Status: Finished...
My Friend Jane
One
I walked in on the most horrible sight of my life after I asked Ms. Jones to use the bathroom. As my hands stick to the sweaty, sticky walls I see my best friend, Jane, cuddled up in a ball on the floor.
“Janie?” I asked her, moving a step closer.
She picked her head up. Black tears ran down her face. She had never cried hard enough for her mascara to run before. Her long brown hair was tossed and tangled in every direction.
Her blue eyes were wide open and her skin was looking so pale. She hadn’t looked the same after her brother, Blake, hung himself last year. She was the one to find him so I guess it really hit her hard.
Since then she’d just been getting so much skinnier, it’s like she’s not eating or something. Her black jeans were ripped from the long endless summer nights that she spent at his grave. She would literally sleep there, right next to the stone.
I was the one who would find her every night and bring her back to my place. For the longest time she would just do nothing. She was a zombie. A tall, beautiful, confident zombie.
She looked at me. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.” She mumbled.
“What do you-“
That’s when I got a good look at her. In her right hand there was a sharp thing, a pocketknife maybe. On her left wrist there were rows and rows of red slits.
I could feel my body getting cold and freezing up. My eyes were locked on the…blood. It dripped, rich and red, down her flesh to the tiled floor.
She broke the silence. “You can’t tell.”
Anger boiled in me. “Why not? You need help. Th-that’s not normal! You shouldn’t be…” My hands pulled on the roots of my head of hair. How could she?
She covered the pocketknife, putting it in her hoodie pocket. She got up slowly and went to the last sink. She turned on the cold water. She winced as it sank into the scars.
I was both scared and breathless at the sight of this. She was so strong but look under her sleeves and you’d find a different story. The water was pounding in my ears.
She left it running, her face was hard. Her hands wiped against her jeans and she walked over to me. Her hands touched my shoulders.
“Please don’t.”
The lunch bell rang. Peoples’ voices flooded the halls. “Can you go to lunch with me?”
“No.”
“Why? Don’t tell me you’re anorexic too?” I spat at her.
She looked down. Her tone went from scared and helpless to bitchy. “I thought you’d be there for me? Where were you when Blake left?”
“How dare you!” I walked closer to her. “It wasn’t my fault he was lost and confused. He hung himself I most certainly didn’t just hand him that noose. And I was so there for you I helped you. Why do you think that knife is better than talking to me?” I was pleading for answers.
She released her grip on me and walked past me out of the bathroom.
My eyes were stuck on the small amount of her blood that still remained on the floor. The water was the only sound I could hear.
“Janie?” I asked her, moving a step closer.
She picked her head up. Black tears ran down her face. She had never cried hard enough for her mascara to run before. Her long brown hair was tossed and tangled in every direction.
Her blue eyes were wide open and her skin was looking so pale. She hadn’t looked the same after her brother, Blake, hung himself last year. She was the one to find him so I guess it really hit her hard.
Since then she’d just been getting so much skinnier, it’s like she’s not eating or something. Her black jeans were ripped from the long endless summer nights that she spent at his grave. She would literally sleep there, right next to the stone.
I was the one who would find her every night and bring her back to my place. For the longest time she would just do nothing. She was a zombie. A tall, beautiful, confident zombie.
She looked at me. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.” She mumbled.
“What do you-“
That’s when I got a good look at her. In her right hand there was a sharp thing, a pocketknife maybe. On her left wrist there were rows and rows of red slits.
I could feel my body getting cold and freezing up. My eyes were locked on the…blood. It dripped, rich and red, down her flesh to the tiled floor.
She broke the silence. “You can’t tell.”
Anger boiled in me. “Why not? You need help. Th-that’s not normal! You shouldn’t be…” My hands pulled on the roots of my head of hair. How could she?
She covered the pocketknife, putting it in her hoodie pocket. She got up slowly and went to the last sink. She turned on the cold water. She winced as it sank into the scars.
I was both scared and breathless at the sight of this. She was so strong but look under her sleeves and you’d find a different story. The water was pounding in my ears.
She left it running, her face was hard. Her hands wiped against her jeans and she walked over to me. Her hands touched my shoulders.
“Please don’t.”
The lunch bell rang. Peoples’ voices flooded the halls. “Can you go to lunch with me?”
“No.”
“Why? Don’t tell me you’re anorexic too?” I spat at her.
She looked down. Her tone went from scared and helpless to bitchy. “I thought you’d be there for me? Where were you when Blake left?”
“How dare you!” I walked closer to her. “It wasn’t my fault he was lost and confused. He hung himself I most certainly didn’t just hand him that noose. And I was so there for you I helped you. Why do you think that knife is better than talking to me?” I was pleading for answers.
She released her grip on me and walked past me out of the bathroom.
My eyes were stuck on the small amount of her blood that still remained on the floor. The water was the only sound I could hear.