Sleeping On Daisies

IV: The Void

A/N: Hey guys. I forgot to include an extra piece of information about Sydney's father in the previous chapter. If you all would go reread the second half, it'd really aid in your understand of the father situtation. Thank you guys for reading, enjoy! :)

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I wake to a tension headache. It feels like someone has been hammering in my skull, my brain. The alarm clock on my nightstand continues to ring, drilling its high-pitched bells into my eardrums. I press snooze and linger in bed for awhile, waiting for the haziness to flee from my vision. Stretching off the aching in my bones. I look over at the window and take in the outside view of my backyard. 

The sun isn't out today.

Instead the sky is somber, a juncture of grey clouds swallowing it whole. The swingset my father and I built back when I was five still hangs on the rowan tree. Thick branches engulfs the shabby rope as the car tire rests a few inches from the grass. There are a flock of white-throated sparrows on the top of the tree. They beckon at each other, flapping their wings once the leaves starts to sway.

I peel the bedspreads off my lower abdomen and shuffle into the bathroom. A stranger appears in the mirror. Her hair tousled, her skin pale, her eyes a dull brown. 

Sometimes we tend to forget that we are human. We forget that humans are not just made up of molecules and atoms, or dust and ribs—but flaws and imperfections. Habits and natures. We are constantly changing within every second. We think in the most uncommon way, and we handle ourselves in the means of survival.

This is my mother. 

For four months, she thought of several ways to escape telling me the truth about my father. She created methods to cope with the loss of what-used-to-be love. She forced herself to believe that light doesn't always capture what happens in the darkness. Maybe to give me enough time to forget that I ever had a father, or to be able to live with herself in peace instead of guilt--but it was all in the means of survival. 

I should be lenient towards her, to thank her for preparing me breakfast this morning (of all mornings), to thank her for offering me a ride to school for the first time in a long time. But I have no need to be lenient towards a liar. I wasn't worth an explanation. 

So, I rush out the door without a word to her. No remorse.

***

Clair isn't waiting for me at the top of the stone-steps. 

An air of melancholy surrounds me, caressing my hair and scalp and skin. My throat feels swollen with nostalgia. I can only recall the harrowing moments in my life: yesterday when Clair disclaimed our friendship and when I received the news about my father. Last summer, when I received that letter from Isaiah; the one where he severed our bond through writing. Now, when a void unravels in my heart and I start to recognize this feeling as emotional vacancy.

I frown, walking into the building. The lines are long today. Shane and Terrence are scanning students at an incredibly slow pace. I endure seven minutes of their laziness, the soles of my oxford flats numbing against my feet. I endure another two minutes of their scanning, and then I proceed forward.

The halls aren't the same. Their less clamped. Almost empty. I dismiss the thought when I approach my locker. 

Clair isn't here either.

Sighing, I struggle with my combination. It takes only three attempts before I decide against entering a combination and jangle the lock with vigor until it unlocks. I gather my textbooks and cram them into my satchel. 

"Hey, girl!"  A boy shouts nearby.  He stands just a few inches shorter than me, holding a bundle of yellow papers. 

He hands me one. 

"What is this?" I ask, skimming the paper.

He smiles, revealing a perfect row of teeth. "An invite to the rave." 

"Rave?" 

What is this? The late 80s?

"At the Warehouse, two weeks from now." He glances at a few girls bypassing us and starts to walk off.

"Wait!" I call. 

He turns to me, an irritated expression on his face. "What?"

"What do I wear? Who do I bring?" 

He chuckles, almost in a ridiculing manner. "You wear clothes and you bring your friends, girl."

Little did he know I had no friends.

The first bell rings, indicating it's time for breakfast in the cafeteria. I follow a throng of students there, stopping at the threshold to view the spaciousness. I promised myself I wouldn't be distracted by the likes of him, but here I am gawking at Isaiah again. Nothing has changed from yesterday. He sits at his table with his friends. 

There are two rows of serving lines on both sides of the cafeteria. I join the second one, deciding that although its equally long as the first one, it moves at a quicker pace. My theory is proven correct when I have a tray of cartoned milk, toaster strudel, and banana in less than five minutes.

Clair is sitting at our original table, but with a new group of friends. This is not a shocker. It has always been in her nature to be utterly childish and hold grudges.   

I make my way over to Crystal—a girl that sat behind me in Pre-Algebra back in middle school. She has matured in her face since then. Her hair is blonde now; a complete contrast to her blue eyes. It seems her new features have done her justice. 

The table is half-empty, occupied with company that isn't associating with her. Instead, she is reading a novel, her tray of food resting on the table untouched. It doesn't surprise me since she was always a reserved girl. I disregard the fact that we haven't spoken since then and take a seat next to her.

"Hi," I say. Her head peers up from the novel. 

She gives me a peculiar look. "Susan?" 

Ouch. 

"Sydney," I correct.

She nods, focusing back on the novel. "Where's Claudia?"

"You mean Clair?"

"Yeah, that."

I forgot how pretentious she was. 

I start to peel the wrapper off my toaster strudel. "We're not speaking, so I figured I'd come sit by my only other friend."

Crystal glances at me, an eyebrow raised. "Friends?" 

I nod, hopefully. "We are friends, right?"

"If it helps you sleep at night, Susan." 

My cheeks fills with blood as she continues to read her book. I understand, then, why I never placed forth any effort in rekindling our friendship. She has always been a bourgeois person and it's the reason she doesn't have any friends; not that it bothered her. 

The void unravels again. 

It envelopes my heart and lungs, arousing my anxiety. I lose appetite, rising from my seat and dismissing my presence from the table. Crystal obviously couldn't care less about my desperate need for comfort and conversation. She wasn't that someone who I thought would be willing to listen to me vent about my personal problems. Instead, she made me feel like a burden.

I toss my tray into the garbage bin and exit the cafeteria.