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I shuddered, recalling the images of rape, death murder that I had seen. They flooded into my mind, threatening to overwhelm me. I put up the barrier that I had built for myself, trying to drown out the screams of agony.

“Mandy, what’s the answer?” asked a voice from the front of the room.

I looked up from my desk where my head lay. “69?” I asked, in an almost automatic reaction.

Mr Track cocked his head to the side, as if he was confused. “Mandy, this is History, not maths.”

My cheeks flushed as murmurs rippled through the class. I pushed my short black hair away from my green eyes and propped my head onto my hand, trying to look slightly awake. My gloves tickled my face. The lesson passed in a blur, no information being absorbed as I tried to fend off the painful images. They weren’t memories... well at least not mine. Finally it was the end of the lesson and the end of the day, one of the best times that a student could know.

“Mandy, come see me please.” sighed Mr Track, sitting behind his wooden desk.

I sighed and shoved my books into my red bag, trying hard to contain my eagerness to get out of the classroom. The other students filed out of the classroom, off to freedom as I stepped up to the desk.

“You wanted to see me?” I asked.

Mr Track stopped writing and turned towards me. That was a great quality; he managed to make you feel like you were the centre of attention when he was talking to you.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked seriously.

I nodded, “fine, just tired.”

He eyed me, as if searching for a lie. He gave in after a couple of tense moments. “Okay, then all I need is your research assignment on the Aztecs. You were doing the Aztecs, right?”

I nodded, rummaging through my bag. Finally I brought out the file and handed it to him. In my need to get out of the classroom as soon as possible I let one of my most important rules be broken. I was careless. My long sleeved hoodie rode up a little bit on my wrist, and just above my gloves were straight little scars. Mr Track managed to see them before I hid it.

His hand reached out to grab mine, but I pulled away and gave an instinctive shriek. He quickly retreated his hand and looked up at me with bewildered eyes. “Don’t touch me.” I warned, as if it was a command.

“Do you want to talk Mandy?” he asked, leaned forward on his knees.

I shook my head, but inside I was screaming to say yes. He sighed.

“You can tell me anything you know. I will give you my complete confidentiality.” he reassured.

There was a moment’s hesitation on my end, and he sensed it.

“Sit down.” he said, motioning to a chair.

I brought the chair over and laid my bag down on the floor. All the years of hiding, and I had finally been discovered. I hoped I wouldn’t spill everything to him.

“How have you been lately?” he asked casually.

“Fine.” I replied quickly.

He shot me a look, containing concern. I sighed, “Just a little bit down. But so what! I’m 18 years of age, that’s normal. You’re like, what... 30?”

“35.”

“Yeah, so you know that it’s normal to go through stages. You know, just give me the hormones speech and I’ll be on my way.”

“Self-harming isn’t normal though.” He replied, motioning at my wrist.

Silence followed.

“Tell me why.” He said softly, as if trying to entice an answer.

I looked away, hoping he wouldn’t see my tears. Years of hiding and it had come to this.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I whispered.

He put a box of tissues on my side of the desk, and I gratefully took one, dabbing a stray tear.

“I will not judge.” He said.

I shook my head, trying to shake away memories. Screams filled my head, my shields were failing. It was then that Mr Track took the unfortunate moment of touching my bare wrist in a harmless sign of compassion. A jolt of electricity rushed through me as an image flashed in my mind.

A woman drove in an old and beaten up car. The local radio station played softly in the background as she tried to navigate through the snowstorm. The forest around her had become a fragile world, pure with snow. The dark night seemed to swallow the car up whole. Her petite frame seemed lost behind the large wheel as she squinted to see through the snowstorm. Suddenly the car hit something, probably a pothole, and the tires screeched at the car flew off the narrow road and into a large tree. The bonnet crumpled under the force as a loud crash echoed through the empty forest.
The blond haired woman sat peacefully in the seat, her eyes closed. The only evidence of the event was the crimson spatters on her head where she hit it on the dashboard.
There was a sudden flash before I was in an unfamiliar room. Mr Track sat on the couch, listening intently on the phone. My eyes were fixed on him, unable to move. The words on the other end of the phone were too quiet for me to hear, but one word I couldn’t mistake. As soon as the word ‘dead’ was mentioned, I saw Mr Track throw the phone away and fold into himself, sobbing into his knees.

With a flash I managed to regain control over myself. My eyelids fluttered open to reveal Mr Track sitting over me, a panicked look in his eyes. I was lying on the dull grey carpet after another fainting session. I sat up in one swift movement before scrambling to my feet, slinging my bag over my shoulder and rushing to the door. I could hear Mr Track protesting behind me.

“Wait! What’s wrong? I’m sorry I touched you, are you okay?” he cried.

I opened the door and nearly bolted, but hesitated and looked back at him.

“I can’t let you help me.” I said softly.

“Why not?” he pleaded.

I smiled, “you’re a good man, but you need to solve your own problems before you can solve anyone else’s.”

There was a jolt of something in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Go to the funeral. Take a couple of days off. You won’t regret it.” I heard myself saying, but not knowing the words.

There was a stunned silence, and I thought I saw tears brimming on his eyes. I didn’t want to see a man I looked up to cry, so I quickly slid through the door and rushed to freedom.

