Sitting up and lurching my head over my shoulder, it reveals a tall figure with messy blonde hair. My body reacts outrageously to this situation, causing me to shudder and fall back into the muddy ground. Brown spots over my pale, slightly blushing cheeks, like little icy bullets piercing my skin. My dress drenches in the mud, leaving me uncomfortably cold in my remorse. I sigh, allowing my hand to splash down in a puddle.
“Yeah, who is it?” Squeezing my eyes together tightly, I blink away the last of my tears, which are the evanescent remains of my memories.
The figure persists in being silent, squatting down and smiling. When it comes to my realisation that it is Josh, I begin to feel insecure and self-conscious about how I look.
“It’s Josh,” he answers, in a hushed whisper in between the chatters of his teeth, “what brings you here?”
With my palms against the mushy ground, I push myself up. My hair drips with a dark brown liquid, staining my skin. I don’t bother to wipe my eyes, blotched with mascara and eyeliner that has discoloured my cheeks, as it will only smudge it more.
“It’s quite obvious why I’m sitting in a graveyard.” I point towards Evie’s gravestone.
“You never know, you could have a part-time job here as the cleaner or something.” He laughs, but I can tell it’s forced because he’s here for a reason too. Josh glances over at the name of Evie, and turning back to me. “Would this be your sister?”
“Yeah,” I reply, sighing out the second half of the word. With a squelching sound, he sits down beside him, his hand falling lightly on top of mine. I don’t look at him. I don’t want him to see the hurt behind my vitreous eyes.
“How about you?” I ask, my tone nervous as I pick at the grass, damp and flattened.
He takes a few moments before he answers, so he can muster up the courage to tell me whom he has lost in his life. “My dad.” And yes, I probably should’ve known since he’s living with a different father, one that isn’t his own. Discerning the shadows that have overcome his eyes, I piece together my reply.
“You never told me what happened to your dad…” He’s avoiding my eyes, his stare vacant and impassive, at the grave besides Evie’s. That’s when I have an epiphany. The grave next to my beloved sister is where Joshua Griffin rests. “You don’t have to tell me,” I add in, gently, to his surprise. As my snotty high school stereotype, I would’ve pressured him into telling me. But I’m not her; I am me. At this point in time, it doesn’t matter, since it is such a tender moment.
His shock is prominent, by the way he turns to me, his eyes wooden with disbelief. No, I don’t seem friendly at school. Yes, outgoing, shallow, but not friendly. I’ve always hated that part of myself, because to pretend to be her, is to actually be her.
“No, I’ll tell you.” Placing his hand on the marble stone, slippery at its touch, he closes his eyes. Josh takes a deep breath, as the rain gathers beneath the stone. I distinguish the tear accumulating under his chin, dropping to his clenched fists. “It’s quite simple, really, and it’s all still a mystery to everyone to this day. My father worked day and night shifts for years to support my family, who were living in poverty at the time, about ten years back. He brought me home things he could afford with the spare money he had, which was meant for his own leisure. One night, he left to go to work as a policeman. And that morning, I heard my mum crying at the doorstep, the police outside my door, explaining that he had went missing. And to this day, his body has never been recovered. There’s nothing in the grave, just the stone there to honour him.”
And then there’s uncontrollable sobbing. But not from me, from him. The one person I thought I would never see cry in my whole life.
Consoling him, I place my arms around him, rubbing his shoulder, while my head rests against him. I can hear him trying to stifle his snivels, attempting to look…manlier, I guess. An awkward silence arises, because I don’t know what to say. Losing a loved one, and telling someone about it, always comes with the same reply; “I’m sorry for your loss,” and, “They’re in a better place now.” They are sincere replies, but to be honest, what we want is something to remember them by or just a way to get through that dark time. It’s all kinds of horrible you have to deal with. You just have to stand by and watch as other people crumble, along with you.
