"IN THE VERY DEPTHS OF HELL DO DEMONS NOT LOVE ONE ANOTHER?"
I sat in the far back of the classroom, staring out of the window at the rain dripping off of someone near the lot. They seemed to be in a hurry, and being that it was the first week of school, I would have been in a hurry, too, were it not for my mother waking me up this morning. My head ached with the lack of sleep I was accustomed to, and as I watched the nobody slip on wet grass outside, I couldn't help but smile. But to someone else, that nobody with a letterman jacket was everybody. That person was the stars, red lips, dark eyes, soft hair, alive and breathing and beautiful in every way. Perhaps not to me. But to someone. As I tore my gaze away from the somebody-to-someone-else, my mind wandered to the embarrassingly long conversation with a wrong number last night. The teacher spoke about chromosomes but all I could think about was how oddly understanding they were. I slipped my phone out and scrolled to the most confusing message they sent.
UNKNOWN: [3:45am] people are not as happy as they seem.
The door to the classroom opened and in walked a soaked athlete who ended up being somebody afterall. His hair was flat against his head as he apologized to the professor and took his seat in the middle, where the popular belonged. Multiple foreign languages of cool boys going through puberty were exchanged before the teacher continued. That was happiness. With their thumbs in their mouths from birth, breastfed everything. Told where to go, what to do, how to do it. I wish my life was similar to that. Maybe I'd know whether or not to listen to the wrong number or the voices in my head. I watched the boy shake water out of his hair, wetting females around him. The girls all squealed in annoyance and he smiled, meeting my eyes. I quickly looked away, thinking if I looked back up we'd fall in love or something cliche but he was on his phone. My own buzzed in my hands and I thanked God it hadn't been on the table to gather the attention of my peers. That would be humiliating. I opened the message from the mysterious person, not able to help the small grin on my lips.
UNKNOWN: [9:57am] Are you alright? I can skip school and we can just talk.
YOU: [9:59am] I'm quite boring.
UNKNOWN: [10:00am] I like talking to you.
YOU: [10:01am] I'm also depressing.
UNKNOWN: [10:04am] we're human. We're all depressing.
YOU: [10:06am] what's your name?
UNKNOWN: [10:07am] Tyler. Yours? (What are your pronouns, too, I don't want to be rude)
YOU: [10:10am] I'm Josh, and he/him; you?
UNKNOWN: [10:11am] same as yours. How are you feeling, lovely?
YOU: [10:12am] shut up, I'm not lovely. You don't know anything about me. I'm fine, okay? It was just a slip up of a number, I meant to text my cousin.
UNKNOWN: [10:15am] I know that your favorite color is pink, but only the pink that cotton candy comes in, because Pepto is disgusting. I know that you love sushi and cookie-dough icecream, although not as a combination, right? You grew up going to church but stopped when you told your mother you were gay because you didn't want her to be ridiculed, even though I'm sure she'd love to have you there. Am I missing anything?
UNKNOWN: [10:15am] oh, right. You want to commit suicide because your first kiss with a boy was your dads boss when you were twelve and no one believed you and still to this day he is the only person you've ever kissed. Not willingly, of course, he was too strong to allow you any choice.
YOU: [10:16am] way to make me cry in class, you soggy lampshade.
UNKNOWN: [10:17am] please don't cry. I'm sorry. That was harsh of me.
YOU: [10:18am] It's fine, don't sweat it, man. I just try to avoid that topic when I'm in public. I have a rep., you know.
UNKNOWN: [10:20am] do you, now.
YOU: [10:22am] I do, I'm actually pretty great. Ask my mom.
UNKNOWN: [10:25am] I'm smiling. You're a dork.
YOU: [10:30am] a cool dork, though, amirite?
UNKNOWN: [10:31am] the coolest, sir cool.
The bell ringing caused me to jump and I stood, grabbing my bag off of the floor. With narrow eyes I meandered my way into the hall, seeing Somebody and his group of tools loitering near the lockers. A boy with glasses and lots of acne was pushed against the metal and an obscene noise escaped his mouth. The leader of the pack of hungry wolves stepped forwards, the sewing on his varsity jacket reading: Joseph. I knew a boy named Joseph once. He use to pick his nose and wipe the snot on the carpet during reading time in pre-school.
"Leave him alone, Bryan."
