How To Save A Life

Chapter Eight

To avoid the jocks during my free hour, I go to the school's courtyard to do my homework. The spot I always chose was on a bench that was at a fair distance from the parking lot and the school entrance. It gave me a fair chance to get a running start to either the school or to my car in the likely case that they decide to come over. 

It is weird to try in school when I know that I only have a few months left on this planet. I won't graduate. I won't go to college. I know that once Mission Zero's date gets closer I will probably just give up on school all together. Mission Zero is the name of the massacre. All attacks have a code name. The closer it comes, the more my mind races.

I had to finish up some homework for a couple classes that were later in the day before I would see if I have enough time to start working on my Algebra homework that my teacher assigned last period. My days usually went like this. I've always been tight about doing my homework.

I barely even got five minutes to myself before I saw someone sit beside me on my bench. I couldn't bother to get up or look in the persons' direction. I decided to just continue with my homework.

"Hey, how are you feeling today?" I looked through the corner of my eye to see that it was just Mikayla. Why does that not surprise me. I felt her place a hand on my forearm which is the arm I was writing with. "Colin?" I looked at her to see what she wanted just to see a face of worry and concern. She looked at me and then down at my arm. I narrowed my eyes before looking down at my arm also. Now, I could see why she looked so concerned. When she placed her hand on my arm and started rubbing it up and down a bit, she managed to slide my flannel sleeve up just enough for her to see the scars on my wrist. Old and new. I was quick to react and pulled my sleeve down to my palm. I went back to trying to ignore her and do my homework. She leaned back away from me and sighed. "Look, hate me, don't hate me. It's your decision. But, I do care that you are doing this to yourself."

I didn't look at her as I still tried to focus on my homework. "Doing what to myself?"

"You're hurting yourself. Both physically and emotionally. You're scaring me, Colin."

I sighed. "Don't worry about it."

"Can we please talk?" I stayed quiet, worrying her even more. "What's going on?"

"You know very well what's going on."

"Yeah, all I know is that Justin and his friends torment you and that you're not really popular. Is it really that bad?"

I nodded and finally looked over at her. Her face showing more worry than I have ever seen. "It's bad. Very bad."

"What do they do?"

I sighed. "You know very well what they do." I paused for a moment. I put my things to the side to make what I was about to do a whole lot easier. I lifted up my flannel and Guns 'n' Roses shirt up to my chest, high enough to reveal the marks those jocks have left on my body. My body is marked with scars and bruises from them. "They did this to me," I said before pulling my shirt back down. "Happy?"

She shook her head and stood up. "We need to tell someone." She didn't wait for me to say anything before making her way towards the direction of the school. 

"Mikayla," I sighed out. I grabbed my stuff, slinging my book bag over one shoulder and jogged over to her. I grabbed her arm to stop her right as she was about to put a foot onto the front steps of the school. "Please, don't."

"It has to stop. I'm serious." She shook my hand off her arm and continued up the steps.

I sighed. "And, I'm serious when I say I will handle it. Just, please, don't tell anybody."

She stopped in her tracks and turned towards me. So much concern in one look. "I'm worried about you."

I chuckled. "Well, that's a first."

"What?"

I sighed. "It's my battle. Not yours."

She huffed. "They're leaving marks all over your body. You're not winning this battle."

"I put this upon myself. It doesn't matter anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked and walked down the remainder of the stairs, stopping in front of me, arms crossed.

I groaned, honestly getting real fed up with this caring crap. "That's none of your concern." 

I tried to walk passed her and into the school before she could say anything else, but she stopped me with just one little question. "Do you know God?"

I sighed. "That's a stupid question." She stood there, waiting for me to answer. "No. I don't believe in God."

She nodded. "Why?"

I chuckled and shifted my book bag strap uncomfortably on my shoulder. "There's too much bad shit happening in the world. Why would any God allow that?" She looked at me, tapping her foot like my mom would when she's trying to get answers out of me. It irritated me so much. "Look, my parents are Christians. I used to be too. But, then high school came and you see how bad it is for me. I lost my faith a long time ago. You happy?"

"Do you need to talk to someone? Me, for instance."

I furrowed my eyes. "No. I don't need help. I can't be helped anymore. Okay?"

I pushed passed her and made my way into the school. I didn't know where I was going and I didn't care. I just wanted to be alone.

I was stopped in my tracks when I saw a wall of jocks walking down the hallway in my direction. I continued walking. Thinking that I should just try to get passed them and I'll be good. I kept my head down as I walked. The laughter of the jocks getting louder and louder with each step closer I got to them. 

They pretended to ignore me as I tried to walk through the crowd, no other way around them other than through. They laughed like preps as I tried to go through. They pushed and shoved me. Never giving me a glance as they did so. I was beyond angry by the time I got behind them. Students were now starting to leave the commons to get a head start to their lockers before the bell rang. I hate that everyone can be happy and all I can be is miserable.

KNOW THE SIGNS:

-Perpetrators of self-harm or violence towards others may be victims to long-term bullying and may have real or perceived feelings of being picked on or persecuted by others.

-Previous suicide attempts, ideation, self-harm (leading indicators to self-harm)