Chapter 10: Mental
Mental
1
[men-tl]
adjective
1. of or relating to the mind: mental powers; mental suffering.
2. of, relating to, or affected by a disorder of the mind: a mental patient; mental illness.
3. providing care for persons with disordered minds, emotions, etc.: a mental hospital.
There was a lot more people talking in Biology than on an average day as I walked in but it seemed more pensive than usual. It wasn't discussions on who was dating who, who did what, or who did who. People were talking about Friday night, about the inferno.
"I heard Needy and Grayson were there, and they had to fight their way out with a freakin' machete."
"Look," I heard a girl say slowly, "he's not even moving."
"It's called post-traumatic stress disorder. My dad was in operation Enduring Freedom, and he totally, like, stopped talking for, like, months."
"Whoa."
I sat down on the plastic seat beside him. There was a noise of someone coughing a few seats behind us. I heard that and blinked, looking at Grayson next to me. He was concentrating on nothing in particular. I frowned at the dark circles under his eyes.
He was staring at the blackboard, his jaw tense, his left hand balled into a fist. It was resting on the table. I could sense that it wasn't from anything I had done, and not from anything anyone else had done either. Maybe not, though. It was weird. I didn't get it.
We were at one of the slick black toped science tables on the left side in the front. I lifted my book bag onto the glossy surface and went through it. I pulled out my Biology IV book, the cover slightly worn in my hand, and I placed it on the table. I got out my pencil, my notebook, and my planner.
People were talking about the fire.
"I can't believe it," I heard a voice. It sounded shocked, pained almost.
"Yeah, they can't even find out what caused it. I bet someone set it on fire."
"No, way. It had to be an accident. Do you know how old that bar is? I mean, was?"
"I think everyone knows about it by now. Did you see all the flowers that they placed at the scene? All the of the people going there is messing with the investigation or something."
"How?"
"Like, I don't know, the scene is being screwed up. They've completely blocked off the area now, so nobody can get through."
I flipped my notebook open and it landed on one of the blank white pages. I let myself glance up at Grayson again. He was looking at me, his hazel eyes unmoving from my face.
"Are you okay?" I asked as I tore out one of the pages, "You look kind of tired."
He blinked and turned his head away to face the board again, a half-smirk tugging at his lips, "Yeah, I'm fine. I just didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
"Why?" I asked as I set my pen to the page.
He glanced at me and just shrugged.
"I don't know, Needy. You're the shrink," he said, and I felt him look at me again as I began to write my name and the date at the top of the page.
I wasn't a shrink.
I opened my mouth to tell him that he probably needed to take some magnesium before he went to bed to relax his muscles, and therefore relax his mind, when Mr. Williams came in. He closed the door behind him softly and I turned towards the board.
He was an older teacher: hair whiter than a Minnesota snow, laugh lines deep around his cheeks, eyes this sad gray shade that made him look depressed all the time, even when he wasn't. He was one of my favorite teachers since he was so relaxed about being in the class if you know what I mean. He was very predictable. You always knew what was going to happen far in advance with him.
Mr. Williams had this look of total loss on his face, though. He looked like he was uncomfortable to be even up there in front of us. I could tell he didn't want to be there. Everyone in the room got quiet as he sat his dark leather bag onto the long black table that he taught from. I watched as he moved his office chair to sit but he stopped, hand stilling on the thick black plastic.
I could see him move slightly as he looked at us. He seemed to search the room with his eyes. There wasn't a face that he didn't pause at. He released his hand from the chair and stood up straighter.
"This is a dark, dark day for Kettle. And believe me, I have lived through some-"
He was going to say dark days, I just knew it.
-"pretty heavy stuff."
There was a pause. I watched as he leaned against the table, hands sprayed out on the top.
"We lost eight precious students. Including Ahmet from India, several parents, and our beloved Spanish teacher."
"No way, Senorita Erikson ate shit?" Grayson said. I turned to him, my mouth partway open. He had whispered it, but he was smiling, leaning back against the seat, arms crossed.
