Just Like You Imagined
Happiness In Slavery
I have a headache. I’m tired. My history teacher is talking about some random war. There’s too many for me to remember all of them.
I’m half asleep when suddenly there’s a knock on the classroom door. The door opens and in comes a boy, man whatever. He has blonde hair and he’s pretty tall, brown eyes and a… scar across his left eyebrow.
I know that scar
“Oh no
This isn’t happening. It can’t be him right?!”
“Yes it can, and it is.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up
But he went away; I haven’t seen him since…”
“Since?”
“No, No, No, No
So many times, so many nights I spent trying to forget”
“He’s back.”
“Class, This is Chris Booker, he’s back for his last year of high school. Take a seat Chris ”
Oh no, a year with him around me practically everyday, can it get any worse?
I look around the classroom, the only seat vacant is the one right next to mine.
Shit
I try to hide behind my long hair and I scoot my chair as far away from his seat as I can. He moves towards me and takes his seat. He shoots a glance at me and I can tell that he recognizes me instantly, despite my efforts to hide from him.
He leans over towards me as if he was about to say something to me, but before he can the bell rings. Saved by the bell, how ironic is that?
I grab my things and make my way out the classroom as quickly as I can and I half-run to my locker and shove the books into it.
I rummage through my bag, searching. I feel the sharp blade against my fingertips
Yes, I found it
I grab hold of it and close my locker. I turn around and try to locate the closest bathroom. My heart drumming in my ears, the anxiety nibbling at my feet. I need it. Tears are clouding my eyes.
“The bathroom, where is the bathroom? All these people in my way, pushing and shoving me.”
Someone walks into me, I look up. I stop breathing and my eyes widen. It’s him.
“Ah, there you are, it’s Alice isn’t it?”
he smirks at me with an evil look in his eyes
He grabs hold of me and pushes me against the wall, I gasp and try to make him release his grip on me, but his strong arms won’t budge. I see all the memories I’ve been trying to suppress for the last six months in front of my eyes. The hurt and hatred finds its way up to the surface again. I start to breathe faster, close to hyperventilating now. My fist clenches. The blade digs into my palm. A small sense of relief within the panic. Everyone around me seems completely oblivious. Not that they would care.
This day just keeps on getting worse,
He leans in and whispers in my ear, I barely hear it with the emotional chaos going on in my mind.
“You better not tell, I’ll make you regret it if you do”
He released me and left me standing there against the wall.
Anxiety increasing, tears now rolling down my cheek. 15 minutes to my next class.
All I can think of is the blade in my hand; I imagine it cutting my wrists, deeper and deeper.
I wake up from my trance. I can see the bathroom from here.
Panic Panic Panic.
Not vacant, not vacant, vacant.
I open the door and lock it behind me. I pull my sleeve up, revealing the mistakes imprinted on my wrist. Scars of hurt and anxiety.
I hesitate for a moment.
“I promised I wouldn’t”
“But you need it, they won’t notice anyway”
“They did last time”
“Last time you were careless, besides you belong here, with me. There’s no other way. Come on just one more time. It won’t hurt anyone, they’ll never know, you’ll be extra careful this time. It will be just like you imagined.”
5 minutes to class
The blade touches my wrist. Slowly it cuts. Again and again. Relief. The hurt and anxiety is fading, if only for a while. Blood beautiful blood. Another cut, beautiful aching pain. My heart is hammering in my ears. I need this, for once in control over my pain. This is happiness in slavery. I’m a slave to the blade. I need it, my blades are the only friends I‘ve got.
I grab some paper to wipe the blood on my wrist. I pull my sleeve down to protect my mistakes. I wipe my tears. I wash the blade, to remove the blood. I unlock the door. I face the reality pretending everything is ok.
“Happiness in slavery”
“Just like I imagined”
I’m half asleep when suddenly there’s a knock on the classroom door. The door opens and in comes a boy, man whatever. He has blonde hair and he’s pretty tall, brown eyes and a… scar across his left eyebrow.
I know that scar
“Oh no
This isn’t happening. It can’t be him right?!”
“Yes it can, and it is.
“Shut up, shut up, shut up
But he went away; I haven’t seen him since…”
“Since?”
“No, No, No, No
So many times, so many nights I spent trying to forget”
“He’s back.”
“Class, This is Chris Booker, he’s back for his last year of high school. Take a seat Chris ”
Oh no, a year with him around me practically everyday, can it get any worse?
I look around the classroom, the only seat vacant is the one right next to mine.
Shit
I try to hide behind my long hair and I scoot my chair as far away from his seat as I can. He moves towards me and takes his seat. He shoots a glance at me and I can tell that he recognizes me instantly, despite my efforts to hide from him.
He leans over towards me as if he was about to say something to me, but before he can the bell rings. Saved by the bell, how ironic is that?
I grab my things and make my way out the classroom as quickly as I can and I half-run to my locker and shove the books into it.
I rummage through my bag, searching. I feel the sharp blade against my fingertips
Yes, I found it
I grab hold of it and close my locker. I turn around and try to locate the closest bathroom. My heart drumming in my ears, the anxiety nibbling at my feet. I need it. Tears are clouding my eyes.
“The bathroom, where is the bathroom? All these people in my way, pushing and shoving me.”
Someone walks into me, I look up. I stop breathing and my eyes widen. It’s him.
“Ah, there you are, it’s Alice isn’t it?”
he smirks at me with an evil look in his eyes
He grabs hold of me and pushes me against the wall, I gasp and try to make him release his grip on me, but his strong arms won’t budge. I see all the memories I’ve been trying to suppress for the last six months in front of my eyes. The hurt and hatred finds its way up to the surface again. I start to breathe faster, close to hyperventilating now. My fist clenches. The blade digs into my palm. A small sense of relief within the panic. Everyone around me seems completely oblivious. Not that they would care.
This day just keeps on getting worse,
He leans in and whispers in my ear, I barely hear it with the emotional chaos going on in my mind.
“You better not tell, I’ll make you regret it if you do”
He released me and left me standing there against the wall.
Anxiety increasing, tears now rolling down my cheek. 15 minutes to my next class.
All I can think of is the blade in my hand; I imagine it cutting my wrists, deeper and deeper.
I wake up from my trance. I can see the bathroom from here.
Panic Panic Panic.
Not vacant, not vacant, vacant.
I open the door and lock it behind me. I pull my sleeve up, revealing the mistakes imprinted on my wrist. Scars of hurt and anxiety.
I hesitate for a moment.
“I promised I wouldn’t”
“But you need it, they won’t notice anyway”
“They did last time”
“Last time you were careless, besides you belong here, with me. There’s no other way. Come on just one more time. It won’t hurt anyone, they’ll never know, you’ll be extra careful this time. It will be just like you imagined.”
5 minutes to class
The blade touches my wrist. Slowly it cuts. Again and again. Relief. The hurt and anxiety is fading, if only for a while. Blood beautiful blood. Another cut, beautiful aching pain. My heart is hammering in my ears. I need this, for once in control over my pain. This is happiness in slavery. I’m a slave to the blade. I need it, my blades are the only friends I‘ve got.
I grab some paper to wipe the blood on my wrist. I pull my sleeve down to protect my mistakes. I wipe my tears. I wash the blade, to remove the blood. I unlock the door. I face the reality pretending everything is ok.
“Happiness in slavery”
“Just like I imagined”