8:15 A.M. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I fall to the dirty tiled floor of the school hallway, landing on my butt. This happens everyday now, but I don’t care. Nothing can make me feel any pain—at least more than I am already. All around me, people my age are laughing at me, pointing at me because someone had tripped me on purpose. I ignore them and stand, picking up my belongings as I do stand without making eye contact with anyone. I used to make eye contact with them a long time ago, but it never did anything to help me out. So I stopped and always tried to stay out of everyone’s way so that I wouldn’t cause too much attention to myself. I wrap my arms around my books and my large binder that’s always over-filled with papers that I never toss out when I am done with them and watch the floor as I speed-walk away to my first class. I tune out all the laughs coming from behind me, trying to focus on breathing and walking. It’s hard to do those things all at once, but somehow I do.
Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Turn-breathe-left. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Step. Breathe. Enter.Breathe.

8:32 A.M.------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I end up in my second period class, making me have to backtrack to my first period class, all the way at the end of the opposite side of the school, causing me to be late for class. My day never starts out good, and it never ends well, either. I slip into my usual spot at the very back of the class, looking down the entire time until I do sit down. It didn’t take very long for people to start giggling behind their hands.
“Zora, come over here,” my teacher that I can never remember her name said to me. I look up from the desk and stand, trying not to listen to the giggling and whispering. I stand and make eye contact with the teacher and walk over to her. She hands me a late slip, which is the fourth this week. Which means that I now have a lunch detention. I turn away from her and head back to my seat. “Hold on, Zora.” I turn back around dramatically and wait by her desk until she hands me another piece of paper. I don’t read it. I turn again and walk to my seat where I slip into a semi-conscious space-out. I like these because I can tune everyone out, including everyone around me who is still laughing and whispering about me. I even look like I am paying attention, but really, I’m not.
I tune back in as the teacher walks up and down the isles. She finally makes it over to mine, and I have nothing out. She stops in front of my desk. “Zora? What are you doing?” She asks, bending down to see me considering that she’s at least two feet taller than me. I don’t answer and instead I grab my sketch pad out and start doodling in it. The teacher grabs it out of my hands and starts flipping through them.
“Hey!” I say, standing. I reach to grab my drawings, but she moves out of my way. “Please, give it back to me. That’s invading my privacy.”
The teacher stops flipping through the sketch pad and raises her eyebrow at me. “Oh, really? I thought it was okay considering that everyone that attends this school signed a contract stating that any staff or faculty members were allowed to search through any student’s belongings to make sure there isn’t anything that shouldn’t be in there. And this,” she stops and flips to one of my drawings. Everyone in the class bursts out laughing at what was drawn on the paper. I turn three shades of red and reach to grab it again. “This…is not something you should have at this school. I am confiscating it until further notice. Now get to work on your homework, or leave this classroom right now.” She turns on her heel and shoves my sketch pad into her draw—hard, probably making the pages bend.
I sit down, angry now. I don’t do anything about it, though. I open my textbook to the page that I am supposed to be working on and sigh on the inside and tune the giggles and whispers from my ears until the bell rings.

9:16 A.M.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I walk to my locker, wanting to cry. No one has ever taken my sketch book away from me—ever. I didn’t know what to do without it. I have never let anyone look at it, not even my parents. Thankfully, my dad stopped trying to get me to tell him what interested me so much about drawing people, and he stopped talking to me totally, which I was glad of. My dad and I never got along very well, anyways, and when he would try to talk to me, we ended in fights. The only real things we say to each other now without getting into fights is, “How was your day?” my reply would be, “Fine.” And I would walk up to my room where I closed the door behind me and stay there until dinner.
“Awe…look at the cry baby opening her locker,” someone said as I yank the un-oiled locker door. I turn to see Megan Samson looking at her friends with a stupid smirk on her face. She starts laughing and everyone around her laughs a few seconds after she starts. “Do you miss your little brother?” She asks, mocking a little kid’s voice. She sticks her mouth out so her lips form an ‘O’. Everyone stares at them like they are the best thing in the world. I bet she uses those plump lips three times a day or more. No, scratch that. I bet she uses those whenever she can get a guy to get in bed with her. No, scratch that again. I bet she gets anyone, even some girls to use them. I almost smile, but I hide it well enough to just have a bored look on my face.
I turn away from her and wipe the tears from my face and grab my next class things and close the locker. When I do, Megan is on the other side of the door, her arm against another person’s locker. She’s smiling down at me, her evil smile that makes me want to vomit every time I see it. I look away and turn to head to my right, where my next class is. Megan grabs my free wrist and spins me around to face her.
“Let me go,” I say, not bothering to even try to get out of her strong grip. She raises her eyebrows and smiles wickedly at me again.
“Make me,” she says, making everyone around us laugh hysterically. I close my eyes, but I don’t move. “Well, are you going to make me, like you made your little brother pay for not doing what you wanted?” She laughs, making it ring loudly in my ears. My top lip quivers. She finally lets me go once she’s satisfied enough and I turn on my heel and run into the bathroom, slamming the only open stall shut, causing all the other stalls to shake violently, considering that the stalls were barely on the hinges.
“Hey! We’re trying to take a crap here!” a girl screams from the farthest stall away from me. I ignore her, letting the tears fall from my face. “Yeah, get the hell out of here, Fatso!” I’ve been called many names, but never Fatso. I have never been fat in my life. I’ve always been a skinny, small girl, boobless and all. I have ugly brown hair that never wants to be brushed and when I would brush it, it would always get super static-y or frizzy to where I would have to glob a ton of hair spray in it. That was way back when I actually cared about being popular and having a boyfriend. But now I don’t care about any of that.
Once I stop crying, and I am sure that no one else is in the bathroom stalls, I exit the small stall and make sure that I never looked like I was crying and I walk to my classroom across from the bathroom. I glance at the clock. Its nine-thirty-four. Which means that I am really, really late for class. I slip into my seat, feeling like this had just happened and I wait for the teacher to ask me to come up to her desk and hand me a detention slip. But she doesn’t.
Class goes by like nothing ever happened and I start to settle down with my anxiety. The bell finally rings after what seems like forever and I stand to leave. “Zora, can I see you please?”
I sigh lightly and head to the teachers desk. “Yes?” I ask.
“Can you tell me why you were late?” She asks, raising her eyebrow at me. My shoulders slump and I look at the floor. Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them away. “Zora? Are you alright?”
I manage to nod, but it comes out like a no. “Not really,” I finally say. There really isn’t any need to say yes, everything is fine, when she can obviously see that I am not fine.
She stands and walks over to my left side, placing her hand on my shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” I shake my head. “That’s alright, I don’t blame you. You know that you can always come to me for anything, right?” I narrow my eyes a bit, but not enough for her to see it. I nod and turn to leave, but her grip on my shoulder tightens. I glance up at her and she smiles down at me, and I almost want to fall to my knees and tell her everything, but she wouldn’t understand. “You can go now,” she said and lets me go. I leave in a hurry.

