When It Hurts

Part Six

Mike and I walk slowly back up to the school without speaking. My mind is on fire from thinking too much.

"It'll be okay, Billie." Mike says. "We'll go to the Archer's class and count how many times he accidentally curses and you'll forget."

I nod, but I don't believe him.

Talking to Mike made me forget a little, or feel better at least. It's turning into a dream. Or a nightmare rather.

Before we got into the school, I touch Mike's arm. "Thanks."

He nods and we walk in through the double doors, going up to our lockers and grabbing books before walking into American History class. Half the people are staring at us. They know what happened in the hallway, that I started crying and Mike took me outside.

But I can't care at the moment.

There's too much other shit to worry about.

Fuck. What if I got AIDS or something?



Part Sven

I draw on my desk. Then I stab the pen into my wrist. Or at my wrist rather. I don't cut it or draw blood or anything.

Mike kicks me under my desk when he sees me do it again. "Knock it the fuck off." he hisses.

I go back to scribbling dark heavy words on my desk. I don't even notice Mr. Archer coming down the aisle, even though I feel Mike kicking me again. I look up when my desk is covered by a shadow, eyes widening and hand moving to cover my calligraphy.

Mr. Archer says nothing, just walks back up the front of the classroom.

* * *

"Billie, come up here for a moment." he says when the bell rings.

"I'll wait for you." Mike says in an undertone as he leaves the room.

Tentatively I walk up to the teacher's desk. I'm expecting detention, not a piece of paper. "I think you should go to the counselor's office." Archer says, holding out the pass.

I shake my head. "No."

"I'm not asking, Billie. I'm telling you."

"I'm telling you no."

"This is not negotiable."

"Fuck you."

I storm out of the room, Mike following quickly behind me.

"Billie? Billie, what's wrong?"



Part Eight

"I hate him." I say. "Stupid fucker tried to send me to the counselor's office. Like I could tell that stupid bitch what's fucking wrong anyway."

"Billie, you were writing freak, slut, and faggot on your desk. What did you expect him to do?" Mike asks.

"Fine!" I snap. "Take his side. Some friend you are."

Mike grabs my arm, angry. "Knock it off, Billie Joe. Look, I'm sorry about what happened but you can't do this."

"I'm going to." I say. "You can't fucking stop me."

"You're stupid then." Mike says.

"Stop it." I plead. "Stop being so mean. I can't take it right now, Mike. I just can't." I turn and walk down the hallway before he can say another word.

I hate this. My life is pure shit.

I just want to crawl in a hole and die.



Part Nine

I lock myself in a bathroom stall. I unlace my shoe and pull the string out, tying it tight around my wrist. It takes awhile but the flesh finally starts to turn purple.

I unlace it shortly after. I really don't want to have to cut my hand off.

I can feel my heartbeat in my wrist. Which makes sense considering my heart isn't where it's supposed to be anymore. And it's kind of disappearing.

I just sort of walk through the hallways, not wanting to go to class late and feel their eyes on me. I dodge teachers and the principal twice. I find a permanent marker on the floor and use it write various curse words on random lockers.

I want Mike to still love me even though I'm a slut.

I've had a crush on Mike for awhile now.

I have no idea why I went down on that guy.

I think I'm going to be branded forever.

The bell rings and the hallway floods with people instantly. I feel a tap on the shoulder and turn around to see Mike. "I'm sorry." he says simply.

I nod.

Then we walk to class.



Part Ten

It was two years late and we were walking to school, smoking cigarettes. "Mom was ragging on me all morning." I tell Mike. "She's gonna make me go see a shrink.

He's quiet and I know he's secretly thinking that I need to go. "That sucks." he mumbles, dropping his cigarette end and stepping on it.

"Yeah."

I hurt still. Even though it's been two years. I know it's not normal. I know the cuts and the puking and the drugs are bad, but I can't make myself care. I want it all to become a memory. I want to become a memory.

Fade away into nothingness.

I sputter suddenly, having just taken a drag on nothing but my cigarette filter. Mike reaches out and hits me between the shoulder blades and I wince involuntarily. Thankfully he doesn't notice.

Lately I've gotten worse. Not wanting physical contact from anyone. Ever since I saw him for those five seconds at the club. I didn't tell Mike. I'm scared to. I don't talk about it constantly or anything, but he knows. It's in little things I say and do. Like forcing laughter when our friends talk about sex and suddenly having tears sliding down my face.

Almost like it's a dream Mike suddenly brushes his lips against my cheek.

It burns. I feel like I've contaminated him and at the same time I want him to do it again.

We walk up to the school in silence. I look at Mike out of the corner of my eye. He's staring straight ahead.

I wonder what he's thinking.

He catches my eye and sighs. And I know this won't be something we'll talk about. I'm a memory. But I don't want to be Mike's memory. I want to be a memory ... to me.

We walk into the school, barely making it to class as the bell rings. Miss Taylor, the volleyball coach, teaches this class. She has a bad habit of looking at me and Mike and making this face. She doesn't like us, but she doesn't like me more.

It's English and when she asks us to turn in a writing assignment I pepper it with curses and make people die in explosions and kill themselves. But she hates me so there's no fear of her getting concerned and sending me to the guidance counselor.

Today's not much of an exception.

If you won't burn
Just disappear
I won't miss you
As long as you're here

And fuck what you said
When I lay there in your bed
Feeling your kiss burn on my cheek
And your hate inside of me