"How are you feeling" my mom asked me when she finally arrived at the hospital to sign my release papers.
"Fine," I told her. I didn't want to get into it. I had already been questioned by the police about my attack. I evaded their questions with lies, and I didn't think I had it in me to keep up the lies to my mother. But I didn't have much to worry about. Either she realized I didn't want to talk (Ha! Fat chance!) or she just didn't care enough to get into it. She signed my release papers, and took me home. I didn't even say anything to Manny, who I can only assume was still in the waiting room. I didn't really know what to say to her, and I knew I didn't deserve her sympathy.
Whether I liked it or not, Spinner's words kept replaying in my mind. I know what he said was true; half the school believed I wanted what I got. And I'd never be able to convince them otherwise. I can't even convince myself. I didn't fight back and I didn't ever ask anyone for help. Anyone who went through what I did would have stopped it, wouldn't they? But I let it go on and on and on. Manny didn't deserve to be in any way connected to someone like me. Her reputation already wasn't good, and I didn't want to make it any worse. She was a wonderful girl who didn't deserve the stigma of being friends with me.
Even my mother knows there is a stigma attached to a son who was molested. I can see it in her eyes every time she looks at me. She is so ashamed of me. What kind of man am I that I could sit back and let this happen? I am a constant reminder to her of the only son she didn't raise right. She doesn't want to be attached to someone like me.
I don't know who to turn to. I'll admit, while I was sitting in that hospital bed, I thought about killing myself. But somehow I think that my life should turn out to be more than that. Maybe my life's journey isn't over yet. There's actually a culture in India which believes you have one purpose in life, and no matter how small it seems, if you don't complete it, you throw everything off. This belief says that your purpose could simply be to move a book from one table to another, but that it is an important action that must be completed. Maybe I haven't moved my book yet.
But I know I'm not going to be able to do it here. I can't walk down the halls of Degrassi anymore. I can't look into sympathetic faces who will never understand what I'm feeling, and I can't look into the faces of those who are judging me.
So I'm leaving, and going to the US. I'm going to live in Wisconsin. It's a nice quite state where no one will bother me. I'll get a job, and try to make some sort of living. In two years, when I turn 18, I'll get my GED, and maybe try to go to a community college, if I can save up enough. I have enough in savings to get me started at least.
I'll leave a note so they know I'm a runaway. If they thought I as kidnapped, they would make more of an effort to find me, but this way I'll register lower on their list of important things to take care of. The police never really cared anyway.
I really think I can make it work. Even if I can't, I'll never come back here. As hard as it is to leave Degrassi for somewhere completely foreign, it's harder to stay. I'll leave this old live behind, and I'll be whoever I want to be. I'll even change my name. I never liked James Tiberius Yorke much anyways. Maybe I'll be Steven or Thomas. Anything but JT.
I'll never be JT again.