Beautiful Tragedy

I hate it. I hate it all. I hate oranges, I hate October, I hate Raisenets, I hate roses, I hate romantic comedies, I hate roller blading, I hate corny jokes, I hate sensual moments, I hate blue eyes, I hate opera music, I hate rock music, I hate musicals, I hate acting, I hate it all. Everything and anything that reminds me of him, the one person I could trust, the one person I could depend on.

Gone.

So sudden, so unexpected, my head whips around the idea of seeing it coming. Nobody could have predicted what had happened, nobody could have prevented it, nobody could have saved him.

Stuck.

I couldn't move, couldn't look away, no matter how much I wanted to escape the sight of him staring blankly, the look of no emotion on his face.

Panic.

I had to get out, I had to get away. Help, I needed help. Screaming and squirming until suddenly, I was free. The ground rushed to meet my face painfully and a sheering pain shot through my wrist and elbow. I ignored it, ignored the blood, ignored it all and attempted to crawl out.

Crack.

The car snapped and fell in on itself, catching me halfway through the crushed windshield. I screamed bloody murder at the weight and the agony, struggling for freedom until the pain was so intense, I blacked out.

Darkness.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I shot up in bed, cold sweat dripping down my spine, causing shivers to rock my body. For a moment I stared out into the dark room, confused as to where I was, until I realized it had only been a dream. I ran a hand through my hair, tugging at it as tears brimmed my eyes. The memory was too vivid, too real.

I glanced at my nightstand, seeing how early it was in the morning and flopping back down with a heavy sigh. Turning again, I reached over to gently caress the picture frame with him inside; his gorgeous smile and arm around my shoulders. In the picture, I had been blushing and smiling, happy as could be, but now I knew I would never be that happy again. That pink shade would never be in my cheeks, the corners of my mouth would never curve up like that ever again. He had been my light and he was gone, leaving me in the darkness.

I attempted to fall asleep again, but no matter how hard I tried, the image of that day stuck inside my mind. I sighed again, yanking the blankets off and trudging into the bathroom for a shower. Once I was ready for school, I headed downstairs and ate a bowl of cereal, curling up on the couch to try to rest for however long I could.

My mom came downstairs an hour or so later, sighing at my pathetic form on the couch, running a gentle hand through my hair before going into the kitchen to eat her own breakfast.

"Did you eat?" She asked, turning on the tap to fill a glass of water.

"Yeah," I mumbled into the pillow, not caring if she heard me or not.

Apparently she did, because she didn't ask again and went on with making her meal. I glanced at my cell phone screen, checking the time and seeing I had another 30 minutes before I had to leave for school. I didn't really want to go, even though I knew it was Senior year and it would go fast. I only had one more year before I could out of here. I just hated the fact that I had to suffer through another year of hell.

30 minutes later, I grabbed my keys, kissed my mom on the cheek and went out the door, jumping into my beat up car. It took ten minutes to get to the school which was both too slow and too fast. I parked and climbed out, not wasting any time getting inside the building and glancing at my schedule one last time before getting my stuff for my first class, which was Italian. I was actually interested in this class, Italian is my favorite foreign language.

I walked into the classroom ten minutes early, simply because I like being able to choose my seat before anyone else has the chance to take the one I want. Which, of course, is the back seat right by the window. I liked being behind everyone so that I knew nobody was particularly looking at me. I didn't want to be looked at, I wouldn't want to look at me, so why would anyone else want to?

I sighed, opening my notebook and beginning to doodle as I waited for the class to start. A few other students came in early as well and then the bell rang and the rest piled in, voices and shuffling bodies engulfing my ears for the next five minutes until the class actually began. I bent my head and shook my hair so that it covered my face, crossing my arms so I could hide the scars all along the left side of my body. I hated it, I hated being so ugly and I hated that the ugliness reminded me of him. Somehow, everything had to connect to him and I didn't want it to. The memory hurt too much.

The teacher walked in and spoke half in English, half in Italian. I liked her perky attitude and the kindess in both her face and her voice. When she was speaking Italian, she made sure to speak slowly and make gestures so that we could get the idea of what she was trying to say. I had a feeling I would really like this teacher.

Class went uneventful and I was glad that nobody had attempted to pick on me, not yet anyway. I went to the next one and the next one, reaching lunch without any issues, which was surprsing. Of course, I sat alone, all the way in the back of the cafeteria and picked at the pathetic salad and apple I had chosen.

I looked up and watched as other studens entered and left the cafeteria or sat with their friends, chatting and laughing as they ate. I envied how easy they had it, how beautiful they looked, how happy they were. I envied those who had someone's hand to hold or shoulder to lean on. Who's lips they could kiss and heart they could hear. I envied them.

My eyes went from the emos, to the geeks, to the art freaks, to the band nerds, to the jocks. My eyes landed on someone new sitting there, someone I hadn't seen before. A new student? Huh.

Shrugging, I went back to picking at my food, leaning my head on my hand. I felt kinda sleepy and decided to pull out my notebook so I could doodle again.

"Who's that kid?" I heard a male voice say and my lids lowered more than they already were. Here we go again.

"That's Niko Belle, he's a freak."

"I heard his neighbor chopped off his hand." Someone said.

"I thought his dad raped him," someone else whispered.

"No, that kid he was dating fucked him up real good. That's what I heard."

"What kid?" Said the newbie, who'd asked who I was.

"Niko's a faggot. He was dating Nathaniel Piangi for 4 years. Nathaniel's dead now, people say Niko killed him for revenge."

I clenched my teeth, curling my hands into fists as the tears stung in my eyes. People came up with the most ridiculous, yet ruthless stories. They messed up the truth to such an extent, it made the real thing so much more painful. If only they knew what had actually happened And yet, I had a feeling most of them wouldn't even care.

The conversation died down and I looked up, catching the eye of the new student. He had blue eyes, really gorgeous blue eyes, the ones that I hated. Before I could glare though, he turned away and I had a feeling he knew I had heard everything that was said.