"Now, more than ever put aside your teenage concerns about who's a cool dude, who's got it going on." He said that with air quotes.
He paused and looked at us.
"We can't let that damn fire win," he said finally, sternly.
"It already won," I heard Grayson whisper. I couldn't let my eyes off him. I had the sudden urge to punch him. I mean, I wanted my fist to be thrown against his nose in a destructive manner.
"God bless you kids," he said with a sniffle. I just watched as Grayson's mouth formed into a smirk as he went through the lesson.
After class Grayson and I parted ways. He went one direction to History, and I went the other.
Chip was at my shoulder as I passed her classroom. She had been waiting for me.
"No band practice today," she said, sounding disappointed.
She looked like she was in the depths of it: her face pinched, her bloodshot eyes looking into my brown ones.
"There's no anything today," I said because it was true.
There were no extracurricular activities today.
"This is crazy, right? It's like when one person dies here, it's like time stops," she whispered, and I thought it was more for herself than for me. I glanced at her holding her binder against her chest, her steps in rhythm with mine.
She was right, though. It seemed like everything had decided to stop. There wasn't even going to be football practice that afternoon, it was just a meeting that the guys had to go to.
"I feel guilty just breathing," I admitted. I did, I really did.
She looked over at me and frowned. I didn't want to say anything, but I felt it on my tongue as I finally got to my locker to put my Biology book up. I turned the lock, popping it open and sitting it on the first shelf.
"I think-" I began but shook my head.
"What?"
"I think I need to tell you something but it's kind of weird," I said. She leaned against the locker, shoulder on the cold gray metal, beside mine and I felt her eyes on me. I shoved the book in there and grabbed my heavier math one.
"About what?" She said, and I felt suddenly stupid for even saying anything. I swallowed, grabbing the lock and closing the door. I slipped it securely in and pulled it lightly to make sure it was secure.
"It's about Grayson."
Her face kind of soured. I mean, she had that look in her eyes again like she didn't want that conversation to occur at all. She looked like she wanted to tell me to stop.
"Yeah?" She said, though, her body swaying slightly.
"Well, do you know when we were talking on Friday night and I thought my mom had come to my house?" I asked as I started walking again, my book in my arms. She was following suit.
"Yeah?"
"It wasn't her. It was Grayson," I said a bit quieter, going closer to her, "I mean he looked like he had been beaten up or shot or something."
She looked confused, blinking. She moved past a girl standing stock still in the middle of the hallway.
"And then he kind of threw up this disgusting red substance," I said and looked away from her.
"Like blood?" She said, her eyes widening just slightly. I couldn't tell if she was believing me or not. I really hoped she was.
"I don't know. I don't think so," I said and bit the inside of my cheek.
"That's nasty. Well, he probably just inhaled a bunch of, I don't know, smoke or something," she said as we turned the corner.
"No, Chip, no it was like-"
I didn't think I could say it aloud. It didn't make sense. I didn't think I could even make sense of it. I mean, about the red stuff that I had cleaned up. I was picturing it in my mind's eye: all wet and thick and how it clung to my hands like paint, how I had to rub the skin on my palms together with soap and water to finally get all of it off. It had taken forever, it seemed.
"It was, like, evil," I said quietly and glanced at her. She had stopped, her hand stilling on the wall she had been walking so close to. She turned to me looking like this mix of concentrated concern and, What the hell are you talking about? Are you okay?
She opened her mouth and then hesitated for a second.
"Ethan," she finally said with a slight sigh, "I think you might want to talk to the counselor. I'm not saying that to be a bitch-"
"I'm not crazy. I know what I saw," I said quickly as I looked at her. She frowned at that and looked up at the clock on the wall.
"I didn't say you were crazy. It's just that everyone is a little messed up right now. It's okay to feel-"
"Discombobulated?" I said and her face screwed up at the word and she started to walk again. I followed.
"Yeah, fucked up," she said, nodding to me.
