rachel's perspective
I want to die.
A few days ago a blond boy came up to me and offered for me to sit at his lunch table.
All of his gestures were amicable and warm.
He meant no harm to me like people usually would.
But as always I ruin things.
The beasts inside of my mind use their grim nails and claw at my existence. Monsters within my soul controlled me like a puppet master. My limbs, nerves, and thoughts were all tied to the strings of anxiety and discord. All of my life's hopes, aspirations, and desires wallowed away into the silhouettes of chaos.
My rational and irrational brain are always going to war. They shoot at each other with bullets enameled in dread. The dread of today, the fear of tomorrow, and the haunting of the past.
I always felt like I had an urgency. I never knew what urgency was. I frequently had to deal with a heart drumming out of pattern and blood bolting through my veins. Silence entangles around my throat like a boa constructor.
I often sat on a chair of scorching coals but I was too debilitated to react. I confuse the light of day and night. Every moment is like listening to a CD with an invisible scratch. The same song every single day and knowing that any minuscule detail can throw me off.
That is only a small summary of why I ruin things.
I ruin myself.
I can't breathe.
I can't speak.
I can't move.
I can't help it.
I have a dictionary of words masticating at the cells in my brain but my tongue always fails to release them. Just like how my mind is a cage, my mouth was one too. The most useful body parts are nothing but assets of disaster for me.
This is why being around Garfield killed me.
Why being around anyone kills me.
My body gives off the wrong message when my soul barely got a chance to send one.
Always.
That is the reason why I am sitting alone at my desk in front of the sky's dark smears.
Sitting with my leg vibrating hyper-speed and a perfectly white sheet of paper staring back at me.
"Rachel! What type of Progress Report is this!? And the mountain of dishes in the sink! My goodness, you are excellent at messing up a good day. I was perfectly fine until I walked through this door." My mother barked as she locked the apartment door.
Like I said.
I. Always. Ruin. Things.
The sound of the lock sent a flash of pressure through my spine.
Flick the front door lock back and forth eleven times before going to bed.
Progress Reports were like Report Cards but we got Progress Reports halfway through the semester. October was the time for Progress Reports.
"RACHEL!" my mother stormed down the hallway.
My skin unfurled when I sensed her foot cross into my room.
I sat with my face still facing the window.
"Did you not hear me calling you!?" my mother gave me a blow to my face.
The bone in my nose seemed to crack and the area heated up. A dense, scarlet stream of blood dribbled on my clothes.
The world separated in a blur and slowly glued back together.
"I- I did. I-"
"Why didn't you answer!?" my mother's spit splashed in my hair.
"I couldn't."
"Of course you couldn't. You can't do anything! Look at this damn report card, seventies everywhere, a fifty-eight in history, and a forty-nine in math! You mean to say I spend all this money in school for you to come out dumb!?" my mother struck me again.
Her hand laid a fiery pad of red on my cheek.
"You aren't even trying, are you!?"
Her words caused an earthquake inside of my stomach.
I leaned back up, slowly regaining my balance in the chair.
"All you can do is wash your hands every second of the day, click locks, waste the Lysol, and entertain an obsession over clean laundry. Goodness gracious, if I knew you were going to be so unproductive and useless... I wouldn't even bother." Mother's eyes flared with animosity.
My lip quivered and went back into a stiff and numb position.
"What's the problem?" my father slurred.
I forgot to mention, as nice as my father can be compared to my mother, he was an alcoholic.
Which often resulted in vulgar, heated outbursts.
My mother was also a smoke addict.
Every time she neared me not only did I suffocate from the oppression of my emotions, but her unpleasant smell as well.
"Rachel of course." Mother's stone-like eyes pierced my glassy ones.
I'm a problem.
Like in math.
Frustrating and annoying to deal with.
A problem.
Me.
I had yet to cry.
The skin my mother struck itched intensely.
I tried to mask trepidation with a firm expression but I was almost at my breaking point.
My left leg rumbled under the desk and my palms grew damp.
"What did she do now?" Father spat.
"Her Progress is revolting. We spend so much on her education. She's selfish for not even having any effort. Look, even her Chemistry teacher commented that her note taking skills are poor and that she has incomplete assignments. Ridiculous. If I could do something as a child to show I appreciated what my mother did for me, it would be to do well in school. Why do I try with her Tristan? I set the bar for her but she can't even reach it. Every year it gets worse and she knows that." my mother rambled with her pungent scent.
Father's bloodshot eyes glowered at me.
"I've given up on you Rachel." Mother crumpled the Report and flung it into my lap.
My parents murmured together as they left me alone.
Blood and water hit the wad of paper on my lap.
Drip.
Drop.
My body became a faucet.
Drop.
Drip.
Yes, I wanted to rush to the bathroom and clean myself up.
Within that frozen minute of hatred and despair I decided I liked the look of blood and water.
Especially when it came out of me.
Like I said: I want to die.
I forgot I was already dead.