TRIGGER WARNING: death, self-harm, suicide.
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It turns out that finding articles from fifteen years ago isn't that easy. There are many and not just one newspaper, so James and I spend several days looking through the registers but to no avail. Just like with the internet search we only find articles related to new polices after an accident with severe bullying. No names mentioned or anything. Just that. What happened to me is reduced to an 'accident'. That makes me boil with rage and frustration because not even after I died they cared about what happened to me. Not even an apology.
James tries to distract me but I think he's aware this frustration is taking away all the bubbling he knows me for, and it's turning me into a dark creature, filled with rage and thirst for revenge. Revenge against people that ruined my life but I can't remember. Written apologies on my desk are not what I need. I need to see them knowing what they did and how that killed my soul. Whether they pulled the knife in my flesh or not, they murdered my soul and no human can live much longer without it.
Either way they killed me, and I want them to never forget they are murderers.
"Hey Paige," James calls me when he notices that, once again, my mind has been drifting away with too dark thoughts to be allowed. "I asked around to know who's the person who's been the longest working here. Richard, the technician of the top floor of the E block, has been here sixteen years. He's also the one that takes pictures, and I've heard he remembers every student. What do you think if we go pay him a visit and ask him if he remembers what happened fifteen years ago? Maybe he remembers names and more."
He tries to smile to cheer me up, but I can't focus on that. I'm trying to remember Richard. Why is my mind so scatty? Why is that no one stays in my memory for too long? I wonder if that's a consequence for staying too long on this realm.
"Let's try that," I accept, pushing away those other questions. James says I just need to get my memories triggered; maybe going to see Richard will help.
I manage to see James' worried gaze on me, but I don't want to fake a smile when I'm so tormented and angry, frustrated because I can't remember what happened to me, and no one bothered to leave a clue or any register of what happened. Everyone just deleted me and disregarded me.
Fifteen years isn't that long, is it?
I stand up and head away from the rec and towards the E block, upstairs with James following me without uttering a word. Some other kids walk past us, no one noticing me but they do pay attention to James. Even if it's been a while since he joined us, he still gets attention because he keeps being a mystery for them. He is a friend to me, I know him better than anyone else here, but that makes no difference. He is as alone as if I weren't here.
We get to the top floor and James knocks at the door where we should find Richard. We heard a faint 'come in' that is the sign James takes to open the door and walk in. Now I'm the one following and staying behind whilst he greets the technician that smiles kindly at us. He's probably around forty-five with receding hairline and deep laughter lines. He has brown eyes that still look young and when I take a look into them I remember him. When he was near his thirty, full of youth and spirit, with the same warm smile and kind eyes. He was always around, taking pictures of the students and every event to remember.
I remember him.
"You're the transfer student, right?" Richard asks. "Nice to meet you, I'm Richard. How may I help you? Do you need something?" he offers a seat for James that he takes. His eyes briefly dart to me and I just shake my head. I can sit anywhere.
"Yeah, I'm James," he introduces himself. "And I was wondering if you could help me with something," he begins. Richard only nods to signal he's following and waiting for James to continue. "Well, it's about something that happened fifteen years ago." Richard's face shows recognition, like that number alone rings a bell. His body posture changes, becoming more alert and my own suspicion grows as I watch him. "There was a girl back then and she was severely bullied during her first year. Do you remember anything about that time?"
For the longest ten seconds of my existence Richard only stares back at James, who is growing anxious, considering how he slightly stirs on his seat. "Paige Samuels," he finally says and both James and I take an audible intake of air. "Such a broken girl." His once happy eyes turn melancholic, regretful. "We should've done more to help her, but everyone thought 'they are just kids. They'll grow up and stop'."
"What happened, exactly? I've tried looking for articles or anything that mentions it but to no avail," James intervenes, his own anxiety dripping from his voice, his body leaning forward in anticipation.
"Why are you asking about her?" Richard asks back, making James retreat and use a more defensive posture.
"I can't really explain. Let's say it's personal. She's close to me," he replies but that seems to confuse Richard further. "Please."
Richard shakes his head and if he was debating himself whether to tell James the story or not, he comes to a conclusion now. "I didn't know her much, she was always like a shadow, you know? I heard of her more later, after she died. It seems everyone underestimated the situation, and she never complained. After she died many people came forward, giving testimonies and sharing the horrors that girl had to go through, but when it was happening no one said a thing."
I brace myself. Hearing the events from a different point of view, from someone who had nothing to do with it and only heard of it, is wrecking. It shakes me from within, making me ache in a way no physical pain could compare. I hear from this technician's mouth how every adult ignored me, how no one could vouch for me and help me until I died.
Why did not anyone feel at least a bit sorry for me to even send an anonymous note to the principal or something? Wasn't I even pitiful for them? They definitely saw what was happening, but they turned the blind eye until I died. Why?
"The measures were taken too late. They apologised to the family, to the girl, gave her the best ceremony they could, the bullies were expelled and new policies were created to prevent that from ever happening again. But she was already dead and nothing could bring her back," Richard laments, telling a bit of what the articles covered.
My whole body shakes with frustration and fragmented memories. I see many people crying, apologising to my family. I see the principal handing a check with a lot of zeros to my mother and she rejecting it. I see grief, so much grief.
"How did she die?" James asks, his voice sounds constricted, as if his throat closed up and he can barely get the words out. I imagine my voice would sound like that, too.
"She killed herself," Richard answers and I feel cold wrapping me, like a frozen blanket, chilling me to the core. The words echoing in my head, over and over again.
I killed myself.
