Hi everyone, this is my first book ever so any advice and feedback is greatly appreciated! I've always been a fan of writing, but have always been so shy to share my work - thank you for being here and I hope you enjoy!
** Fair warning, this book starts off a little dry! But gets better ;))
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"Stella!" Sutton snapped. "Are you even listening to me?" My sister watched me with hard eyes, waving a forkful of mashed potatoes around. She narrowed her thin blonde eyebrows, expecting me to respond to whatever she had just said.
"Oh, sorry," I said dumbly, and did my best impression of listening as she rambled on about her latest partying adventures. But to be honest, who cared? Her stories were all the same – she drank too much and threw up, she partied with a bunch of hot people, she made out with someone random.
Sometimes, I think I would like to be like that. Not all the time of course, but sometimes. It would just be nice to be more social.
I could spend my time imagining what this new version of myself would look like. Would I dye my hair, like Sutton? Start wearing fake tan all year round? Last week she begged me to help her put it on her back. I had the typical skin for a redhead, pale with freckles spotted all over; I liked fake tanning too, pretending I was somewhere warm and sunny and in a much better place, but I think she was more invested in her perfect tan. Whatever floated her boat, I guessed. I tried to spot the tan on her hands, looking for any staining, any imperfections – I stopped listening to her long ago. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Marco give a suspicious look in my direction. I lifted my head back up and started nodding more enthusiastically to what Sutton was saying.
"Right, that sounds crazy," I said. She gave me an excited look, gesturing her open palm to me.
"Thank you, that's exactly what I was saying to him too! I can't see why he doesn't realise he's being a complete—" My thoughts trailed off again, her words becoming a low buzzing sound in my ears.
It was Marco who noticed first. He said it was obvious, a brother's instinct, but I think it was because his depression had hit him during his teen years not too long ago – he could easily recognize the signs. He turned out ok though – he was even a doctor now, working at a nearby hospital. I didn't think I could be a doctor.
He approached me after Sunday's family dinner one night and asked me what was going on. I denied it, but he was just annoying enough to be persistent about it. He insisted I start going to a therapist and I half-heartedly agreed. I didn't want him to tell Mom and Dad – well, mostly Mom. She had too much on her plate already – always working, wanting to provide the best for our family.
She did a good job too. With three kids in the family, we always had great adventures. But sometimes, I didn't feel like there was enough room for me. Literally. It was why I chose to dorm at my university only half an hour away.
I was nine when Marco tried to kill himself. He was seventeen at the time. I remember how much my parents cried. I remember how much Marco cried too. I remember the hospital visits and the endless therapy sessions I saw my Mom drive him to every week. I think the stress of his illness really took a toll on my parents. They were doomed for a divorce anyways, but my dad moved out just a few months after. Time seemed to pass slower then, and more painful. It was like being slowly squeezed to death by a snake. I read a story about a guy that happened to once. I wondered if he was a good person.
I was afraid of repeating everything again. Afraid of the time that Marco had. Maybe he was the person in the snake in this scenario. Most of all, I was afraid to put my parents through that again. I was fine, anyways. I had parents who loved me so much, siblings who cared for me, I was attending a good university, and I wasn't about to let anything get in the way of that.
So every Sunday, I flashed a smile and told everyone how well I was doing in my courses, even if it was a lie. I couldn't bring myself to say anything otherwise. This Sunday was no different. My butt was starting to go numb too, sitting at the dining table with my family in my childhood home, watching the cherry blossom trees shed outside. I wanted to walk up and shake a branch.
Exams had just finished, and I was going to find myself with a lot of free time. Maybe I would get a job and start working somewhere fun, like a bookstore. Something nice and boring to keep the stress away. I liked the smell of books too – I didn't think any employer would consider that a skill though. I wondered if my sister would help me buff up my resume - she was always good at that type of thing.
My beautiful sister Sutton, three years younger than Marco, was practically perfect at everything. Best grades, was on all the sports teams, and head of her sorority. She had everything. She always liked to remind me of it too. To make matters worse, she also had the same golden hair my mother was blessed with, with beautiful green eyes and freckles splattered across her skin. At that moment, my mother sat at the head of the table, sipping her drink with a smile on her face, listening to us chat. She always seemed so tired after work, but I guess being a nurse all day took a lot out of her. Growing up, I wished my red hair would just fall out and be replaced with hers. I like my hair now though, at least I could never look plain.
"So, how's school going?" Sutton asked. "Any new love interests? Any hot professors? She smiled gleefully. Bugging me about boys was another thing she liked to do.
"Oh please,'' I protested. My social life wasn't exactly robust enough to date. "No boys. I barely talk to anyone at school anyways. I like just getting my work done and doing well in my classes." That was mostly true. I had been doing badly in my classes lately. Well, all year. Second year of university was killer. I started to pick at my napkin, making a small pile of white scraps. Sutton gave me a look of fake pity.
"Bo-ring," she chided. "I loved all the people in university, you need to put yourself out there – it's important for your university experience." She had a point, but I wasn't about to tell her that. Besides looking in a mirror, Sutton's favourite activity was being right.
"Easy for you to say – you like talking to people. I'm sure it's easy for you to make friends." I hated thinking about it. Why couldn't I make friends as easily as she could?
"Why don't you try joining some clubs? Or a sorority? That would be totally awesome." Really brought me out of my shell in university," she nodded, picking at her nails.
"Oh please," I protested. "Like you even had a shell to come out of."
"It's true! University is hard for everyone." She could say that again. I lazily directed my gaze back to the window to watch the thin pink petals blow off the trees.
