"Do you really not care about your grades?" I asked Liam for the hundredth time, as he continued to refuse to do his work.
He shook his head, "I don't know how you expect me to concentrate on any of this stuff. It's literally the most boring thing I've ever tried to read."
"How am I even attracted to you?"
He opened his mouth - probably to say something incredibly inappropriate - since that was his new favorite thing to do, but I cut him off. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. I said you could come over to study, not distract me. I don't want to fail any of my classes, so if I hear one more complaint from that pretty little mouth of yours, I will kick you out."
That shut him up.
When I was finally done, I looked over to see how Liam was doing. His chin was resting in his palm, and his eyes slid over the pages so slowly it almost looked like they weren't moving at all. I could tell he was bored out of his mind by the way he tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the carpet.
Sixty seconds passed, and instead of turning the page, he slammed the book shut and shoved it across the floor. "I can't do this anymore. If I spend one more second looking at this stuff I might actually learn something."
"Oh yeah, because that would be so horrible. Try reading it out loud."
He looked at me like I was insane, but when I slid the book back to him he opened it up and started to read, "The canal provided a vital route for trade between northern cities and the southern rice-producing region of the Chang delta . . . and I'm in a coma."
"Maybe you just need to reboot your brain, I could get a bucket of ice water if you want."
He glared at me, then seemed to have an idea. "I actually had something a little different in mind."
I raised my eyebrows, "And what would that be?"
He shrugged and scooted over to me, "I was thinking something like . . ." He leaned in and kissed me. I did not object.
After Liam left, the day passed by incredibly quickly. I ate dinner and then watched Netflix for the rest of the night. By the time ten o'clock rolled around, I could barely keep my eyes open. I closed the computer and set it on my nightstand, then passed out.
The next day I woke up in darkness. The clouds hung low in the sky and the sun hadn't even begun to rise. I threw back the duvet on my bed and flopped onto the carpeted floor. As I lay on the ground, I tried to recall what I had been dreaming about, but all I could remember was a fear so intense it made it hard to breathe.
My day was clearly already off to a great start, and it only got better. I spilled water all over the sink, got my pajamas wet, and I somehow managed to put soap on my toothbrush; which I thought only happened in movies. Then to top it all off, I tripped on my pant leg, and hit my head on the edge of my bed.
As I clutched my pounding head, where I knew a faint bruise was already forming, I was sure of one thing: today was going to majorly stink.
My breakfast was bland and I ripped my sweater on the way out of the front door. My life was turning into an actual bad day at black rock. By the time I got to the bus stop I was just about ready to cry, and I was seriously considering skipping school. I decided that whatever I did would probably backfire though, so when the bus pulled up I climbed on board anyway, my heart sinking in my chest. I plopped down in the seat across from Mason, and sat in silence.
I hugged my knees to my chest and rested my head on the window. I couldn't even bring myself to move when the bus hit 'pothole road' as we'd dubbed it, and my head slammed into the glass over and over again. A strange and completely unprompted sadness had consumed me, and I felt more hopeless than I had in a long time. I suppressed tears when Liam's stop came and went; and he didn't get on.
I was alone.
I'd been counting on his comfort to get me through the day, but it looked like I was going to have to support myself. When the orange atrocity pulled up in front of what was essentially hell, I took a deep breath and tried to prepare myself emotionally for the next seven hours. I wasn't bubbling and making jokes the whole way to our locker like I usually did, and Mason noticed.
"Are you okay, Em?"
Since I didn't really have a good explanation for why I wanted to curl into a ball and cry, I smiled and nodded. "Yeah I'm just really tired, and I'm about to be really late, so I'll see you at lunch."
I felt a bit bad about lying, but I didn't need him trying to make me feel better when I didn't even know what was wrong; so I ran off to class and left Mason confused at his locker.
The first two hours of classes dragged on for an eternity. I barely registered anything my ecology teacher said. Her words hit my ears and passed through my brain, but when she called on me to answer a question, it took a full minute of panic and stuttering for me to get the right answer out.
After that mortifying experience, I came to the realization that I wasn't going to be able to learn anything in my current state. The next twenty minutes of my day were spent convincing the nurse I was sick, and the thirty after that, waiting for my aunt to take me home.
Once I was curled up under three layers of blankets, I let myself go. I cried until the pillow under my face was soaking wet. I shouldn't have felt so sad and empty, because for the first time in a while, my life was actually pretty great, but for some reason, I did. It was like a switch had been flipped while I slept, and I wanted to scream in frustration. Yesterday had been perfect, but today I wanted to die.
