Angel in Black
Cursed for the Better
"Come on, you good for nothing, sorry ass piece of shit! Pick it up!" the volleyball coach screamed.
The victim, Caroline Shaffer, a Senior in high school, shook her head and served the ball. It went straight over to the other side; Not a finger grazed it. Ace. Maybe that'll get her off my back, she thought. And she served it again. And again. And again.
Despite her and her team-mates' amazingly impressive effort, the opposing team kicked their asses. When the game was finished, she retreated to locker room and tried to act like she was okay with another loss.
"Hey Caroline, you did great. Have you ever thought about trying out for a professional team?" a girl named Ashlyn asked.
She shrugged. "Not really. I suck." she said.
"Damn straight." Libby Andrews, the captain, chipped in. "You're the worst player on this team. In fact, you shouldn't even be on this team."
"Now that's not-"
"Forget it, Ashlyn. She's right."
She sighed and grabbed her street clothes, then walked over to the bathroom. She entered a stall, locked it, and began changing. As she did this, Libby rallied up her team of preppy girlfriends.
"One. Two. Three!" she whispered, kicking the stall door down.
The locker room erupted with laughter. Libby and her friends fell to the ground with tears in their eyes, and Caroline stood in her underwear, speechless. It wasn't long before the whole team was gathered around her stall like it was some kind of circus act.
"Look! Look at the little emo girl!" Libby cried, pointing frantically at Caroline. "Look at all the cuts! What a baby!"
"Haha, Carrie's a cutter!" someone laughed.
"She has sex with razorblades in her mouth!" someone else giggled.
"She's a cutter! An attention whore! A cutter! An attention whore!" they chanted.
Caroline backed into the corner, away from the mob. She slid down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, stinging them ever so slightly...
*
"Do you know how much it will cost to fix this?" coach demanded. Caroline shrugged. "Why the hell did you do this anyways?"
"Coach, you know Carrie, she loves acting out...And attention." Libby smirked.
"Does she?" she asked.
"Sure, just look at her wrists." she replied.
She did as told, and immediatly afterwards her face flushed a violent red.
"Caroline Shaffer, if you want attention so bad, maybe you can have the attention of Harold!" she shouted.
"Harold?" she asked.
"The janitor!" she yelled. "Get your ass out on the court and help him clean up. NOW!"
Caroline put her head down and marched out of the locker room. Why does this kind of stuff have to happen to me? .I'm popular. I'm pretty. Why do people do this to me?, she thought, I mean, I know I obviously have my problems...But those are my problems, and I should at least be allowed to sort them out on my own.
She walked over to the volleyball net.
HANG YOURSELF.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it had presented itself. She blinked. A mini video, hand-in-hand with the thought, had just played in her head; It was her, dangling from a basketball hoop with the net tied around her neck. She gulped.
"Are you going to put that away or what?" Harold called, snapping her out of it.
"Um...Yeah." she replied. She tugged on it, but it wouldn't budge. "It's stuck!"
"Damnit, not again...Hold on." he said.
He walked over to her and pulled out a pocket knife.
SLIT YOUR THROAT.
CARVE DEATH IN YOUR WRIST.
The knife seemed to scream at her. Caroline started to panic, leaving Harlod to cut the net free and tending to another, less important task known as washing the volleyballs. She wheeled the cart over to large bucket full of steaming hot water.
What's the point of washing these anyways? I know no other school that does this, she reflected. The point was, of course, to get rid of all the sweat and dirt gathered from the games. She took a ball in her hand and leaned over the bucket.
DROWN.
"God damnit, leave me alone!" she hissed.
She threw the ball down and told Harold she was leaving. As she walked across the court, the thoughts and their videos replayed over and over and over again. Nothing seemed to get them out of her head. Soon, they started to make sense.
When you get home, just do it., she told herself, referring to slitting her wrists, No more baby cuts. Your life is only getting worse, and no one will miss you. Mom and dad are dead and gone; It's just you. Just. Do. It.
Suddenly, she fell flat on her ass. She looked up, gazing into the eyes of a boy she had never met before. He was dressed in black, with a lip ring and emo-style, jet black hair. He smiled and stuck out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention." he told her.
"It's okay..." she sighed.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine." she replied.
"Good." he chuckled. "I saw you play at the game today, Caroline. I wouldn't want to injure the best volleyball player this school has ever had."
He winked and started to walk away.
"Wait!" she called after him. He paused. "...You really think I'm that good?"
He grinned. "Of course. And I also think you're the prettiest girl this school has ever had." he blushed.
"Oh really?"
She rolled up her sleeves.
"How about now?" she asked sharply. "I have issues, dude..."
The boy stepped closer to her and held her hands in his. He ran his tumbs across her cuts; Silently, carefully. Then he looked her straight in the eyes and said;
"You're the most beautiful girl I have ever met. You're not alone."
And he rolled up his own sleeves.
*
Later that night, after the two of them had exchanged names and numbers and when Caroline finally came home to her tiny, one bedroom apartment, she threw away her razorblades, her pills, and her drugs.
