Knives Make Lives

4.) Madness

Chapter Four

Head down, Niaomi put her iPod nano on shuffle as the rest of the class slowly trickled in. She’d arrived early in an attempt to avoid seeing Nicholas again, and so far it was working. Besides Mrs. Lauren’s class, where she could only see the back of his head if she’d - and she hadn’t - been looking, Niaomi had succeeded in staying out of his way. Making sure her hood was drawn well over her face, she tucked her nano into a pocket and pulled out her sketchbook. Today was an “away day” for her.

She sucked on her bottom lip for a moment before settling on drawing Diana. Niaomi could still taste the milkshake, which she’d drunk for breakfast. It was blended to a degree of smoothness that allowed it to slide past the lump in her throat, tasting nice: like oranges and vanilla and summer and happiness and pasts. However, she wasn’t allowed to have that anymore, which was why Niaomi still felt guilty for drinking it nearly eight hours later.

But it was such a rare treat, and though she knew it didn’t truly fix anything, it had made her feel better, lighter, wholer. Diana’s food always had a way of doing that to people, of fixing them and their problems. Grandma Holly had always said her daughter had the gift of cooking, and that it was a shame she didn’t use it more often. Back then, the other would just laugh and say she was still fixing people, but with another skillset.

It was too bad Diana couldn’t fix her marriage. Or her family. Or bother to try.

You’re a bitter one today, Miasma said in the most cheerful tone it ever reached, which was still barbed. Mommy’s milkshake didn’t cheer you up enough?

Niaomi turned up the volume, hoping the screamo section of her playlist would be enough to block out the voice. Aw, silly Nia, don’t you ever learn? I’m only in your thoughts, and we both know it takes more than loud music to block those out...something like Grandma’s knife.

I’m not in the mood.

Are you ever? it asked in false surprise. She clasped her wrist tight enough to feel the cut through the bandages, letting its sting push Miasma back into whatever corner of her head it lived in. Feeling a headache coming on, Niaomi cut down the volume and switched to one of L.A.D.’s tracks. Stress, frequent cutting, and lack of sleep had caught up with her once more. She’d have thanked God it was Friday, except she didn’t really do that anymore.

Not even sure if you believe in him anymore, are you?

One voice exits, another one enters, she replied to Bastion, slumping further into her seat and folding her arms to make a pillow. What is it with you two? Have some rotating schedule I’m unaware of?

We are only aware of what you are aware of, Niaomi, it answered, as impervious to her mockery as always. It is God who is all knowing, not us.

Again with Him? Niaomi closed her eyes, idly wondering if banging her head against the desk would be enough to make it shut up or just give her an even worse headache. Can’t believe you’re a Christian. What do you pray for? To inhabit someone who wasn’t so bleak?

Sounding sad, Bastion confessed, I pray for you, and for your family. I pray that one day you can all live happily. And that one day you will stop punishing yourself.

A Biblical lesson about forgiveness? she snidely asked, slightly annoyed at how the sarcasm continued to wash over him. That’d be great, since I haven’t been to church for years and all, but I haven’t forgotten how to do it.

God forgives all sins, Niaomi. I only ask that you forgive one.

Which one is that? There’s so many I’ve lost count.