Bryan cowered in fear at this, tail curled beneath his most artistic trait. Asshole. I rolled my eyes, pulling my strap up my arm higher. How cliché. We were old enough to not mull over looks, yet here were four boys ready to bully someone into a form of suicidal sadness. This was ridiculous. Joseph turned to me when I walked past, and if it wasn't for the amount of Advil I swallowed this morning, I would have believed his small smile, but I was almost quite certain I was drugged. I looked over my shoulder at them. The other boys were retreating further down the corridor but Joseph was watching me with a curious glint in his eyes. Before his servants could ask what was wrong, I smiled back, seeing his teeth graze his bottom lip. How hilarious. The star athlete of Westchester High ends up being gay and interested in the boy with an awful haircut and insomnia under his eyes. I wasn't one to jump to conclusions, especially when I wasn't too confident in myself, let alone my own looks. I was insane, I needed help. And I wouldn't be finding help at a school surrounded by people with too much deodorant on. I made a quick left and exited the school, making my way through the alley and finding myself at a stop. I waited the arrival of a bus, the autumn air swimming with the strands of hair on my head. I took in a deep breath and--with my lungs frozen--mounted the bus and paid the driver two dollars because if I had to drive all day long listening to people complain about their daily lives, I'd cry myself to sleep everynight. But I already do. I sat against the hard chair because this wasn't in the movies where you get to lie your head against the window without getting brain damage. I waited until the bus stopped near Caroway Avenue, getting off and walking the short distance to the hospital. Maybe if I blend in, they'll never take notice. Visiting an aunt? A dead relative? Your dead soul? Yes, ma'am. Doctor's were too preoccupied to realize a skiver was in their presence, and so I walked to the pediatric unit and watched the unknowing infants in their small cribs. They didn't know what was to come in this world. They didn't know what society was like. Lucky bastards. A presence made an appearance besides me. A female, around late thirties with blue eyeshadow on. I almost cringed.
"Are they one of yours?"
I peeked at her teeth, yellow and stained by coffee and red lipstick. I turned on my heel and walked into the stairwell, taking two at a time until I made it to an empty room. Bedsheets freshly laid out, clean and sterile. I took my bag off and shut the door, changing into one of those too-revealing hospital gowns. I left my briefs on and sat on the bed, hearing my phone buzz in my jean pocket. I ignored it and lie against the noisy sheets, exhaling when my head came into contact with the uncomfortable pillow. I imagined I was dying, here, in this moment. Tumor in my brain, bullet in my chest. Surgeons try to pry open my skull and take a look at who I once was.
"Cause of death?"
"Sadness."
More bovies to drain me from blood. Fill a bottle with it and feed it to the imaginary vampires in those teen novels no one cares about. Ugly Bird was the main character, wasn't it? I wonder if my teacher marked me absent. I wonder if they called home. I shut my eyes and fall asleep, my eyebags thanking me gratefully. They sing a song and prance. Sleep. Finally! Slumber in it's most pure form--at a hospital. The last time I visited a hospital I sprained my ankle. I wasn't in any actual need of saving because I was in the wrong hospital. If I wanted help I needed to talk to someone first, and I wasn't planning to. I stared at the blank ceiling, watching it mock me with its purpose, for I had none. I wish I was okay. If I could ask for one present, it'd be my happiness, because I seem to have lost it. Maybe the doctors can inject some sort of happy serum into me. I sit up, too fast, bad dreams, no more sleep, dizzy, fuzzy vision. On a poster next to the mirror it says bacteria grows on all surfaces. I quickly change back into my clothes and throw the gown into a bin, leaving without a trace. There were people here with actual problems and here I was being an angsty son-of-a-bitch. No one called after me as I left. No one asked where I had come from or yelled for my name to sign out. Is that what I had done when I went insane? Had I signed out of my own head? The coldness was angry against my throat as I walked the ten blocks home, hoping for a car to swerve off of the road and kill me. I was so dramatic. By the time I got home the lights were off. I opened the front door and walked in. No one sat in the recliner waiting for my arrival. Everyone was sound asleep, lost in their dreams. If only I could stop having nightmares of the same thing. I walked up the stairs and heard shuffling.
Sandra. Her small fists pressed themselves against her shut eyes as she left her room, watching me. I kneeled down to her level, taking her hands in my own.
"Hi, Sandy." I whispered. She creased small blonde eyebrows and frowned.
"Joshie, you're home."
"I am, beautiful. And so are you and mommy and Jordie and dadd--"
"Daddy is still at work." She interrupted me. I faltered. Of course he was. It was nearly one in the morning. "Mommy made mashed toes." She said softly, eyes glinting in the darkness. I shook my head.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're never hungry."
Without a response, I stood, taking her hand in mine and tucking her into bed. She was clever. She knew me too well. Before I could walk away she gripped my hand, making me look at her. "I know you're sad but I love you a lot and I don't want you to be sad."
I smiled, kissing her on the forehead. "I'm never sad with you around, lovebug."
I shut off her light and walked into the hall, leaving her door open just a crack before walking into my own room. The mess was familiar to me, and it was something that gave me anxiety but I would never clean it up. I'm almost sure my shirt just moved on its own. I crawled onto the bed with no intentions to fall asleep, grabbing my laptop and opening Netflix. I clicked on Doctor Who and sat back, watching as Matthew Smith traveled time with Amy and Rory. If I could travel time where would I go?
My funeral.