Knives and Pens

Waking up, I can immediately sense that it’s still early. Cursing the fact that my mind and body won’t seem to allow me to savour the last bit of sleep I’m granted before hell inevitably crashes down over me in the form of another High School, I grab my phone to check the time.

Fucking hell. Of course my internal clock would wake me up an hour before my alarm was set to go off. Why wouldn’t it? I mean, it’s not like I could use all the sleep I can manage after being forced to unpack all weekend, right? And it’s not like everything that’s been happening and changing hadn’t been taking its toll on me, leaving me mentally and physically exhausted.

With a heavy sigh, I reluctantly remove myself from the comforts of my bed, pointedly ignoring the very depressing fact that I haven’t heard a single thing from either Ashley or CC this entire weekend.

Not really hearing from them is going to seriously take some getting used to. Well, it’s just one of the things I’ll be getting used to then, I guess. Since I’ll be getting used to all the new people I’ll meet (and undoubtedly dislike) at my new school, my mother working all the time now, being the new kid (and probably getting picked on for it), and (last, but not least) having divorced parents; I might as well add ‘giving up my best friend and my ex-prospective boyfriend’ to the list. That fact probably pleases my dad, though, because he’s never really been thrilled with the idea of his son being into guys. Asshole.

“Andy?” My Mom says softly from the door, “You awake?”

Things have been a little strange in the air between the two of us this whole weekend, after I had caught her crying (and silently comforted her) that first night. That feels like forever ago now, even though it was just at the beginning of the weekend. We never said anything about it afterwards, and we didn’t say anything about my sudden willingness to participate in the very hasty unpacking of all of our belongings either. I think it’s just our way of maybe adjusting to the two of us being alone now, or maybe it just feels awkward not having my douche of a father around.

I won’t even mention it to my mother, but I think that she’s carrying quite a bit of guilt over all of this heavily on her shoulders, which is actually completely ridiculous and unnecessary. Sure, I said that it had taken two people to fuck up their marriage – and I’m not backing out of that statement – but she wasn’t the one who fucked around behind my dad’s back, and she wouldn’t have been the first one to pull out of the marriage either. I secretly wonder if she hadn’t actually known about my useless father’s office-bound antics for a good while, after all; but I keep such thoughts to myself, because that’s a large enough burden to carry.

“Yeah, Ma,” I sigh. “I’m up.”

“Can I come in?” she asks tentatively, offering me a small smile.

It doesn’t hide how fragile, tired and broken she looks. She looks like she hadn’t slept in quite some time, and like she carries all of earth’s weight heavily on her petite shoulders. And suddenly I feel extremely sorry for her, and a sudden surge of guilt and gratitude (which is an overwhelming combination) ripples through me, picking my heart rate up a bit.

“Sure,” I grumble, the epitome of nonchalance.

“Why the hell are we even stupid enough to be awake at this illegal hour?” she groans. “Normal people are all still asleep, I’m sure of it.”

The question and statement is clearly meant to be presented to me in a very light manner, but I can see the tension and anxiousness bubbling beneath her fragile surface, slowly cracking its way through her façade. I’m about to just flat out tell her that she doesn’t really need to be this brave, and that I know she’s hurt and really scared about her new job (and this entire new life), when she sits down on the edge of my bed, but I decide to let her have at least this at the moment. Perhaps it’s a little easier on her if she feels like she’s in control of something – even if it is just to put on a brave and strong front.

“When have we ever been normal, Ma?” I reply instead, causing her to playfully roll her eyes.

“Well, you can’t really blame a mother for trying to raise a normal kid, now can you?” she smirks at me.

“Yeah,” I roll my eyes, “sorry, lady, but you have no normal child.”

“Oh, I know. Ever since you were a little boy, you were always different. I think you’re just too intelligent,” she smiles warmly, sincerely. “You obviously got that from me,” she grins.

I suddenly feel so guilty for not really being the easiest child to live with (as of late, especially), and I wordlessly envelope my mother in a tight hug. Although it seems to take her by surprise, she returns it happily and wholeheartedly, making me only hold onto her tighter.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I mumble, so quietly that I’m not even sure it’s properly audible, but her own hold on me tightens.

“I know, kiddo,” she murmurs back. “Me too.”

----

Since we’re both up early enough, my mother decides to make an effort on my first day back at school by preparing quite a large breakfast.

“Ma, you really don’t need to do that,” I assure her.

I know perfectly well she’d be spending basically all day (and possibly the rest of the week) finishing the unpacking of the house, since she only starts work next week. I allow myself to silently muse how it’s basically unfair that she’s allotted a whole week to settle in and prepare for her new life, while I only got to have a weekend; but refrain from saying anything, since I don’t want to ruin how well our morning started by being mouthy and bitter.

