Star Crossed

Chapter 43: Brain and Body

Jayden

I stare down at the small bottle in my hands, shaking slightly. I exhale, trying to calm myself, but it comes out shaky and uneven. I hang my head slightly, pulling my knees up to my chest. I set the bottle down on the ground, then roughly run my fingers through my hair. I lift my head so that I'm able to see the clock on the bathroom wall. I've been in here for twenty minutes now, and my second period class should be over soon.

To say that I'm not okay right now would be an understatement. For the past two weeks -including March break- I've had this empty feeling inside of me. And no matter what I do, nothing works. This aching, empty feeling that is growing inside of me is getting worse, and I don't know what to do.

This is the third time that I've been in this situation, that is, sitting on the bathroom floor, willing myself to do something, but never knowing what. I just want this gut-wrenching feeling to stop, but nothing I do makes a difference. I've tried spending time with Hawk to make things better, though they seemed to only get worse. The more I was in his presence, the more my stomach twisted and made me want to throw up. I thought that Hawk was everything that I've ever wanted, and now I have no idea. It's as if every minute, every second, that I'm with him, I feel like I'm letting him down without even doing anything.

This voice in my head keeps telling me to get away from him, but my heart tells me to stay. My mind and body are pulling me in polar opposite directions, and I can't seem to catch a break.

Without a second thought, I pick the bottle of tramadol off of the floor. I pop the lid off of the orange container, and shove two of them into my mouth. I grab the bottle of water that was in the side pocket of my backpack, and take a large gulp, swallowing the pills. A wave of panic goes over me when I realize what I've just done. I stand up to my feet, my breathing shallow and quick, not knowing what to do.

My entire body begins shaking violently, and I can't seem to stop it. I grab hold of the bathroom sink, keeping myself up right, and stare into my reflection. My eyes are wide with terror, my skin is pale, and there are streaks of dried up tears going down my cheeks. My mind races, and the room starts spinning around me, but I will myself to stay upright.

This wasn't a result of the tramadol. No, this was my body rejecting the actions of my brain. My mind had made the decision to take the pills without my body getting a say in it. And now, I'm panicking. No, panicking isn't the right word. I'm being ripped apart. Limb from limb, thought from thought. My body and mind are pulling me in opposite directions, telling me to do opposite things, and I'm stuck in the middle, with no way to escape.

After a few minutes the shaking has stopped, and my breathing is somewhat back to normal. I pick my things up from the ground, and leave the school bathroom. Just as I begin walking to my second period class, the bell rings, so I turn around and go to my locker, getting my things for my next two classes. By the time I reach my locker, all of my emotions have settled. And the emptiness that I always fucking feel nowadays is there. I throw my binders into my locker, slamming it shut, clenching my teeth in anger.

I feel like pulling my hair out, like screaming, like punching, like doing anything that will distract from the ache in the pit of my stomach. I quickly leave the area, not wanting to draw attention to myself by having a temper tantrum in the middle of the hallway. I speed walk down the hall, and shove the doors to the school's courtyard open. I reach for my cigarettes and lighter in my pocket, pulling one out and immediately lighting it. I pull it up to my lips and take a long drag on it, letting out a sigh of relief as I feel my nerves and anger begin to subside.

I'm about to go sit down on the bench a few metres away from me when a voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

"Son, it is illegal to smoke on school property," a woman's voice -a teacher- states. I turn around to face Mrs. Lipowitz, the cigarette hanging out of the corner of my mouth. Mrs. Lipowitz is quite old, most likely over sixty. She has her hair tied into a tight bun, and is wearing a blouse and pencil skirt. She raises an eyebrow at me over her glasses, waiting for me to respond. Or more likely, put my cigarette out. When I don't make a move to do anything, she strides over to me. She rips the cigarette out of my mouth, and throws it onto the ground.