"The last thing the kids did to her was locking her up in a closet for a whole night. The next day, she stayed almost all morning there, she didn't even cry or shout for help at that point. She was found almost at noon, cold to the bone, shaking and she had even urinated herself. Instead of worrying, the kids that did that to her came to laugh at her. They humiliated her even further. I think that's why they did it to start with." I can't even blink as I listen to the rest of that memory I saw when touched my urn. "The family was informed and hell broke loose. The mother had been calling everywhere, trying to find her but you understand back then not everyone had a mobile phone like today. She tried to fill in a missing person file but they told her it had to be forty-eight hours after the person disappeared. When she learnt that her daughter had been locked in college she made sure to let everyone know how despicable everyone was. She filled in the transfer papers that very day.
"The girl didn't say a thing. She was too shocked and broken, I guess. The little I saw that day was enough to bring me nightmares even today. That poor girl... she was soulless, broken to the point of no repair but the most terrible thing was the hatred in her eyes. She blamed not only the kids that bullied her but everyone there. And I guess she was right, we were all responsible.
"The next morning there was another surprise, only that time she was the one bullying the rest. With her own blood she wrote 'I did it' on the board. The kids found her dead body on her desk. After that it—"
I can't take it anymore.
I stand up, shaking, throwing the table I was sitting to the floor, and more things with it, startling both James and Richard, but I don't care. I can't care.
The memories come rushing to me, reminiscences I crushed myself in my mind so they wouldn't torment me any further. The memories of that day and how I did it. The agony, the pain, the hatred and resentment. Rage, so much rage and detachment. I feel it all over again. It comes to me ruthless, tackling me from every direction, leaving me breathless and unable to see.
I tumble around, crushing against different things until I can reach the door and leave this room that has become a new form of hell.
I killed myself. I did it. Here in college. And I did it because they told me to so many times and the last thing I did was telling them they succeeded and I finished my own life. For them. I didn't kill myself to escape, I killed myself for them. To give back. To show them what they did to me. They broke me and I gave them what they sought from the beginning: my life. All for them.
I can't see and everything hurts. I feel cold consuming me and I think I'm losing my body again. The cold is burning and leaving me raw so I start screaming as the agony I felt that last day embrace me with a deadly grip. I shout because I can't cry, yet that's all I want to do.
I remember.
I remember all that happened that day. The moment I gave up in that closet, when the tears stopped coming and my mind came to a decision. I remember the moment my very soul left me. When I knew I would give them what they wanted and were asking me to do. How many times did they tell me to kill myself? I finally listened. I decided in that closet that I would give them the pleasure of seeing me dead. I had lost my soul already and knew that my body had to follow it.
I remember the coldness that I felt and how I knew exactly what to do to cause the most impact. I had to put on the perfect exhibition for my torturers.
I remember pondering all my options until I decided which one wouldn't fail. I knew I couldn't fail.
I remember sneaking out of my window and heading to college. I was so numb already that I couldn't even stop for my parents. I couldn't think beyond what I needed to do to the kids that drove me and pushed me over the edge.
I remember walking inside the E Block and heading to the Art History classroom. I remember the cold determination that took control over my body, and I remember that the pain I felt when I sliced open my own veins was nothing compared to the ache in my heart and the agony I had endured until then.
I remember taking one of my Stanley knives and soaking it in garlic before leaving home, just to make sure my own wounds wouldn't close and my blood wouldn't coagulate before I was really dead. I remember following the veins on my arms, from wrist until I could almost reach the shoulders, one after the other, opening them and feeling nothing but cold when the blood started pouring and splashing like sprinklers. I remember writing with that very blood on the board so they would all see it and be proud of what I did. It had to be my blood. They had to see my blood there, spelling the words I couldn't shout to their faces. My blood was my offering to them so they would be happy that I finally listened to them. It was all for them, they had to see it.
I remember putting on my denim jacket and seeing it getting soaked with blood, changing from a light blueish colour to burning scarlet.
I remember sitting and waiting.
I remember fading away, my own vision turning blurry from the corners and the cold consuming me. I remember the last tears I ever wept and how I kept mumbling, "I did it. Happy now? I did it..."
I remember wanting to see their faces. Wanting to see the moment they saw the my blood, hoping that image would never ever leave them. I remember the hatred in my heart hoping they would finally see what they caused and know this was their doing.
I was the one who opened my veins and let the blood escape me, but they pushed me to that. They didn't put the knife in my hand, but they told me so many times to do it until I obeyed.
I remember the last thing I saw before darkness took me away was the board with my handwriting in blood. The words that now echo in my head louder than ever.
"I did it," I whisper, my voice hoarse after so much screaming.
Hysterical laughter comes next because the cold is coming back, consuming me, taking control. The burning hatred and resentment possessing me. The same crazy drive to make them see, make them pay.
"I did it. For you all... I did it," I cry out. So loud I feel the whole building trembles. "I DID IT!" I shout one more time as faces, finally, come to my mind. I remember... I remember the people that did this to me.
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Wel... so... that's how it happened. I know some think that all the chapters up to now were "unnecessary rubbish" (actually quoting a comment there), but now you'll see every scene was extremely necessary to strengthen the bond between James and Paige. Now that she remembers what she did she's in so much danger, and James is the only one who can save her and keep her from losing herself.
I'm sorry if the chapter was too graphic or strong for some of you. I guess I was also trying to help myself from writing that scene.
Dedication to itsamai. Remember that dedications are given to the best comment. I do read them all, so make an effort if you want to earn the next dedication.
Bel, xx
NU: Monday