"Hey, Needy," came a shy voice suddenly and froze, recognizing it. I spun on my heel.
There stood Colin Gray looking at me with a light smile.
He was one of those emo guys who wore chipped black nail polish and a small amount of black eye shadow under his eyes. He had a ring right at the center of his lip: silver and thin. He always wore band t-shirts and red plaid button ups with some kind of chain.
I really liked Colin. He was smart, even though when you looked at him you thought he was just going to write you some dark emo poetry. He did that too. I mean, about the poetry.
He was cool. I liked that he was into art so much because I was into that too. Creative, that was a good word to describe Colin Gray.
"Oh, hi, Colin."
"I heard you were there Friday night in the fiery trenches," he said nodding lightly. His hand was grabbing the one strap on his bag that he held against his back. He glanced at Chip beside me.
"Yeah."
"Well, I'm glad you didn't die," he deadpanned looking directly in my eyes.
I smiled at that. That was a weird thing to say for anyone else that wasn't Colin.
"Thanks," I said and looked down at his worn black Converse sneakers. I noticed all of the marker marks he had drawn on there on the white part of it.
"Seriously," he said backing away. I smiled at him and nodded. I felt Chip's eyes on me. As his figure retreated down the hallway I turned back to her.
"How are you friends with Colin Gray? I thought Colin was only friends with the dead people."
She was referring to all of the goths. We had a decent amount at school: black eye liner, cat ears, Tumblr obsessed.
I shrugged at that.
"Does Grayson know about this friendship?" She said with a slight bitterness to her tone. I didn't know if it was subconscious or not. She made it sound like he owned me or something. I held back the glare that was threatening to break on my face.
No, he didn't, and I wasn't going to tell him. It wasn't any of his business anyway if I wanted to hang with one of "the dead."
"I don't know. I just am. We have Creative Nonfiction together. He's a really good writer."
He really was though. Whenever we had to exchange papers, I would always exchange with him. Even though he said he liked my writing, he'd always try to make it more "exciting" and less, as he put it, "civilian."
"Emo shit?" She asked as we headed up the stairs to the second floor.
"Yeah, it's all dark and emotional."
"Well, I can be all dark and emotional," she said seriously as though she was thinking I had a thing for Colin Gray. I knew she was messing with me. I grabbed the sidebar as we made our way up. We stepped onto the solid, tiled ground.
"I can write emo poetry if you want."
She was smiling at me and batted her eyelashes, making one of the most uncomfortable faces I had even seen.
"Stop," I said.
"I can shove it under your pillow as I watch you sleep," she whispered in my ear as we were almost at the door.
"And you call me weird?" I said and grabbed her hand. I felt her squeeze mine lightly as we walked through the threshold.
-
At Kettle High School there was enough students to have two lunches. It would be too packed if they didn't. That meant that there was one at 11:45-12:30 and the other was from 12:30-1:15. Chip had first lunch. Grayson and I, on the other hand, had second. That didn't mean that she hadn't sneaked into my lunch before and skipped class, but the teachers on duty figured out that little trick after she had done it a couple of times. That left Grayson and I. Of course, all of the people who were itching to be a part of Grayson Clark's table, too.
It was fourth period, the period that I had my Creative writing class, that I suddenly got a text from Chip.
Sick. Threw up in Art. The teacher hates me now. :/ I'm getting sent home.
I texted back quickly.
Do you need help?
A half minute later:
Yeah maybe metal. Naw. I'm just gonna go home.
A few moments later.
*mental
I asked her if she wanted me to come over after school. She told me she didn't want to get me sick, even though she thought she must've had already. I didn't feel sick so I knew I was good.
That day was like any other. I mean, besides the whole "there's eight less people here than there should have been" and everything. At lunch Grayson was oddly quiet, not really paying attention to what the other football players were saying as they talked across from him. He looked like he was looking at each of them, thought, as though he was trying to decide something. He hadn't even touched his food in front of him. It was cheese pizza, too, and that kind of concerned me because that was one of his favorites.