“So, I’m not going to say that I’m sorry, although I am, instead I’m just going to tell you what I’ve learnt. There’s no rush. I’ve learnt that if you live your life normally, as if they were always by your side, you’ll be fine. Obviously, I haven’t gotten over my sister, but I’ve learnt to cope with the aching every day and just continue on with everything. Grieve when you need to, let all your emotions out, talk to someone.”
“Thanks, Mist, you’re just like a therapist.” He laughs, amid all the horror and darkness surrounding us, calling.
I crack a smile, just for him, although it’s hard for me. “Glad to help you, under the circumstances.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your sister?” he asks, my heart suddenly racing. All of this leads to my double life. I’ll avoid the part with the letter.
“Oh,” I falter. Inhaling in a gulp of air, I begin, “my sister committed suicide. She had a few mental disorders, due to the bullying throughout high school and the high expectations from teachers.” I say teachers, since there’s a chance of Josh questioning about my parents. “And I was quite young, therefore ignorant and selfish so I couldn’t help her much.” I exhale, heaving the weight off my shoulders. “I should really get going. I never really prepared for you to see me with makeup running down my face, while I am completely covered in mud. Anyway, I’m disturbing quality father-son time.” I smile, standing off and wiping the dried mud off.
“I think you look beautiful with makeup, without makeup and with makeup running down your face.” He leans in a leaves an abiding kiss on my lips, my touch sensory still taking it in.
“Bye, Josh,” I say.
“Bye, Mist,”
***
Through all the whinging and complaining, I’ve realised my life isn’t particularly hard. I’m just stuck in between the teenage fantasy of being good enough for everyone. It’s a hard thing to endure –high school– as it reveals your worst fears, like anxiety about what other people think about you, how you dress, what your weight is. And everyone lies, everyone. You think you might be someone’s closest friend, but there are secrets that are never shared unless they are with the right person. Take Dianna for example; maybe something terrible tore Josh and her apart, maybe something embarrassing did, or even something small. Only both of them know.
Walking through E Block is a nightmare. It’s simply chaos in the form of students trying to squeeze their way out of a cramped hallway and an even tighter doorway. As I continue through the busiest part of school, I tiptoe, barely making it over some guy’s shoulders to find my friends. When I walk through here, I’m not touched, no one dares to, as they assume I am someone’s ‘property’. I spot Sean, amidst the girls checking him out, some trying to touch his slightly curly hair, hidden beneath a white beanie. No wonder Claire likes him so much; he’s attractive and steals the spotlight away. His eyes are alert once they meet mine, leering into them in the same shade of blue. It’s in a manner that he’s never looked at me before, as if he’s undressing me with his eyes. Blech. Disgusting. This is not the way you look at your girlfriend’s best friend. I try to ignore him by turning away and pretending to take interest in the poster promoting the drama club.
“Misty!” he calls, “I’ve been wondering where you were.”
“Oh, hey, Sean!” I chirp, faking everything about myself.
“I need to tell you something,” he says, dubiously. Sean tugs at the hem of his moss green hoodie, and I squint my eyes at him, suspicious.
“Um, why? Kind of busy right now.” I remark towards the drama poster. “Plus, we barely talk to each other, why would anything be that important?”
“It’s about Josh!” he yells over the crowd, obviously grabbing my attention with his name.
“Okay, first things first, have you seen Claire?” I raise an eyebrow, students still moving through like waves. Sean glances around, his pale blue eyes averting all around the block. He simply shrugs as if he doesn’t care. Sean moves closer to me, until the tips of our shoes are touching. His blue shirt touches my singlet, indicating that I should be alarmed. An uncanny feeling settles in the pit of my stomach.
“S-Sean, I don’t feel comfortable,” I tell him, stuttering about what he might do.
“Don’t worry, this can stay in between us, I won’t say anything if you don’t.” The back of my head brushes against the poster, as my back softly hits the wall. Sean entraps me with his body, his arms acting like bars around me. He forces his thin, curved lips against mine, deepening it by the second. With my eyes stretched open, I push him off me, him stumbling into the ocean of students. I wipe my lips with abhorrence, everyone gawking at us.
