I lay for a minute on the familiar grey of my bedroom carpet, getting my bearings. I had been robbed of my carefully planned destiny! I had been in a wonderful, foggy grey world inhabited by beautiful, kind beings, and my pain had been gone, so why was I not there now?
The answer came when I looked up, my suddenly watery green eyes meeting the concerned brown ones of my best friend, Tiana. She stood above me in pyjama pants and a hoodie bearing a sad face print, raspberry hair falling into her face, silent. In one hand was at least half of my school tie; in the other was the pair of sewing sheers she habitually carried in the belly of her rabbit-shaped backpack. Shit.
"Shit," I mumbled, out loud this time, dragging one black sleeve across my eyes. I rolled over and curled up, facing the window instead of Tiana. She sat down cross legged at my head, one red and black checked sock resting inches from my nose. I heard the zipper on her bag open, her fidget to put away the scissors, and then silence. I was in no mood to break it.
"I didn't know it was that bad," she said eventually. I didn't reply.
"I can understand a little. It's almost a death sentence living here. So bloody boring, but you've got to try, right?"
That pissed me off, and I rolled over to sit up, facing her. "No, Tiana," I spat, "you don't understand, because your life is fucking perfect. You're smart, beautiful, funny, popular, and – and whatever! You're so bloody confident. You like your life, so don't pretend." There was hurt in her eyes now, and her pink lips had parted slightly in surprise. I felt my anger being extinguished already, and hated myself for it. She didn't even understand about Para-Saint, so how could she know why I wanted to die? I looked down.
"I'm just sick of everything," I said softly. "I'm sick of being unhappy for no good reason. I'm sick of being told to suck it up, and the looks in peoples' eyes when I wear a lot of black or straighten my bangs in front of my eyes, or – or forget to wear enough bracelets." My right hand moved automatically to cover the exposed cuts and scars on my left wrist, my thumb tracing the outline. "I'm sick of being the only one nobody ever loves. I'm ugly and fat and uninteresting, and I'm going to be stuck here forever."
Even to me, my voice sounded dull, as though I were reciting a script merely to prove I had it memorized. I expected the usual pantomime: she would call me thin, pretty, and say that it was only a matter of time until someone realized how desirable I was, and I would try to believe it for a few hours or days. Perhaps she, too, expected it, for she said nothing of the kind.
"We could get away," she whispered, almost like a question. It was something too wonderful to be voiced aloud. "We could quit school, pack up, and go. Do it really old school," she paused, and when she spoke again, her voice was stronger. "We could leave today."
"We'd be caught. Or," I added, forestalling her objection, "We'd be drawn into some weird circle of hookers and end up in jail, or dead. We're sixteen!"
"We can legally move out, if we have a reason," she reminded me.
"Yeah, a reason, like what?" I sounded bitchy, scornful, but I didn't care. She had stopped me doing what I wanted to do. She couldn't then go making me run away with her. Still, it was a nice dream, and one that I had often contemplated.
"I googled it," she said flatly, thrusting a folded paper towards me. I recognized it as a piece of old fashioned paper, made of trees, and not Patic, the reusable plastic paper that had been mainstream for nearly thirty years. I raised an eyebrow, meeting her eyes with a silent question.
Tiana huffed slightly. "This sort of paper breaks down easily. You can basically soak it in water and it falls apart. Patic's practically bulletproof. Just read it!"
Slightly impressed by her level of preparation, although I'd never admit it, I slid a finger under the top fold of paper and opened it. She had printed out a comprehensive enough list, and I scanned it, calling out items that caught my eye.
"The youth (any person from 14 to 20 years old) has acquired a job which requires him/her to live elsewhere. No, that would take too long. Um…The legal guardians are mentally or physically unstable?"
Tiana snorted. "My mom does pilates with the deputy chief of the Youth Control Force. He knows she's fit and sane." She scrambled around to read the list over my shoulder. "What about this one? They couldn't prove it."
"The youth is in any way abused by the legal guardians," I read aloud. I felt my cheeks color. "Tiana, I couldn't say that! I just couldn't!" She looked a little put out. I had already read to the bottom of the list. I folded it swiftly into an airplane, and used it to bean the painted face of Annie Stills, the female guitarist of Para-Saint. She continued to look placidly out from my wall. She had always been my least favorite band member. It was mainly because of her side project, Celeste Behind The Bus, which was beloved by hipsters everywhere, but, if I was being honest with myself, I was also just extremely jealous of her. Why should she get to be beautiful, talent, happy, and successful? If what I'd heard was true, she wasn't even very kind. I couldn't even get a boyfriend. It wasn't fair! I propped my head on my fists, watching Tiana retrieve her precious list, and iron the wrinkles out with the side of her hand.
"I haven't said I'll go, you know," I reminded her.
"Why not? I know you're as sick of this town as I am." She sounded so grounded, so confident, that I had no choice but to speak my mind in response.
"Because, if you hadn't noticed, it's not just this town I'm sick of! I'm sick of this whole bloody life! I want out! I want to be dead!" I spat. I was surprised at the venom in my voice, but I didn't want to stop. What right did she have to stop me ending my life with some crazy idea to run away? "I wouldn't expect you to understand, of course. You're beautiful, thin, smart, you play guitar, you get asked out all the fucking time, and…and…" having run out of criticisms, I simply glared, picking again at my most recent cutting scars. My armor is the blood I've lost, I'll be numb at any cost. I traced the last three words from the chorus of Armor by Para-Saint into my carpet, waiting for a response.
She turned her face away, and I could see her looking down through her curtain of deep pink hair. "You don't need to die. I'd –" she mumbled something indiscernible.
"What?"
"I'd miss you. You're the only one who knows how it feels to not be okay in this perfect, plastic, over-medicated world. You matter." She brushed a rebellious piece of raspberry behind her ear, clearly embarrassed. Silently, I slid forward onto my stomach and took her hand. I looked up, into those hazel eyes that, I suddenly saw, were so terrified of judgment.
"I'll go." A tear that had been hanging at the edge of her Tiana's eye rolled out, and she scowled, scrubbing it away with one long sleeve of her sweater. She hated showing weakness, and I had a sudden, perverse desire to smile at her involuntary display. I loved when others showed imperfection. They all seemed so perfect to me.
"So what's the catch?" she inquired, half joking. It gave me an idea, and I spoke impulsively.
"No catch. I even know what your excuse will be to get past the YCF. Close your eyes."
Tiana looked out at me briefly through her eyelashes before she closed her eyes, only the silver-painted lids and thick mascara still showing. I barely had to steel myself before I sat up and delivered her a quick punch in the face, as hard as I could. When she opened her eyes, sputtering and horrified, I didn't even look up from rubbing my knuckles to say "abusive family. According to your list, it's the number one accepted reason for youth moving out. You have a foolproof excuse."
I couldn't help wondering if she hated me, but only for a second. I was beyond caring, because all I wanted to do was die. As far as I was concerned, anything that went wrong in my life would be a pittance that could not make things worse, or me less happy. That was why I hadn't bothered with an excuse for myself. If the Youth Control Force wanted to drag me back to my parents, I would hang myself again, but properly. As for my decision to run away at all, the most important reason to me then was to keep my parents from finding the mangled remains of my school tie.