A C in P.E. because I'm "not willing to participate"? I'm not sorry that I don't want to play stupid games like dodgeball and badminton. Coach Decassie` is such a bitch.
Tori hardly ever bought food from the cafetaria, unless it was for someone else. The first time she'd tried, the lunch ladies just gave her ridiculous looks when she asked how many calories were in what food they had been serving that day. After that, the niner didn't want to take her chances of eating more calories than she needed so she began bringing her own lunch to school everyday. Pulling out the small tupperware container from her bag, she bit down on the inside of her cheek. I don't even want to eat these.. Tori thought to herself as she eyed the baby carrots cased within the plastic. But she had to.
The girl hadn't eaten anything the previous day, due to the incessant nagging from Panther that Cam would realize just how fat she actually was and leave her. She wouldn't blame him for it, really. He was a jock; the star of the hockey team. Why would he want to have a fat, ugly girlfriend? It would ruin his popularity and make the Ice Hounds look bad. Tori had done enough to them already, did she need to make it worse?
Tori opened up the container and pulled out one of the small carrots, slowly bringing it to her lips to begin nibbling on it. She hated everything about it. The taste, the texture, the sound it made every time she bit into it. But she had to eat it. While she unwillingly ate her 'mea', Cam had been going on about something for the past few minutes, none of which was being processed in Tori's mind. She wished she could pay attention to whatever it was that he was saying, but she couldn't.
Throughout the entire day, Tori had been practically incapable of focusing on anything. The lack of food, mixed with the lack of sleep, had begun to take a toll on her body. "Is it hot in here?" she absentmindedly questioned as she could feel her body growing sweaty. The warm feeling came out of nowhere, however she figured it was just the school's overuse of the heating system since they were nearing winter. It would explain both that and the bout of nausea that she couldn't shake.
The blood seemed to drain out of Tori's face and her eyes glazed over as she felt an aggravating pressure throb in her head. "I need.. I need to use the washroom," she attempted to say, her voice was barely above a whisper. Using her hands, she pressed them against the edge of the table to push herself up from her seat. Standing up only made the feeling inside of her worse, her vision becoming blurrier than before. Tori closed her eyes in an effort to make it all go away - the spinning, the queasiness, the bright lights that seemed to flash in her head - but nothing helped. Without a warning, her legs gave way and her body went limp, sending her straight to the cafeteria floor.
Adam deals with grief, anger, and every emotion in between in destructive ways.
—Takes place tonight
The anger kept rising up inside of him, making his veins pop and forehead crease. Two dark circles hung under his tired eyes like Nimbostratus clouds, dark and heavy. A curtain of despair hung around his presence. Adam didn’t know why he couldn’t cry, or how he could just go about his life, continually growing more detached with each passing day without dealing with the emotions he kept bottled up.
He wanted to ask Eli if this was what it was like when he first was put on his medication; the disconnected feeling. How he wanted to get over it, but wouldn’t allow himself to really grieve. Or do really much of anything for that matter. To him it felt as if an irreplaceable organ was torn out from the inside of his being; only this time there were no organ donors, no doctors, because nothing could replace the Clare-shaped hole in his heart.
–Sadly though, he and Eli weren’t talking. It’d been weeks since the two had even exchanged a couple of measly, meaningless words, and Adam felt awful, but he still couldn’t bring himself to initiate conversation once again. Without their third partner in crime they couldn’t bear to look in each other’s eyes; it just wasn’t the same without her. He felt cheated, like their friendship only lasted as long as it did because Clare kept them together. All those times they all spent together, all the times it was just him and Eli. He thought of how when Eli and Clare dated; how he began to be forgotten, only for a little while. It was always Clare bringing them back together—and it made Adam sicker and sicker every time he thought about it all. Then again Clare always kept him together.
Adam groaned his head abuzz from the almost-lethal amounts of alcohol he’d consumed. He was glad Dallas didn’t push any further when he asked for the beer, he was thankful to have him around, not only because of this, but it was nice to have someone be a little lenient on him. Even if he wasn’t doing the right thing, it was nice to not be babied because his best friend died. He just wanted to feel something; his emotions had been pent up for longer than needed, and he was livid. To Adam it felt like someone heated up the blood flowing throughout his entire body, making him boil over completely. Winning Homecoming King didn’t help him in the slightest, and hearing everyone then congratulate him, tell him how deserving he was…he wanted to believe it, but his mind told him it was a pity vote. If anything he felt worse. Did he really believe Clare would’ve won if she was alive? Of course not, so why would he? They were a couple of misfits; easy targets for bullies and idiotic jokes. In a world where the transgendered kid and the dead girl won the homecoming, everything became a joke.
And that’s what he believed; that the strange texts he’d been receiving were a joke, him winning homecoming king, and then being drenched in blood. After all, everything in regards to him was a joke—no one took him seriously. Not ever, and he was starting to question how serious he was himself.
Maybe that was why he was doing this, drinking his third beer in the local park down the street. The same one he knew all the neighborhood children would be playing in once they arrived home from school—completely unscathed, and unaware of all the horrors of the world.
Completely filled up with the anger of being alone, and angry for far too long Adam snapped, his arm winding back tightly, launching the bottle forward with all his might. Cringing at the noise created when it landed against a tree Adam winced, stumbling forward to clean up his mess. Grabbing the rest of his empty bottles he picked up the sharp pieces and began depositing them into a nearby trashcan.
Noticing droplets of blood on one of the jagged pieces of glass he opened up his palms, taking in the fairly deep cuts he’d unintentionally created and paused to grasp what he’d done. Balling his fists up Adam soaked up the extreme pain that came with his actions. Reminiscing in the times he’d self-harmed, he felt thrilled. The feeling he had grown accustomed to started coming back to him like a flood, and he didn’t mind it in the slightest. Turning the serrated piece of tinted glass over in his hand he pocketed it, shoving it deep inside the front of his hoodie. Adam then left the park, tripping over his lonely self all the way home where he slipped in unnoticed, finally at peace with himself.
