P.S. I Hate You

Benji. My head perks a little. He can’t see this. I don’t want him to see this… I try to stand and realize it hurts to put pain on my arms and try to stand like that. I manage, though feeling a little woozy. But I have to push that aside for more important matters.

Okay, what first? Mess or myself. I finally just wipe off some of the blood that keeps dripping off my arms, and then I grab towels and sponges and everything to clean up this mess, along with a broom for broken glass. It takes me a long time, at least forty minutes, and I still haven’t gotten to the polishing stuff… I groan and clean up that stuff. At least the blood from the cuts on my arm is dry now.

And it’s done. I glance around. It’s enough. He’d never guess a thing.

I hurry upstairs and take a shower but it ends early, finding it killsmy arms. I hurry out, drying myself and I start to bleed again. This can get really tiring… I try to ignore it as I fumble with some old sweats and a t-shirt. I find the first aid kit and wrap up my arms, the wrists to the elbows where all the damage is. Though I do add a band-aid on two fingers.

“Kiley?” Benji’s back and downstairs.

I pause in the hallway. If he sees my bandaged arms… I hurry into my room, putting on a maroon long-sleeved shirt and fingerless gloves. “Yeah?” I bounce down some steps, ignoring some small stinging pain. “Did you have fun?” I pull on a smile… sort of.

He thinks a minute and nods. “But I’m tired,” he adds.

“Well then, we better get you to bed, little man,” I wink and jerk my head up. “Come on up and lets get you in and warm.”

He changes and it works okay; he never asks me about the long-sleeves and gloves. Maybe cause I actually do weird stuff like that now and then. I fumble into bed slowly, my arms killing me. I wonder if they could get infected? I think about asking the nurse… okay, bad idea.

I don’t sleep very good and wake up feeling like I got no sleep. I fumble around clumsily all morning, ignoring a groggy Gerald who’s eyes linger on me and he almost asks me something, but stops. I still ignore him. I wear more long sleeves and more fingerless gloves. Still no questions as I walk Benji to school and hurry to my classes.

But half way through school, something’s up. People point and stare and talk. Well, more than usual, anyways, you know? I try to ignore it but it starts to get on my nerves through the middle of the day and then… P.E.

I still wear the long sleeves and gloves to class. “Miss Shiloh, I’m afraid you’ll have to take them off.”

“Mr. Coach,” I use the same tone, “I’m afraid I refuse to.”

In which precedes a long argument where I have to keep avoiding the question: why are you suddenly wearing long sleeves? What about the chilly weather? I mean, really, aren’t I allowed privacy? Then he demands me to pull my sleeves up.

Which is crazy. So I refuse to.

And what does he do? He sends me to the principle’s office.What a jerk.

Principle tries to sweet talk me. How sick. “It’s just to make sure you’re being taken care of, that you’re okay,” he presses. “If you’re refusing to just do this, it must mean you’re hiding something, understand? And we’re here for you, always.”

I just might puke.

And then I almost puke again when he talks a little as if he knows how it is, that I might be depressed or something. I don’t know. I just… completely zone out. “Fine,” I snap suddenly when he just starts staring at me. “You want to know? Cause I don’t want people staring at this!” And I pull up a sleeve to reveal a bandage. “Can I go now?” I ask impatiently.

Of course not. He immediately sends me to a nurse. With a counselor on her way. Ew.

I now really hate counselors. She sweet talks even more than the principle- and that’s saying something. “We’re just worried about you, don’t you understand? I’m here to help, and I’ll listen to anything you want to say. I’m always open and around.”

And getting paid for it…

I grunt, crossing my newly bandaged arms. They stung but I didn’t tell anyone- they’d put rubbing alcohol on it or something, to stop infections. I couldn’t decide if it was worth it, putting that stuff on… cause it hurt like heck.

And now the counselor. She disgusts me already. “It worried me when I heard your classmates saying you’ve high chances on being suicidal. But I want you to know that death is never the answer.” She pauses.

“What was the question?” I ask. She frowns, confused. “Death is never the answer,” I mock. “Well what was the question?”

“Oh, uh,” she looks confused for a minute. “Well, how to um, deal with life.”

Duh.

I roll my eyes. Whatever. Then she starts on about suicide when I suddenly recall… “Who said I’m suicidal?” I cut in suddenly. She looks at me blankly. “You know- who said I might actually cut myself?”

“A friend of yours,” she says slowly, thinking. “Mr. Williams. Caleb Williams,” she recalls.

A friend? I nearly laugh. And then realizing what about him… where’s a rope? I’m ready to strangle him over and over for this misery. He’s spreading rumors about me! I mean, I’m used to it- but it used to be innocent, like that I picked my nose, but this? I narrow my eyes at the floor. He’s dead meat. He’s road kill, now.

Death is his only answer, that’s for sure. Eeeevil.

I concentrate on this the entire day but I don’t see him again. What a scumbagging loser, refusing to face me. This mood sticks with me the whole way home. When Benji asks if he can go over to Devin’s, I snap an angry reply and he runs to his room, refusing to speak to me.

Oops.

I groan, rubbing my forehead and going to the backyard to lie on the grass, stare at the sky, and think. “So stupid!” I groan. “I am so messed up, I hate this,” I mutter to myself and sigh. I just sit there, listening to the silence all around me, hearing all the little things that people don’t take time to hear.

I just lie there and doze a little. Booooring… I wait a while and then go inside. The front door bell rings and I go over to see Devin. I sigh. “In his room. Shoo.” I mutter and let him through. He sends me a curious look but still goes off.