“What a whore! Isn’t that Claire’s boyfriend?” I hear from someone. Claire and Sean are the ‘it’ couple this year. The ‘it’ couple is the most talked about, and probably the most publicly sexual, groping each other and making out.
“What the hell are you doing!” I question, my voice rising. “You asshole!” My insult causes a scene, everyone stopping in their tracks and conversations.
“Being Josh Griffin,” he replies, with a sly smile as he returns to me.
“Wha–” Sean interrupts my next question (and possibly insult) with another kiss, this time him creeping his hand up my singlet, fondling me. I get ready to knee him in crotch, which is my last resort, until an unknown force rips him off me. Sean hits the other side of the corridor.
“What the fuck are you doing to her?” he screams, his face reddening with rage.
“You’d be familiar with it. Cheating on your girlfriends, especially with their friends.” Sean sneers. He is a pathetic excuse of a human.
“Go fuck yourself, dickhead, you know nothing about me,” Josh threatens, calming down after. His hotheaded demeanour now on display.
“My work here is done,” Sean says, standing up and adjusting his beanie.
Josh clenches his fist, his knuckles whitening from the force. He turns to me, with sincere eyes, asking, “Are you okay, Mist?”
Staring blankly ahead of me, stunned, I mumble, “just fine.” Before he places his hand on my shoulder, I flinch away, afraid of a man’s touch. “I just really have to go.”
I feel his rigid fingertips brush against my arm, as I escape from all this madness I’ve been dragged into.
People make way from me, because apparently no one wants to help me, they just want to stare at me, criticising me of other people’s mistakes. Crying about something so stupid, so selfish of someone else, is stupid, and a sign of my vulnerability. I understand the reason Sean wanted to do that. High school is the time of your life when you finally figure out who you want to be, who you are going to be and who you will never be. It leaves you amazed of all the options you have, but it also leaves you confused, since you might want to be two things, which are polar opposites. I believe everyone has that dilemma, maybe later, maybe earlier. But that dilemma is mine now, and it could never have a tighter, more determined, grip on me. It is an emotional roller coaster, and it causes unbearable chaos for someone so young, someone that isn’t experienced. And that’s what prepares us for everything in our future.
The gossip encompasses me, the ringtones of phones pressing in to deliver the newest scandal of a ‘popular girl’. Claire should know about this by now, but I know for a fact she won’t have an emotional breakdown like Emma and Dianna would. That’s why I’ve always admired Claire, although I know she’s troubled by something inconspicuous; she knows how to keep it together when things are falling apart. But I’m not capable at confrontation, especially when it comes to my friends. It’s something that unnerves me, even at the very thought of it, because with it, you could shatter someone. I’m not strong enough for that, since Evie’s confrontation came in the form of a letter.
Ignoring my phone’s ceaseless ringing, I make my way to the empty maths block and climb up the staircases. Out of breath and panting, chasing tranquillity, I lead myself to the rooftop. I slam the door open with the impact of my shoulder, and free myself of all my frustration. The wind is in a quiescent state, although it is still chilly. Sunlight veils over one half of the rooftop, casting back the light into my frazzled hair. I am able to think clearly now.
High school is merely a small part of your life, which influences exactly who you are. Its sole purpose is to display the selfish sides of us, determining the competition of looks and intelligence. These so called factors we are competing for in high school, are our demons. Most have millions of demons hidden inside of them. These demons represent our low self-esteem, our anxiety, our depression, our arrogance, and our ego. But these demons often search for the one other demon that is able to match them.
Holy crap, that was pretty genius. I scribble these notes in my diary, forgetting every little bit of pain I just had.
I wonder if I’ll ever make it out alive.
Sitting on the edge of the rooftop, I sweep my fingers against the railing, staring at the minimal amount of people down there. The courtyard is usually empty at the height of its beauty, and no one seems to notice. Through winter and autumn, and mostly at the transition between them, it is soft and vibrant. Just like the misunderstood people.