Instead of taking her own life, she called up her angel in black.
The victim, Caroline Shaffer, a Senior in high school, shook her head and served the ball. It went straight over to the other side; Not a finger grazed it. Ace. Maybe that'll get her off my back, she thought. And she served it again. And again. And again.
Despite her and her team-mates' amazingly impressive effort, the opposing team kicked their asses. When the game was finished, she retreated to locker room and tried to act like she was okay with another loss.
"Hey Caroline, you did great. Have you ever thought about trying out for a professional team?" a girl named Ashlyn asked.
She shrugged. "Not really. I suck." she said.
"Damn straight." Libby Andrews, the captain, chipped in. "You're the worst player on this team. In fact, you shouldn't even be on this team."
"Now that's not-"
"Forget it, Ashlyn. She's right."
She sighed and grabbed her street clothes, then walked over to the bathroom. She entered a stall, locked it, and began changing. As she did this, Libby rallied up her team of preppy girlfriends.
"One. Two. Three!" she whispered, kicking the stall door down.
The locker room erupted with laughter. Libby and her friends fell to the ground with tears in their eyes, and Caroline stood in her underwear, speechless. It wasn't long before the whole team was gathered around her stall like it was some kind of circus act.
"Look! Look at the little emo girl!" Libby cried, pointing frantically at Caroline. "Look at all the cuts! What a baby!"
"Haha, Carrie's a cutter!" someone laughed.
"She has sex with razorblades in her mouth!" someone else giggled.
"She's a cutter! An attention whore! A cutter! An attention whore!" they chanted.
Caroline backed into the corner, away from the mob. She slid down to the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees. Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, stinging them ever so slightly...
*
"Do you know how much it will cost to fix this?" coach demanded. Caroline shrugged. "Why the hell did you do this anyways?"
"Coach, you know Carrie, she loves acting out...And attention." Libby smirked.
"Does she?" she asked.
"Sure, just look at her wrists." she replied.
She did as told, and immediatly afterwards her face flushed a violent red.
"Caroline Shaffer, if you want attention so bad, maybe you can have the attention of Harold!" she shouted.
"Harold?" she asked.
"The janitor!" she yelled. "Get your ass out on the court and help him clean up. NOW!"
Caroline put her head down and marched out of the locker room. Why does this kind of stuff have to happen to me? .I'm popular. I'm pretty. Why do people do this to me?, she thought, I mean, I know I obviously have my problems...But those are my problems, and I should at least be allowed to sort them out on my own.
She walked over to the volleyball net.
HANG YOURSELF.
The thought disappeared as quickly as it had presented itself. She blinked. A mini video, hand-in-hand with the thought, had just played in her head; It was her, dangling from a basketball hoop with the net tied around her neck. She gulped.
"Are you going to put that away or what?" Harold called, snapping her out of it.
"Um...Yeah." she replied. She tugged on it, but it wouldn't budge. "It's stuck!"
"Damnit, not again...Hold on." he said.
He walked over to her and pulled out a pocket knife.
SLIT YOUR THROAT.
CARVE DEATH IN YOUR WRIST.
The knife seemed to scream at her. Caroline started to panic, leaving Harlod to cut the net free and tending to another, less important task known as washing the volleyballs. She wheeled the cart over to large bucket full of steaming hot water.
What's the point of washing these anyways? I know no other school that does this, she reflected. The point was, of course, to get rid of all the sweat and dirt gathered from the games. She took a ball in her hand and leaned over the bucket.
DROWN.
"God damnit, leave me alone!" she hissed.
She threw the ball down and told Harold she was leaving. As she walked across the court, the thoughts and their videos replayed over and over and over again. Nothing seemed to get them out of her head. Soon, they started to make sense.
When you get home, just do it., she told herself, referring to slitting her wrists, No more baby cuts. Your life is only getting worse, and no one will miss you. Mom and dad are dead and gone; It's just you. Just. Do. It.
Suddenly, she fell flat on her ass. She looked up, gazing into the eyes of a boy she had never met before. He was dressed in black, with a lip ring and emo-style, jet black hair. He smiled and stuck out his hand. She took it, and he pulled her to her feet.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention." he told her.
"It's okay..." she sighed.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine." she replied.
"Good." he chuckled. "I saw you play at the game today, Caroline. I wouldn't want to injure the best volleyball player this school has ever had."
He winked and started to walk away.
"Wait!" she called after him. He paused. "...You really think I'm that good?"
He grinned. "Of course. And I also think you're the prettiest girl this school has ever had." he blushed.
"Oh really?"
She rolled up her sleeves.
"How about now?" she asked sharply. "I have issues, dude..."
The boy stepped closer to her and held her hands in his. He ran his tumbs across her cuts; Silently, carefully. Then he looked her straight in the eyes and said;
"You're the most beautiful girl I have ever met. You're not alone."
And he rolled up his own sleeves.
*
Later that night, after the two of them had exchanged names and numbers and when Caroline finally came home to her tiny, one bedroom apartment, she threw away her razorblades, her pills, and her drugs.
Instead of taking her own life, she called up her angel in black.