—
After dinner, I thought about her words again. University is hard for everyone. University is hard for everyone. I turned it over and over again in my head, breaking down every word and syllable until the sentence had no meaning. She was right, university is hard for everyone – that was probably why I felt down about my grades or lack of friends or the fact that university was kind of the worst. Another reason why I wasn't even depressed. I didn't even know why I needed to take my medication every day. The psychiatrist I went to probably didn't even need to put me on it. I made a mental note to bring it up to my therapist at our bi-weekly session tomorrow that Marco insisted I go to. On the bright side, she always had jellybeans in her office. Candy was good enough motivation to go. Although, I hadn't been to the dentist in forever. I should probably do that too. I ran my tongue across the front of my teeth, inspecting their cleanliness.
I needed another distraction. I had my feet stretched out on the couch, head resting just over the armrest. My neck was starting to hurt. My eyes were starting to get tired too. I could barely make out the white crackle pattern on the ceiling. I reached over to the coffee table, pulling one of my mom's many library books out of a pile. In my opinion, there was little that reading could not solve. Although lately I had found my favourite activity less and less appealing. At least I could always go back to some of my favourite books. It was the path of least resistance, with some stories so ingrained into my head and heart that I didn't have to use much of my energy to read. Sometimes I just liked looking at the letters. If you looked close enough, you could see the little pores of the ink on the paper.
It was hard to feel energetic these days. Everything just felt so hard. Walking, talking, doing schoolwork. All I wanted to do was be left alone in my dorm room all day to sleep. Although I wished I could have had some company. Making friends in university seemed like an impossible task and so most times I just took naps in my bed. There was nothing to be felt when you were sleeping. My dreams were bland too. I liked the ones that involved sex. Then I woke up again and went to class and did nothing all over again.
"Are you okay?" Marco sat down next to me on the couch, giving me the same look he got when he tried to solve a rubix cube.
"Yeah, yeah, never better," I grinned tightly, trying my best to convince him I was doing okay. And really, I was doing okay. I had nothing to be depressed about, so why should I be? Besides, I was starting to get sick of him checking up on me, so I had to make it believable.
"You know you can talk to me about anything right?" I knew he meant it, and I loved him for it. I was so glad to have such a good brother.
"Yeah, don't worry about me, I'm completely fine." I smiled again and hoped he believed me.
I bussed back to the dorms. Technically, it was a train then a bus home. At least it only took me half an hour. Some people I had met took two hours to get to school and back. At that point, wouldn't you just go somewhere else? Why would you even care about your school that much. Maybe that's just my opinion.
I was at the train portion of my journey then. Almost there, and then I could sit in bed and do nothing. Just thinking about it made me depressed. Maybe I'd watch a show. I hadn't done a face mask in a long time either, but then I remembered I had left the new one I just bought back at home. Maybe I could search up a DIY and make it out of honey or something. But I didn't think I had that either. I checked my phone – it was only 8:00pm. I wondered if Starbucks would still be open. I could steal some honey from them. Maybe get a tea too. I liked green tea – there were health benefits from it that I read about while ago, but I had forgotten them now. I liked to think that I was doing something for my health when I drank it, thinking of all the forgotten health benefits. At least it was doing something for me. I could look them up when I got back to my dorm, but I think I would just forget it again.
I waited not-so-patiently for the train. The sign posted on the wall informed me that the next one was in five minutes, but that already felt ages away. I just wanted to be in bed. That was my favourite place to be. I crossed my ankles while I sat on the cold metal seat, convincing myself I was comfortable. The seats were right across from the train – probably reserved for old people or something but there was no one else around. I guess for a Sunday night, there was not much going on.
My favourite green dress had risen high, thighs being chilled by the seat beneath me, although I barely registered the icy burn of the metal. I was starting to get restless waiting, leaning forward as if it would allow me to see the train coming, despite darkness on both sides of the tracks. Standing around was the last thing I wanted to do, but I got up anyways and started pacing back and forth. It would be good to warm up my legs. At least I had on a thick purple cardigan – the color matched nicely with my dress.
The journey was starting to take too long. I drew closer to the tunnel, mindful of the yellow caution strip. Stay behind this line. I kicked a little at the tape with my shoe. It was starting to curl at the edges, collecting dirt from customers past. I wondered how many people died from being hit from a train in a year. Probably a few, not many. Maybe they were all accidents, or something else entirely. I fantasized about crossing that line. I was on the proper side of the line – then I stuck one foot over. Then I was halfway. I liked the idea of jumping. I think it would be quick and fast and painless. My life right now was painful. Or maybe it wasn't. It wasn't anything at all. My life was full of nothing on nothing on nothing and it was boring. I had nothing going for me. My grades were unrevivable, I had no job prospects, and no friends. I felt so tired. I didn't feel like the tiredness would ever stop.
I took a step backwards, and I was on the right side of the line again. It was probably a bad idea to be on the wrong side of the line. There was no one else on the platform. I looked to the corners of the walls. I could see some security cameras fixed to them. I wondered what they had seen.
I stepped one foot over the line again.
It was probably a bad idea.
I stepped my other foot over the line.
That was probably a worse idea.
I could hear the train coming, headlights starting to brighten up the dark tunnel, heart pounding in my chest.
It whipped past me, the wind it created blowing my hair over my eyes. If I reached out, I could touch it. Taking very small breaths, the doors hummed opened and a few people straggled out. I did not get in. I turned around and sat on the metal chair again. It was yellow. A few more trains came and went; I wasn't sure how many there were. I just sat, for a long time. My hands felt cold as I reached into my purse, taking out my phone. I dialed a number and held the phone up to my ear
"Marco?" I whispered, hand clenched. My voice sounded hoarse. "I think I may need some help." I heard a pause on the other end of the line and wondered if he had just woken up. My phone had read 11:00pm when I had taken it out.
"Where are you right now? I'll come get you. Trust me, it's all going to be okay," he assured.