The next couple of days took a tense atmosphere. Mr Track wasn’t at school, but I knew the reason why. I only hoped that he did not think of me as a freak, some kind of stalker that knew his secrets. I wondered about the small woman. Who was she? Sister? Girlfriend? Wife?
It was only after a week of substitute teachers that I finally saw his face again. I could feel his eyes burning a hole through me the entire lesson, but I avoided his gaze. Nothing in the information he was saying was getting through to me, I was still trying to block out emotional memories. Near the end of the lesson I heard those dreaded words.

“Mandy, stay after class please.”

I closed my eyes, wondering what was to come. The bell rung and other teenagers grabbed their books, stuffing them into their bags. They dashed for the door, happy to be let out. I stayed in my seat, slowly packing up my things. I heard Mr Track walk over, and I saw him sit down next to me. I didn’t look up at him; instead, I ignored his presence. We stayed in the tense silence for about a minute, before he spoke.

“You were right. I don’t regret going to the funeral.” he whispered.

I flinched a little bit, but tried to remain unaffected.

“How did you know?” he asked, still not raising his voice.

I continued as if I didn’t hear the remark.

“She was my ex-girlfriend by the way. Broke up a month ago. I was still devastated though. You know that though, don’t you?”

For the first time I looked up at him, nodding slowly.

“How?”

I stopped packing my things and sat back in my chair as Mr Track stared at me intently. I looked down at my black gloves, then at my long sleeved top and jeans. I sighed.

“You don’t know what it’s like.” I finally managed to choke out.

He didn’t say a word.

“Living every day like it’s your last. Can I get the technical stuff over with first?” I suddenly asked.

He nodded, “sure.”

I started, “when I was about 16, I ran away from home for a weekend. A family argument drove me to find space. I took my belongings and bolted. When I was out there on the streets, a couple of guys decided I was a good target for theft. I was knocked around a little before the knife came out. I forgot the rest, all I remember is the bloodied sidewalk and the footsteps growing fainter.
Ever since then, whenever I touch someone with skin-on-skin contact I see their worst memory.”

A little cry escaped my lips, but I tried to hold back.

“It’s okay...” Mr Track said softly, trying to comfort me.

“No it’s not fucking okay!” I screamed, shoving my chair back and jumping up.

It caught him off guard and he quickly stood up defensively.

I looked at him with a defiant glare in my eyes. “It’s not okay! I’ve seen girls raped, boys abused and people murdered! I’ve seen them being shot, stabbed or just silently withering away into oblivion!”

I found myself with my back against the wall, like a cornered animal. “Their cries and screams of agony fill my head in every waking moment! People crying in their last moments, their whimpers as they fucking die.”

I felt got tears spill onto my face. “It isn’t normal! It just isn’t normal! Why me? Out of everyone, why did fate pick me? And why did it have to be the worst memory? Why couldn’t it be the happiest memory?”

I slid down the wall, finally sitting with my knees by my face as I sobbed, my body exhausted. I kept mumbling ‘why me?’ as Mr Track came over. He lowered himself to the floor, sitting next to me. I tried to hold back my tears, but they kept running down my face.

“We all have obstacles, some are meant to test-“

“Cut the bullshit.” I snapped, “This whole goddamn ‘it’s a test’ stuff is just shit.”

He seemed taken aback by my sudden outburst.

“What do you see it as then?” He asked in an almost genuine curiosity.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “A curse. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but here I am.”

“Can’t you use it for some good?”

“I tried, but it doesn’t work. People just don’t understand... You know what?” I felt rage course through my veins. “I won’t be able to kiss anybody.”

A calm silence followed.

“I won’t have a boyfriend, a husband. I won’t have children. I will never be able to have an intimate relationship. Do you know how that feels?”

He shook his head slowly.

“That’s why I can’t use it for good, because it doesn’t let me. Every time I try to get close to someone, I get pushed away by it.”

“It isn’t pushing me away.” He said softly.

I glanced up at his face, so caring, so naive. “It will. It always does.”

A fresh tear sprung from my eyes and trickled down my face.

“It’s okay to cry.” He reassured.

I smiled a little bit. “I’ve done that all my life, I think I’ve run out of tears.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

I shook my head. “Please don’t do this.”

He looked at me with concerned eyes. “What?”

“Get involved with me.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s just going to end badly.”

“I want to help.”

“You just don’t get it. You can’t help me.” I sighed.

His face showed a slight pang of hurt. “Just let me try.”

“I can’t.”

I looked up and saw his eyes looking at me, trying to figure out the intricate and delicate situation that I’ve had to deal with for years.

“I have to go.” I suddenly said, quickly snatching up my bag and wiping away the stray tears.

I jumped up and grabbed my books before making a quick escape to the door. I heard pleas coming from Mr Track but I ignored them and swung the door open before bolting in the cool autumn air.

“Wait!” he cried after me.

I stopped on the cold cement and slowly turned to him.

“The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved.” I whispered, loud enough for him to hear.

“But pray that your loneliness will spur you into finding something that to live for.” His eyes held hope.

“I have nothing to live for.”

I spun on my heel and quickly walked away, hoping that he hadn’t seen the fresh tears running down my face.