Breathe

Today had been the first time I'd been to school in a week and a half. I hadn't slept at all last night, and so it seemed like the most logical thing to do; if I was going to be awake, I might as well. I hated the school system, and I hated the people I had to interact with, but if there was one thing that I regretted the most, it was isolating myself.

I no longer had any friends.

I didn't blame them, though. I turned into a bitch.

Fourth period had just ended, and as I sat in the cafeteria with my tray of food in front of me, I watched. It'd become one of my favorite things to do - watching people. A person could learn a lot from someone by observing how they acted in social situations.

Anthony caught my gaze. I hadn't realized that I'd been staring in the direction of my old friends until then. He had always been the one I felt closest to. Anthony had helped me when Dad left, and for a short time after my break up with Peter. After a while, though, I guess he just stopped trying.

I missed him.

Anthony broke the stare, shyly looking down at his tray. I sighed, and jabbed my spork into what the lunch ladies called "green beans." I'd never been much of an eater, so it wasn't surprising when I threw almost my whole lunch into the trash.

Making my way up the stairs that lead to the locker area, I heard a familiar voice call after me. "Sarah."

I stopped. I'd almost forgotten what his voice sounded like. "What?" My back was still to him. I couldn't bear to turn around.

"I - um - I wanted..."

"It's not worth it," I interrupted him softly, gathering enough courage to turn around.

Anthony frowned. His dark brown hair covered his soft, dull blue eyes. He opened and closed his mouth, trying to think of something to say. I shook my head, and sighed.

"I'm really sorry, Sarah."

"I'm sure you are. It doesn't make a difference. I'm moving, anyway."

His face fell, and a soft sigh escaped his lips. "What?"

"My mom is sending me to live with my dad. But does it really matter to you, Anthony? I mean after all -"

"Shut up, Sarah. You have to understand that there was nothing that I could do that would've made you happy. I tried everything."

I licked my lips, and pressed them together. "I don't even know why we're having this discussion right now," I whispered. "You haven't spoken to me since last year, Anthony. Best friends forever, right?" The sarcasm in my voice was oozing.

"Don't," he warned, but I ignored him and walked away. The bell rang, and the entire student body filled the hallway, making their way to the lockers. I saw no point in staying, so I headed straight for the exit. Education held no importance to me. I saw no point in sitting in uncomfortable desks for eight hours a day while filling out worksheets over material that the professors didn't teach the students.

*

"She hates the idea, Tim. Do you think it'll work?" was the first thing I heard when I walked through the back door. Mom had grown used to my skipping, so I didn't bother trying to hide from her. "Oh, she's home."

"I won't talk to him," I responded, walking by her. "I don't care what either one of you has to say to me."

"Sarah, be reasonable."

"I will be whatever the hell I feel like being. If I want to throw a fucking temper tantrum, then I will!"

What the hell had gotten into me?

"Sarah Christian Nicole! Language!"

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, Mom? I'm seventeen. You can't expect my language to be clean, especially since you turned against me - no, you gave up on me."

"Tim, I'm going to have to go. I'll call you later," she said into the receiver. Placing it on it's cradel, she crossed her arms and looked at me. "First of all, young lady, do not question my decisions. It wasn't an easy one to make, and I discussed it with your father, who also thinks it is the best for you. Second, you are not allowed to speak to me in that tone of voice. I am your mother -"

"Hardly."

"-and I will not tolerate such behavior. Go to your room. I want all of your things packed by tomorrow afternoon."

"Fine, I will. Don't expect me to do it quietly, though." I stomped up the stairs, feeling quite like I was seven years old again, and slammed my bedroom door shut. Mom had already started to pack my things, and the boxes had been placed atop of each other in front of my closet door. My walls had been stripped bare of the posters and pictures I had hung. This didn't look like my bedroom.

It was happening again. I started to hyperventilate. My head was in an uncontrollable rush of thoughts that had nothing to do with anything and I couldn't see straight. I fell onto the floor, and curled into the fetal position, my eyes shut tightly.

I hadn't had a panic attack in almost six months. I'd started to think they'd gone away. Six months ago, almost anything would've set one off. It was one of the most terrifying things I'd ever felt and if Peter had not have left, maybe I'd be somewhere else right now. Maybe, I'd still have friends, and everything would be normal again.

Maybe.

This is all Peter's fault. If it hadn't been for him, I'd still be the person I was. I'd still have something to look forward to in my day.

Fuck him.

I sat up slowly, realizing that my breathing had slowed. I still felt like shit, but for now, I'd have to get over it.

I had some packing to do.