At school it feels a bit weird at times. Everyone looks at me with either sympathy or give me awkward glances. Especially, after the incident that happened. There were so many stories about why I fainted and most of them left me embarrassed. I walk towards my math class and feel the adrenaline rush. I still remember the last time I had an anxiety attack during math class and what had happened afterwards. If something happens today, I will become a walking joke. I stand near my locker for a few minutes and practice the breathing exercises. But it doesn't help. I don't know what to do now.
I cannot be having another anxiety attack. Not here. Not today. Not now. I need to find a grip but I am already too far gone.
"Miss. Martin?" I turned around with my sweaty face.
"Mr.Harlow." My voice comes out like I am panting.
"I needed some help with some test papers, would you mind if I ask you to help me out with it. I guess my age is finally catching up with me." He laughs, "I will write the note for you why you weren't there in the math class." He knows my timetable?
"Of course! I would help you with the test papers." I walk after him as we enter inside the empty classroom.
He puts a chair for me beside his table and passes me a bundle of papers and told me to arrange them according to the serial number.
He gets busy in grading other test papers. I am so thankful for his existence because I know that he knew something was not right with me. I arrange the test papers according to the serial numbers but there is still plenty of time left and I can easily be sent back to the class. I wait for him to say those dreadful words but they never came. Instead, we sat silently for the next however long those minutes were. I even took out the book that Cal gave me and annotated it while reading.
One thing I appreciate about Mr.Harlow is he doesn't try to break the silence or speak just for the sake of it. When the bell rang, he got up and looked at me and said, "Thank you for staying, you really helped me with a lot of work."
"Anytime." I spoke.
"Thank you...for being here." He said, "I'll write the note for you."
He wrote the note for me and I thanked him. I made my way to find Mr.Davidson and handed him the note. He looked at me suspiciously for a brief second before dismissing me.
I know I cannot survive the rest of the school so I make my way outside. I feel the blood pumping through my veins. I know I am going to regret this. Or maybe I won't.
I smoke a cigarette.
YOU ARE READING
Six Feet Under
Teen Fiction"Always kiss your children goodnight, even if they're already asleep." - H. Jackson Brown, Jr. I have been wide awake for 17 years and yet my parents have never even held my hand and let me experience what it feels like to have a protective father o...