"Want it?" He said, his head turning to look at me. I hadn't even realized I had been staring at his food.
"No, I'm good," I said and took a bite of my own, but he was already putting it on my plate absentmindedly. He turned back to Josh in front of him.
After lunch I was walking out to go to English IV, the same class I had with Grayson, when I felt someone's hand go to my shoulder. Grayson had to use the restroom, so I had gone ahead as I didn't want to be late. I knew I probably was going to be since there hadn't been anyone else in the long gray hallway.
It looked like I had been wrong.
It had started to rain outside. I could look out the windows to see it pour down: hard, hitting the pavement quickly, soaking everything. I had always liked the rain because it made me feel all clean, you know? It was like the whole of everything was being cleansed and the sound could put anyone to sleep. I was looking up at the windows and the rain when I had felt the hand on my shoulder.
I turned around and was met by a person who let me go, hand falling to their side again.
"Hey," he said, and I looked up at him. He was nearly as tall as Grayson, but thinner. He was lankier, his hair the color of sand paper, and he was rigid. I recognized him instantly as the guy who had asked Grayson to the party that he had been throwing on Friday afternoon as we were leaving. Grayson had said no, that he had plans. He was on the football team-line-backer, I thought-and was one of those who wasn't really Grayson's friend. He was one of his followers, the ones that trailed him around like a puppy, trying to get his attention.
What was his name? I think it was something like Cody, but I couldn't be sure.
"Hey, Needy," he said sharply, and I could feel this kind of potency to him. It felt like anger-raw and misguided-and I blinked up at him in surprise.
He grabbed me suddenly as I went stiff because what the hell was he doing?
He was pushing me against the wall and my hands went to his arms. I wanted to get him off of me but he was pressing rigid against me, trapping me in.
"Why the hell are you his friend when none of us are?" He said, his mouth formed into this kind of snarl, "You're a pathetic piece of shit."
I was in shock as he balled up his fist. Our eyes met and I stared at the blueness of them.
I couldn't really believe what was happening.
I felt the sharpness of it before I even knew what he had done. I doubled over as he punched me right in the stomach. I gasped, choking on air. I don't think anyone could understand how painful getting punched in one of the tenderest parts of your body really is until it happens to them. I had never been punched before, not intentionally, and it was an all-consuming pain that released in my organs.
He let me go and I fell, my hands spraying out under me to hit the hardness of the tile floor. I gasped and felt him move back, his sneakers hard against the surface. He was walking backwards.
"That," I heard him say, "is where you belong."
As I went down, I moved to the side, my arm grasping my stomach. I saw his retreating form move down the hallway and I clenched my teeth together. I closed my eyes tightly as the pain pulsed through me. I thought for a moment that I was going to throw my cookies. I listened to the sound of the rain and let myself breathe.
In and out, in and out.
I tried to release the shock from my system as I laid there.
I couldn't believe that he had punched me. I didn't even know who the hell he was.
I opened my eyes after a few moments and pushed myself upwards, my hand going against the wall for support. I let myself lean against it for a moment, my heart pounding in my ears.
I began walking again, putting my arm securely around my stomach. Somehow I thought I was going to be fine if I just moved around. I closed my eyes again and leaned against wall, stopping.
I heard Grayson's footsteps down the hallway before I opened my eyes. I opened my eyes and looked behind me. He had a concerned look his face, eyes going to my arm that was wrapped around my stomach. Then he was looking at my face, brow furrowing.
"You okay?" He said as he got right up to me, looking down in confusion.
"Yeah," I said breathing out.
He just looked at me like I was a dumbass.
"Bullshit," he said, looking back at my face, "are you gonna spew?"
"No," I said and shook my head. I leaned more against the wall.
He looked at me as I turned my eyes away. I didn't see the realization that crossed his face that I wasn't sick. I would've been puking by then.
"What happened?" He asked, and I looked up at him. He was scowling, his mouth a hard line.