“Yes, I do,” she insists, shooing me out the door of the kitchen. “Go shower, and get dressed!”

“Fine,” I huff, sighing deep and heavily put upon, making my way to the bathroom.

“AND TRY NOT TO WEAR ONLY BLACK ON YOUR FIRST DAY, ANDY!” she hollers after me.

I silently grumble all the way to the bathroom, but the second I’m naked beneath the refreshing spray of the shower, I feel every inch of me relax. I allow the water to seep into my skin, and wash every bitter drop of stress away. I feel the tension bleeding out of me, spilling down the drain of the shower. As I take my time to shampoo my hair, and lather every inch of my body in shower gel, I soon realise that only a small amount of anxiousness remains in my system – which is completely understandable, considering I’m starting at a new school.

Without giving it any thought, I wrap my fist around myself beneath the spray of the water, my other hand against the shower wall to keep my balance. I let my mind wander to pleasant places as I make quick work of things, and allow the warm water to wash all evidence down the drain too, feeling mostly calm and bliss.

Stepping out of the shower, I quickly dry myself off half-heartedly, catching sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. Once again, I’m just reminded of the fact that this isn’t our old home or my old life. In our old home, I wouldn’t have been able to see a single thing in the mirror after taking a shower, because it would have been completely fogged up. Here, though, in the new home, the mirror is in a different place, and not completely covered in fog after the shower.

“Andy,” my mom says from somewhere outside the bathroom door, putting a stop to a fit of ranting and raving inside me, before it’s even actually really started, “if you don’t want your breakfast to get completely cold and disgusting, you better hurry the hell up.”

----

“Oh, Andy,” my mom sighs as I enter the kitchen, giving my outfit a look, but not commenting on it (even though I can feel her aching to do so), “took you long enough. If breakfast is gross, it’s not my fault.”

“Yeah, Ma,” I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”

She must be really afraid that I’ll go hungry during the day, because she’s prepared quite a breakfast. There is yogurt, chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and orange juice. She must also reside under the misconception that I’d actually be able to stomach much today on my first day at a new hell centre.

“Try to at least eat a bit of everything,” she eyes me pointedly, like she can read my thoughts.

I obey wordlessly, taking literally only two bites of everything.

“You can say something, you know,” I say offhandedly, knowing she must have something to say about what I’m currently wearing.

“Does the heart have to be a rainbow, Andy?”

Grinning, I look down at my outfit. Black jeans and converse and a white shirt with a rainbow heart on the front.

“Hmm,” I hum, stifling a grin. “Yeah, the rainbow might be lonely. I’ll have to wear my red wristband too.”

“Andy,” she sighs, and I can tell she feels defeated.

“What?” I say cockily, suddenly not feeling quite as playful anymore. “You said not to wear all black,” I remind her. “Now that I’m wearing something with colour, that’s not good enough, either,” I snap. “Tell me, exactly what should I do to please you?”

“Andy, don’t be difficult,” she huffs.

“Thanks for breakfast, Ma,” I say sarcastically, getting up from the table, leaving the kitchen.

She doesn’t reply again, only begins to clear the table.

“Whatever,” I mutter under my breath.

I rush to my room, grabbing my backpack. I quickly stuff my notebook, ipod and wallet in. I quickly check my phone before stuffing it into the pocket of my jeans. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I scowl, roll my eyes at myself and grab my plain red hoodie (which is hanging over the chair at my desk). After pulling it on, I apply a generous amount of eyeliner, just for the fuck of it.

“I’M OFF,” I inform my mom, not waiting for a reaction before I rush out the front door.

----

As it turns out, high school is high school – no matter which one you go to.

The buildings are the same – just as dull; the office personnel are exactly as rude as at my old school; and the teachers and students who scramble past me in every direction look so familiar that it’s almost painful.

Yeah, finding friends at this school will definitely not be an easy task. It seems that the kids here have all pretty much settled into their own little cliques with their friends, fitting in as much as one can expect a high school student to. And that actually wasn’t totally unexpected, seeing as how I am lucky enough to be switching schools in fucking junior year! I swear, if I strain my ears a bit, I might actually be able to hear the angels in heaven cheering at my blessed luck. Oh, no, wait! No, I can’t, because this sucks!

Successfully acquiring my schedule, and a bunch of other things that will possibly be useful in my quest of finding my way around this hellhole, I stumble my way into what is apparently my homeroom. The teacher seems nice enough, and allows me to take a seat (in the front, because the class is of course full) without any embarrassing introductions to the class.

I mentally go off on my parents as I take my seat gingerly.

There are some quite unsavoury and nauseating things carved into my desk (seriously, why do I need to know that Emma loves Jake 4 ever, or that Bella has huge tits and her number is 555-6749?), and I feel absolutely no shame at all in putting my earphones in and pulling out my notebook and pen.