Community School before I can begin to comprehend the protests. I'm moving, moving, moving, but I can't move fast enough for myself. My feet are running ahead of me, willing me to trip, but I will not let the snakes I leave behind catch me. Finally, I give up and just drop my bag, leaving behind everything I've tried so hard for. I don't think of the contents specifically, because even thoughts are slowing me down now; I've just got to keep moving, moving, moving. I settle on Incredible, a light thought. Incredible. Incredible, Incredible. Incredible.
Incredible takes me to the park until I reach a picnic table and collapse. The trees create lace in the sky, like the veins in a human arm. I trace my own veins but all I can really think of is how Paige's head sometimes looks like a heart because her face keeps appearing in the branches. I'm sorry, Paige. I cannot help that I'm stupid and he's stupid and we're a pair. I cannot help that you get everything and this is the one thing I want. Just someone.
and had the snakes not come off, maybe I could have gotten it.
I try, and fail, to vomit up the last few days as I lie on the washroom floor. It's sixth period but I have no intention of going to class because it is so nice here, among the toilet paper and tampons. I forgot, I haven't eaten today, but still a bitter taste remains from something I've been chewing for the last, oh, I don't know, lifetime?
A curtain of hair covers my face and as I brush it away I think of how annoying it truly is, being female. Hair and face, eyes and lips, open mouths like a fly trap. Like men are flies and we are just leading them into death. They are called Venus Flytraps for a reason, after all. I dare to exit my stall, walls hugging me in, to look at the mirror. There is a soft streak of unblended foundation on my jaw, and I realize now that I have been masking my face for two years now. When people look at me, what they look at is Maybelline. Neutrogena. A girl in the magazines. They see long hair, blemish-less skin; plump, kissable lips. A wish; a death wish. I cannot reach for the paper towels faster.
Covered with soap and water, the rough paper turns my natural skin a rosy shade, the color it turns when someone looks at me. Without cover-up, I see the adolescent skin. Soft pink craters, freckles that formed sometime when I wasn't looking. My lips are chapped, the color of a dusty, dried, and dead rose. My bruised, sleepless eyes are foreign in the light; the same eyes I despise at night, that I cover during the day. Make-up-less, I am ugly. And here, in the girls' washroom, with no shield between reality and my skin, I'm no longer worried.
As I dry my skin and tearless eyes, my hair falls and rests in the sink like a snake, waiting to strike me. That is when I make an executive decision, reach in my bag, and strike the snake, letting it fall dead in the washroom sink. Now, as I look in the mirror, one third of my hair comes to my chin. Before I can say, 'Oops', the rest matches, uneven and amateur. The locks in the sink are like soldiers in a lost battle, motionless and bleeding.
The bells rings and it hits me that I have no fucking clue what I have done. Hastily, I shove my hair into my bag and leave. I nearly knock Manny Santos over as she walks in, but I'm moving too quickly to feel anything. Faster than the speed of touch. I'm leaving a trail of strands behind me, like Gretel. My name is Gretel, not Heather. Don't look at me.
I burst through the doors of Degrassi Community School before I can begin to comprehend the protests. I'm moving, moving, moving, but I can't move fast enough for myself. My feet are running ahead of me, willing me to trip, but I will not let the snakes I leave behind catch me. Finally, I give up and just drop my bag, leaving behind everything I've tried so hard for. I don't think of the contents specifically, because even thoughts are slowing me down now; I've just got to keep moving, moving, moving. I settle on Incredible, a light thought. Incredible. Incredible, Incredible. Incredible.
Incredible takes me to the park until I reach a picnic table and collapse. The trees create lace in the sky, like the veins in a human arm. I trace my own veins but all I can really think of is how Paige's head sometimes looks like a heart because her face keeps appearing in the branches. I'm sorry, Paige. I cannot help that I'm stupid and he's stupid and we're a pair. I cannot help that you get everything and this is the one thing I want. Just someone.
and had the snakes not come off, maybe I could have gotten it.