"I'm fine. I just don't feel well," said sharply and I tighten my arm around my already bruising stomach. He stepped towards me.
He was grabbing for my shirt, his fingers trying to pull up at the bottom but I moved away from him. He glared at me in this kind of mix of confused, angry, and a little bit concerned.
"Stop," I hissed, "I'm fine."
His hand went to my belly suddenly, fingers sprayed out through my thin shirt and I let out a gasp as the pain flared. I pulled away from him sharply. He drew his hand back and said, "Did somebody fucking punch you?"
He was glaring as I looked at him. I wanted to tell him that it didn't matter that someone had. I could defend myself. I didn't want Grayson to think he had to defend me or some shit. I could take care of myself just fine, and as I pulled away from him, I saw the heated look that crossed his face at my reaction.
"No," I lied, "I'm fine."
"Well, that's bullshit, Needy," he said matter-of-factly. I could feel myself glaring and I swallowed thickly.
"It was nothing," I said and lightly pushed myself up off the wall.
"Nothing?" He said. He looked more agitated than usual if that made sense. His jaw was clenched, his hands balled into fists.
"Who was it?" He said angerly and took a small step towards me. I felt my back hit the wall and I moved to the side. I felt this kind of agitation cross me hard.
"Nobody," I said .
"Who was it?" He repeated more slowly, looking down at me.
I looked away and though for a minute of bolting. I really didn't want to admit that I got punched in the stomach, even though it was clear that I had. I also, and I know this kind of sounded stupid, didn't want to deal with any of it.
What was the point in telling him, anyway? I wanted to solve my own problems, not let him deal with it. I mean, what would the guy think if I ran to my friend like a little bitch? I didn't want to give Grayson the satisfaction of an answer, but I could also tell he wasn't going to let it go.
"I don't know," I finally admitted, "Just some guy. It doesn't matter, Grayson. Drop it."
I moved up off the wall and began walking again. Grayson was right at my side, "Who?"
I looked up at him as I heard the shrill sound of the bell. It really had rung, and I was late. We were late.
Through the pain in my stomach I felt agitation creeping up on me.
"I don't know," I said finally. That was the truth.
Grayson seemed so mad, he was practically pulsing with it. His hands were balled into tight fist, and I was looking at the dark circles under his eyes, the way that he was moving next to me, kind of precise in his steps. I stopped and turned to him fully.
The pain was easing up and I knew he hadn't damaged any main organs or anything.
"It was just some guy on the football team."
I felt those words hit the air and I wanted to take them back. I knew Grayson was going to do something stupid and I felt so weak standing there next to him in the hall, the rain lightly beating on the roof, dripping down the window panes.
He seemed to still at that. A look of interested crossed his face even though I could only see that in his eyes.
"Who?"
I felt the urge to gouge his eyes out.
"Does it matter?" I said and pulled my back-pack strap tighter over my shoulder, "It wasn't a big deal."
He didn't say anything, he just looked at me. I could see his jaw visibly tighten, and I knew he was probably grinding his teeth together. That was a bad habit.
I felt myself give in and he stared, not saying anything. I wanted to get to class.
"I think his name was Cody or something like that. He's a linebacker, I think," I said and I turned to move again.
The realization crossed his face and he seemed to still his slight movements. He was looking straight ahead and I could swear I could see the slight tug of his mouth like he was smiling. He looked back at me and said, "Really?"
It was something weird about how he said it, though. It wasn't like "Really, are you sure?" it was like "Oh, really." It sounded casual, and the way he said it made me think that he was thinking about something else at that moment.
"Yeah, really. Happy now?" I said sarcastically as I moved quicker to get to class. I felt Grayson beside me, but I didn't look up at him.
It was bad enough that we were late.
And I wish that I hadn't said anything.
I wish I had never said a single word to him.
I wish I had thrown up all over that hallway to make him think I had just gotten sick off of the greasy pizza that the cafeteria was hell bent on serving.
Maybe then it could've been someone else that Grayson had decided to go after.
But I had.
And he had.