Looking down I see, a group of people chattering away. They are laughing, content, even with their not so perfect bodies and prominent acne. Even though they are studying, and some of them reading a novel, they seem as if nothing could touch them. Beginning to pack away their things, they stand up and leave the area, heading towards the library. Something must’ve forced them away, since they normally do not like moving spots. I wish I had chosen that life, the easy path. But I can’t really imagine having people stare at me for not dressing the right way or because I’m carrying books everywhere. They consider me as the lucky one, but truly, in all honesty, I’m not. All people want from me is my body, but I would prefer to be desired for my personality traits.
Orange leaves scatter around, wisping in the air everywhere. Josh sits there, sitting on the painted concrete blocks everyone uses as benches. I rest my chin on my palm, watching him. It almost makes me guilty, treacherous, as if it’s something forbidden for me. Josh, however, tears up the dried, crackled leaves floating past him. I know he’s worried for me, probably even frustrated by my hostility. I just want everything to be easier, for the both of us. Our love is an uphill battle, since there are so many intense feelings involved.
The door handle begins to rattle, as it usually locks itself after it closes. With a swoop, it flies open, reclining then closing. Ashton Gray stands there, taking in my eyes with a compassionate look.
“Hey,” he says, walking towards me, scuffing his sneakers against the ground.
“Hi.”
“I overheard what happened with Sean, and got a few phone calls from my friends. They’re kind of applauding him for scoring with the hottest chicks in school. I reckon it’s appalling.”
“I get that you still want to be friends with them. That’s why I’m still here, in this mess.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but then he falters away, looking over the edge too. I know he doesn’t want to ask me how I’m doing, since he’s afraid I’ll assume that he thinks I’m weak and I can’t handle these things.
“I’m fine, seriously, Ashton.”
He casts his delicate eyes on me, amorous. “No, you’re not,” he mutters, hardening his look. I feel my lip twitch upwards, because finally someone notices, and someone knows. It doesn’t feel normal for me, having someone know exactly what I’m going through. With all that I am, I am grateful to know Ashton, as a friend, and perhaps more than a friend.
“Misty,” he whispers, his voice adrift in the gentle wind. My breath comes to a halt because of the way my name rolls of his tongue. He cares for me and for all the right reasons…but that seems unnatural and simply wrong.
“Please, just leave me alone. Go away.” My lips quiver, choking back my sobs by asphyxiating them with my pressed together lips. Even though I’m reluctant to him leaving, I need him to leave, all because I need him too much. I’m in a battle for independence. Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky enough to have that chance of independence. I always find myself leaning on someone else, whether it’s something easy or something hard. It makes me feel pathetic, like people in love, so lost in their blind hope of unrequited love. I’m not a strong believer in love though, it has never occurred to me as a young girl as something I should be longing for. But I’ll know when I’m in love, it’ll be when I won’t bother with such petty things I care so much about now.
Snapping me out of my train of thoughts, Ashton says stubbornly, “I won’t.” Unknowingly, I smile, relieving me of my troublesome thoughts. I decide to begin another conversation, preferably small talk, since I’m not up for anything too stressful at the moment. Recalling my previous passage about our demons in my diary, I have an urge to tell Ashton about it, since he’ll agree to it.
“I want to show you something.” My singsong voice is chirpy with pride, wanting to boast to him about how much of a literary genius I am (I don’t actually think so, but that one passage was pretty cool).
“I bet you it’s amazing.”
“It is, it really is. You’ll love it.” As I reach for my diary, I feel nothing but the rough concrete and smooth metal railing. I continue to pat my hand around, until I find it’s velvety leather cover. Then I realise…
It’s gone.
“My diary!” I cry out, almost throwing myself over the railing, the metal digging into my stomach. It hangs onto a classroom window by a blank page, tearing at the burden of the book. I tremble, knowing as that thing falls, so does my reputation. Thank God, there’s no one down there…
Wait, isn’t Josh there?
