Part I c

AJ

An unusual thing happened to me as the buzzing of my alarm clock screamed. A very unusual thing happened as I thought about how miserable I was. My very unusual occurrence was something called a formation of an idea. Rarely do I actually have my brain turned on in the early hours, much less than form a plan. I guess there is a first for everything.
As I lay there, waiting for something to strike me dead, I pondered possible ways to escape from this living nightmare, aside from death. Like a slot machine, my brain gears spun and spun, until fortunately, they landed on the jackpot.
Amelia. Yes, that’s right. My screw up of a sister. Failure to her parents. Drug addict. Amelia. She was going to be my escape. One huge dilemma. How to contact her? Haven’t quite figured that one out yet. What I have figured out is that I can’t take another two months of this crap.
Not another second. Tomorrow night I will execute my plan. For now, I will confront my mother with something that will bewilder her.
I make my way slowly down the stairs to greet a pretty rough looking woman.
“I see you decided to get up this morning.” This was not said in a joking manner.
“Oh my God, I know. Where you unaware that a 13 year old could actually do something worthwhile?” Just playing her game. “Mom, I’d like to talk to you about something.”
“Walk and talk. Make your breakfast too.” Could she not do anything for me?
“I’ve been feeling kind of depressed and stressed out lately,” I said, with the most sincerity possible.
“Why the hell would you be depressed?” I could come up with a thousand reasons, but I kept them to myself.
“I’m not sure, that’s why I’m talking to you. I think I’m stressed from trying to please everyone all the time.” This was true. As much as I loved torturing my mom, the words that came out of my mouth were not lies.
“Well you most definitely don’t please me.” She said this in the harshest way possible.
“Mom-” I said scornfully.
“Don’t ‘mom’ me. Whatever. I guess you could just be yourself and not care what others think. But I swear if you don’t get what I expect done it will be hell on earth!” Where have I heard this before? She actually had a point. Too bad being myself would not fulfill her desires.
“Good advice mom, thanks.” It hurt me to say this.
“Why can’t you talk to me with this respect more often?” she asked. I can’t believe she can really think she deserves respect.
“I’m not sure. Sorry bout that.” I would take my mom’s advice, oh yes. But she was in for it. All I have to do is pull a few strings and tomorrow is a go.

Now how to pull those strings…


Jenna

Some lips. Some envy. Some throbbing. Yes, these were the things traveling through my mind as I sit staring at the board ahead of me, full of mathematical functions that I would never use. I’m typically not the one to have the highest self-esteem, but I couldn’t help think, why couldn’t of it have been my lips that met Michael’s lips? Why did it have to be that snob Erika? Simple. I was Jenna, and she was Erika.
I mean I’m pretty. No, I’m not. Otherwise it would’ve been me. But yes sweetie, you are pretty. What are you talking about? You’re the ugliest piece of crap I know! Who to believe. What I’ve been told, or my heart, my thoughts, my feelings? Soon to come, I would realize that one simple object would take away the pain, as ironically as it is. Sometimes irony is the key to a healthy lifestyle, and sometimes it’s not.
My tattered shoes come into contact with the asphalt which belongs to my street, Burdinhim Street. As my tattered shoes slowly move me forward, I can’t help to think how many times I’ve walked down these streets, anxious to bust through my door, knowing that all of the mockery and pain would be left behind. Today was different.
Today as the door swung open I felt as if I didn’t belong, that I was unwanted. My parents weren’t home. Dad was at work, and mom was off shopping as she usually does on Mondays. I guess all the stay-at-home stress gives her the right to go blow 300$ a week. What about my stress? What about my life?
I dropped my backpack to the ground knowing that it was full of stories of horror, abuse, and taunting. Loping to the kitchen I felt something I had never quite felt before – absolute hate for myself. No one seemed to care. No one wanted me. I was on my own. I was an island.
The kitchen. My least favorite room in the house. Why, you may ask. Because the kitchen is where I become fat. As skinny as everyone tells me I am, I know they are just lying. I mean, come on, I’m no where near as skinny as Erika is. She’s a damn stick. Oh God, all this peer pressure is getting to my head. No. It’s not. You’re just fat Jenna. All you do is eat. Eat. Eat.
I wasn’t truly thinking as the drawer opened, a silver object put itself in my hands, and the drawer closed. I wasn’t entirely aware of the situation and I stepped to the sink, leaning my forearm over it. All I knew is that I couldn’t feel. I was numb. And I had lost control. Was it the right thing to do? I honestly don’t know. I’ve read about it. I watched movies about. People do it. I’ll do it.
I’ll tell you once more that I was not tuned into my surroundings as I started the slide down a slippery slope, as I started a habit, which was quite dangerous indeed. I was not thinking as my heart fluttered from anxiety. No. I was only repeating the same phrase over and over. Cut, control, feel. Cut, control, feel.

And boy did I act upon my phrase.



Zane

Bag packed. Parents gone. The streets of Vegas all out in front of me. What to do next? I like to improvise. I stepped out of my hotel room, trying to catch my breath from mere excitement. I never suspected that I would be this joyful about going to Vegas. I mean, I’m not old enough to gamble yet, so what am I so happy about. I’m not quite sure. All I know is that I haven’t been with a girl in ages and it’s about time that I make a connection.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to find some game on the street. Somewhere where I can bet. Anywhere. In search of this treat, I exited the hotel, and stepped onto the sidewalk. I strode past a few dinky shops, a few kinky shops, and a few café looking buildings. I decided to stop and check out a restaurant with what looked like Cuban food. Interesting. The Florida Café. I thought we were in Vegas.
I pushed open the door and something caught my eye. Something beautiful. It was a woman. Well a teen. Maybe 17, blonde hair. Should I walk over? Should I? Could I? Of course I can, but will I? I want to. But am I brave enough? Oh, no, not Zane. I’m a friggin’ coward. My feet are moving. I am moving. Oh. Crap.
“Hi, I’m Zane, ‘sup?” Did my lips just move? What a lame line.
A giggle followed by a voice. “Not much. Just chillin, take a seat why don’t chya?” Was she asking me to sit next to her? No, it couldn’t be. But my legs don’t care.
“Thanks. What’s your name?” God I’m so stupid.
“Clara, how ‘bout you?” The voice. Her voice. I could definitely get into this chick.
“Zane, ya, Zane.” Of course idiot, she heard me the first time.
“Sweet name. So what brings you here?” Is it just me or is she sounding seductive?
“Parents.” Wow, I’m a dork.
“Parents eh? How old are you?” Uh oh, is she older than expected?
“Sixteen, you?”
“Eighteen. How ‘bout you come to my place. Interested?”

So what’s wrong with an older woman?