A Taste of Blood

Chapter 2: Hayley

Laughter erupted as Will cracked another joke, his face dark red from laughing at himself so hard. It was not the jokes, but the fact the Will was laughing at himself that was causing our amusement. I chuckled softly and my eyes returned back to my history book.
I got tired of reading. The room was full of noise and it was getting on my nerves. Our administrator had decided to take a break.
I slid my book back into my bag. As I looked past the shoulders of Mindy who was sitting in front of me, I noticed a different pair of eyes that were attempting to make eye contact with mine.
As soon as I realized that they were Veronicka’s I immediately looked down. It was hard, though, her eyes looked so sorrowful. It was hard to believe that I was the cause of her sorrow. I shrugged away the feeling, packed up my stuff, mumbled a few goodbyes and left the public eye. At least, for a while.
I headed for the ladies restroom, the one downstairs that not many girls went to because it was not as clean as the ones upstairs. As I opened the heavy door, the smell of human feces was quite overwhelming but I urged myself to keep on walking.
I set down my bag on the window sill and began to rummage for the reason that I was all alone in the bathroom—my knife. My hands folded over the cold beauty. In seconds, I reminded, I would be safe, spilling out my pain with a simple incision. The thought caused me to feel somewhat relieved.
The knife slipped out of my hand as I heard the crack of heels on the tile floor. My head shot up and I realized who the person standing in front of me was. Veronicka, with her tiny figure and light skin stood before me, her arms folded like a pretzel.
My heart rate sped up and I filled with panic. I took a deep breath to calm myself down before grabbing my stuff and trying to rush out, unnoticed. Before I made it out, though, I heard my name being spoken.
“Hayley,” Veronicka called softly. My first instinct was to run and hide and to avoid her once and for all. But, a thought lingered in my head. If I did not face her now, then she would never ever leave me alone.
I turned 360 degrees and took a hesitant step forward.
I cleared my throat and responded, “What is it, Veronicka?”
She was on the verge of tears. “What happened?”
I was not too fond of waterworks and concluded that I would make this conversation short and sweet. Well, short enough.
I slightly raised my voice. “What do you mean?”
Her normally calm composure changed until her face was crimson, her nostrils flaring, and her eyes forming small slits. “I mean this!” She made a scene of pulling a crumbled up piece of paper out of her pockets which I identified to be the letter.
Seeing her as angry as a raging bull was amusing so I continued to play along. “What’s that Ronnie?”
Veronicka looked like she was going to explode. I took a step back in fear that she was going to hurt me. Her fists were clenched and she was shaking. “The letter you sent me. How could you do this to me? Why?”
A tear slipped down her cheeks. I rolled my eyes and slowly backed out of the room. Even though she caused me much pain, this was quite painful for me.
“All the answers you need are in the letter.” And with that, I was gone. All that remained in the bathroom was a sobbing Veronicka that could be heard all down the hallway. The bell that indicated that it was three o’clock rang loudly and I rushed toward the exit of the school to avoid herds of raging teenagers.
The blazing sun almost melted me into a puddle. To be honest, I wished that it would melt me into nothing so I could escape my problems. Of course that would not happen so I trudged on despite the heat.
The big ball of fire in the sky shone so brightly that I nearly went blind—not to mention the fact that I forgot my sunglasses again, for the third times this week. I had also forgot to put on sunscreen which was bad because my doctor warned me that if I did not put it on each day I would most likely get skin cancer which made me quite paranoid. I came from a family of bad skin. A couple of years back my grandmother had died from skin cancer and a few months after her death my mother had been diagnosed with it. Now mother’s on medication and she couldn’t work so our family was tight on money which I had a hard time understanding because our family was practically rich. Maybe that was my dad’s way of “parenting” me. He never paid much attention to me otherwise.
Suddenly, I really did not want to go home. I was not in the mood to walk into an empty house. My mother was being cared for at by my aunt at her house since I was busy with school. My “loving” father was at work, of course, until dinner unless he decided to skip that too. It did not matter to me because whenever I was eating he was chatting on the phone with one of his employees.
Aunt Daisy, the one that my mother was staying with, was not too fond of children or teenagers—to be exact, me. That’s the reason why I was not allowed at her house or in fact, anywhere near her. Daisy’s excuse was that she had too many valuables in her house that break easily so, therefore I am not allowed in her house.
Before she was diagnosed with cancer, mom used to invite Daisy over, bust Daisy would always say that she was “busy” or “tired” or “sick.” Later, she would then invite my parents over and I never had the chance to take one step into her “antique house” or “perfect lawn.” To this day I still do not understand how a house could be an antique. Oh, that’s right. It couldn’t.
I finally arrived at a big white house with a red door. I searched my old bag for the key but after five minutes of searching I remembered that it was on a chain around my neck. I inserted the key in the door and turned it until it clicked. As I opened the door I was hit with a blast of cool air and felt quite relieved.
The first thing I did was sink into the dark brown leather couch in my living room. It felt good because I was finally able to relax my aching body. A smile crept onto my face as I recalled that I finished all of my homework at study hall—except for math. Math was easy. I would be finished the ten problems in no time. It was good to know that my math teacher, Mrs. Sanders, was laying it off a little on homework because she knew that finals were starting soon.
Finals. The very word gave me the chills. I was not in the mood to study, especially since all of the Veronicka crap started. I shrugged off the feeling. Finals were still far away. Sort of, I guess.
My pocket was singing. That month’s ringtone was “Revival Mode” by Everytime I Die. The caller ID said “Veronicka Dahmer” and displayed a picture of a girl with thick rimmed dark glasses and long orangish-blonde hair. She no longer owre glasses, but I had kept that picture of her because I used to think she looked nice. I changed my mine and thought that she looked devious and suspicious. I ignored the call. The thought of her made me sick inside so once again I pulled out my knife.
I held the beauty as I walked up to the bathroom adjacent to my bedroom. I accidentally slammed the door behind me but it was okay as I remembered that nobody but me was home. I stared at the knife as I wondered if I should go with the razorblade that day instead. Or scissors. I immediately decided against the scissors. They would do damage, but not enough. I went with the knife. Besides, my beauty was calling my name.
As I looked in the mirror at my hideous reflection, a wave of doubt hit me. Should I really do this? I asked myself. I came to the conclusion that no one would care—not my mom, not my dad, and not my so called friends. I would do it.
I started by making a simple scratch with the knife which was not nearly enough to do any damage. It hurt like hell, but if I wanted to bleed out the pain than I would have to cut much deeper. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. Warm tears flooded my eyes as I took the icy knife to my skin and made a deeper incision.
I was not ready for the blood. The sight of it made me feel a little nauseous. I realized that it was not the blood that was making me sick, but the fact that it represented my pain and struggles. I cleared the thought from my mind and focused on my next cut. As I prepared for the next slash, I was startled by the home phone that was ringing uncontrollably. I sighed and placed my knife on the edge of the sink. But then it fell, getting blood all over my new white rug. I felt troubled but decided to deal this after I answered the phone.
I immediately answered the phone, forgetting to check out who it was. I only hoped that it was not one of those annoying salesmen who were always trying to get you to buy some stupid product form them.
“Hello,” I answered.
“Hayley I am not going to make it home in time to make you dinner. You’ll have to put something together yourself.” I recognized my father’s low, deadpan voice.
It bothered me that he did not even say hello. Of course he wouldn’t. I barely even existed to him. Well, at least for once he bothered in calling me about it when he did not last time or the time before that. Heck, this was one of the first times he had ever called in this situation. Mom probably told him to.
“Fine,” I responded blankly.
“Okay.” He hung up. That was the longest conversation that we had had in weeks.