I quaver at the sight of him, and my life literally hanging by a page, directly above. I can’t even believe my luck. Thankfully, Josh is wearing headphones, barely descrying any of his surroundings. If he finds the diary, and reads it, he’ll hate me forever. Anyone else finds the diary, well, they’ll tell someone, and that person will tell another, and it’ll be a whole chain reaction until it hits me straight across the head. Everyone will hate me, everyone will judge me, and I’ll be alone for the rest of high school. All the cliques will hate me, even the ones that have no one to talk to, won’t want me. I’ll be that girl. Gladys Devereaux. The ill-fated girl who had no friends in Evergreen. She’s an urban legend at this school, known for her autism. Bullied endlessly, for her difference and uniqueness, she finally left the school, causing a scene by throwing one of her classmates outside the window. That girl deserved it though, although the reason why has remained a mystery over the years. Some say it’s because that girl sabotaged Gladys’ chance at college.
A silhouette flies past me, dropping down the railing, holding the brink of the building. The revelation collapses my knees, grazing them as they slam against the ground.
“Ashton!” With a few screeches, I swing my arms over the edge reaching for him, as he holds my diary in one hand and the edge with another. He passes the diary up to me, smiling, with a cheeky expression. Sweat trickles down his forehead, his arm muscles flexing as he tries to pull himself up. Finger by finger, he loses grip on the window, plummeting down the building. I am immobile for too many seconds. Finally, I am able to move. Throwing my diary into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder, I bolt through the door, crashing into it. With one footstep in front of the other, too quick for my own pace, I trip over, my head bashing against the wall in it’s process. My heart pulses for Ashton, blood dripping over my eyebrow from my fall. I don’t cry; no, I must carry on, I must make it to him. What the hell? Who jumps off a three-story building for my stupid book? Skidding my feet across the ground and bumping against the corner, I continue running. Ashton lies there, covered in twigs, dirt and burnt orange leaves, groaning.
“What is wrong with you!” He turns to me, the dirt falling off his face and grins weakly. His skin is raw and bright pink, with a few gashes from falling through the fragile branches. This idiot is lucky to have landed in the right place, exactly on a bed of soil, with a tree breaking his fall, therefore, reducing the impact.
Still with an audacious, bold grin plastered on his face, he says, “told you so, you’re worth anything.”
Careening towards us, Josh stares, shocked.
“What happened?” His are crazed, his pupils dilated from the sight of his brother unconscious. “I heard a crash. Why is Ashton lying here? Why is your head bleeding? Tell me, Misty! What’s happening?” The questions are perpetual, everlasting and inevitable. I shake my head in response, my head all over the place, dizzy from the bleeding.
Josh lifts up Ashton over his shoulder, yelling, “Help! Help!”
“Josh! Take him to the infirmary, I’ll go call your parents!” I snap out of my trance. Pulling out my phone and punching the number in, I tap my foot restively on the ground.
“Hello?” Mrs Gray answers. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Misty. Misty Winters. There’s been an accident. There’s no time to explain, just get to school. Ashton’s hurt, he’s hurt real bad.”
“Wha–” Before she can finish her reply, I hang up.
Spinning my head left and right, I continue being disoriented, even more so. Spots of blood fall to the white footpath below me, black tessellating my vision. I press my hand against my forehead, the blood stinging the periphery of my eye. All I know is he’s insane and I need to see him. Now. Legs weakening and aching, I mutter, “Help me…someone…anyone.”
I know my legs will give out before I make it to the cafeteria and I can’t project my timid voice loud enough for anyone in there to hear. Please, let someone be wandering out. My body begins to weigh me down, and in the end I’m left dragging myself closer and closer. Someone has to see me. Please let someone see me.
Just as I want to give up, my subconscious motivates me. Not now, Misty. You got him there. You can’t give up just yet.
“I won’t,” I reply, wheezing.
And everything turns around for me. A girl with curly brown hair sees me, her eyes widening.
“Help!” I hear her scream, her voice distorting. I know her. She hides behind her metal-rimmed glasses most days, and you can never see her face. I’ve probably never heard her voice either. I’m pretty sure her name’s Ashley. If I weren’t in this position, I bet we’d be friends. But here I am, and here she is. Just before she dashes over me, my legs give out, and my head hits the ground once again.
Then there’s pure nothing.
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