This wasn't the first time something like this had happened to me, and usually it passed after a while, but that knowledge didn't make my heart ache any less.
I tried a lot of things to get my mind off of how terrible I felt, but nothing worked. I lost interest in every tv show I tried to watch, and I barely cracked a smile during videos that usually sent me into painful fits of laughter. I even tried starting a new book, but two pages into the Red Queen and I realized I had no idea what I'd just read.
In the end I resorted to the only other thing I could think of. I dragged myself out of bed and found my headphones. Then I slid on my sneakers and slipped out the front door.
Before I knew it I was running, the dull pain in my knee completely forgotten.
I knew what I was doing, and I didn't care. I was running away from all my problems. From my anxiety, my nightmares, and a thousand more plagues. I was running away from all my pain.
I ran because it made me feel alive. Because if I didn't, I would cry until the emptiness swallowed me whole.
The woods flew past my eyes as Zara Larson's honey sweet voice filled my ears. There were moments when the wind whipped my face so hard I could've sworn I saw flashes of things that were certainly not there.
When I finally couldn't move anymore, I collapsed against an old oak tree and caught my breath. My heart was beating wildly in my chest and I couldn't help but smile, because I knew I wasn't dead yet. Who could've known that the exercise I'd despised in seventh grade gym would be the thing to bring me peace years later.
The rough bark scratched my back but I didn't care. I just enjoyed the cold air and the cloudy, grey sky. I knew I would have to head home soon, but for a while I could sit in peace and be free from all the weight of life. My mind was finally at peace, and I let it drift back to my first day in Beacon Hills.
The plane rides were miserable. About nine hours total spent crammed in coach. While the people around me were headed off for vacation with their families, I was leaving my entire life behind forever. I was moving to a new town, to live with an aunt I was close with when I was six, until she'd moved and I only saw her on major holiday's.
It was insult to injury, salt in the wound; and my wounds already hurt like a bitch.
When I finally stepped off the aircraft, my neck and back felt like they'd been permanently disfigured. The straps of my backpack dug into my shoulders as I was escorted to baggage claim by the all too friendly flight attendant that hadn't stopped trying to talk to me the entire time we were airborne together. I was an 'Unaccompanied Minor', and that meant she wouldn't leave my side until my aunt came to collect me. Her words made it clear that I was nothing more than another piece of luggage in her eyes.
I didn't want to be in California, and I didn't want to be greeted by a cheap knockoff of my mom. But as I'd quickly learned, the world would never be a fair place, and I just had to deal with it. So I stayed silent as I pulled the black suitcases with all of my belongings off the spinning conveyor belt. It was a nifty little machine that represented my life quite well. Always experiencing the same loop over and over again; always ending in darkness, no matter how many bright spots there were in the middle.
My thoughts were ripped away from the comparison by a voice I recognized. It sounded so much like my mom's that tears pricked my eyes. I whipped my head around, my tangled dark brown locks arcing through the air and hitting Susan The Flight Attendant in the face. As soon as I saw my aunt I ripped the bright blue UA bracelet off my wrist and tossed it to the ground. My fingers wrapped around the handles of the suitcases, and they rolled along loudly behind me as I walked towards my mother's replacement.
I didn't speak as we walked out of the airport and to her metallic grey Prius. I pushed her helping hands away and loaded my things into the trunk by myself. The car ride was deadly silent, ironically. As soon as we pulled up to the small white house that was my new 'home' I sighed, letting out the last breath of my old life. Once me feet touched the ground here, I would plant roots. Eventually my old lifelines would wither away, and the person I used to be, would be gone.
Maybe I shouldn't have tried so hard to hate Beacon Hills, but when you're reeling from such a huge loss, and every single thing about your life completely changes over the course of a few weeks, it's hard not to be bitter. It was the strangest thing, that I could remember it all as if it had happened only yesterday, but at the same time, it felt like a million years ago.
I stirred from my thoughts when a particularly strong wind blew a flurry of leaves into my face. My glazed eyes burst back into life and I groaned as I pushed myself off the ground. By some miracle, I felt better. The combination of physical exertion and remembering a time that was much worse seemed to have cured my mental ailment.
As I walked back to my house at a leisurely pace, I realized how proud I was of myself. This one time I didn't need anyone else. I had been my own glue, my own anchor, I'd fixed my own broken pieces.
I had been scared I was becoming too dependent on Liam, but now that worry was flying away in the breeze. Now I knew I could love him as deeply as I did without loosing myself in the process, and that made me feel lighter than the clouds.