12:00 P.M.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I sit in my usual spot at lunch and eat fast so that no one would want to come up to me and pick a fight with me. I finish my PBJ sandwich and stand and almost bump into someone. I glance up to mutter an apology, even though I know that even that wouldn’t do anything to stop them from being mean to me. But when I do see who it is, I don’t say anything to him.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” he says. The new boy looks at me, and then glances down at the floor. “I don’t know anyone, and I was going to ask if I could sit by you. You looked all lonely. Is that okay?”
I sputter. What am I supposed to say to him? I don’t know him, and he wants to sit by me? Well, that’s a new one. Even when there is a new person, Megan or someone finds a way to tell them right away that I’m not one to hang out with and they always listen. I wonder why no one has talked to him about me yet. I guess it’s a good thing, but I don’t say that out loud. “Uh…this spot isn’t taken anymore, so you can have it now. I was just leaving.” I grab my trash from my lunch and toss it into the trash can next to where I had been sitting.
He looks down, almost like he’s disappointed that I was leaving. “Oh, that’s okay. See you some time, then,” he said, waving as I turned to leave. I don’t say anything.

2:36 P.M.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I love drawing class because it’s the only thing that is actually real to me in my life anymore. I wish it was every single class I had, but then I would never get out of high school. This is the only time when I can actually be part of myself without anyone telling me not to be. Mr. Whitetaker, my drawing teacher, is one of the nicest teachers I have ever met. He doesn’t tell you that your drawing is inappropriate or not worthy of being good enough to be in this class like everyone else thinks.
I enter the class room and sit down at the very back, where I can actually concentrate on what I want to work on. But now I don’t have anything to work on because my sketch pad had been taken from me from that stupid teacher.
As I sit down, Mr. W’s phone rings and he answers it immediately and glances up at me. My heart skips a beat as he frowns. He hangs the phone up and heads over to me. I already know what this is about. “Zora, your needed in the principal’s office right now. It’s about your sketch pad. I’ll excuse you for today, if you want.” I nod and gather my things, and head for the door. I walks passed someone. That someone is the new boy. He smiles and almost waves at me. I actually notice that he’s brown haired like me and has beautiful eyes that I could easily draw. I shake the thought out of my head and walk to the principal’s office.
I knock on his door and I enter once I hear him say so. I take a seat in the uncomfortable chair and wait for him to yell at me. I can see my sketch pad on his desk. My shoulders slump down as I notice how red his face is.
“Zora, can you explain why you would be drawing inappropriate pictures in this notebook here?” he asks, holding up a picture I had drawn of a woman lying down, only covered up by a sheet and pillow. I shrug. “And this one?” he asks, flipping through some more of my drawings.
“I don’t see a problem. Its art, not porn,” I reply shyly. His face turns redder and I can see his bald head with at least four veins popping out from his skin. I almost smile, but I hide it so I wouldn’t get into trouble.
“This is not art. This is inappropriate drawings of people. Do you know what the school board would do if they found this out? I would lose my job and so would Miss Valtipo. Students have seen this. This is not expectable. Take this and put it away. I don’t want to see it out nor taken from you again, do you hear me? No more drawing at school unless it’s an assignment, you hear me?” I nod, swallowing a lump in my throat. Tears fall from my cheek and the Principal’s face turns back to normal. Maybe he thinks I learned my lesson and would never draw people naked again. I still don’t see the problem. Like I had said, this is art, not porn.


2:54 P.M. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora


I walk back into the art room, glad that there are only four people in this class. Wait, scratch that. Now there are five, including me. That new guy is there. And he’s drawing something in his own sketch pad. At my usual table. I almost want to cry. No one ever sits at that table anymore, not since Tom Pulaski barfed all over that table. I don’t get what their problem is about that table. It’s been cleaned. I sigh and take a seat at the table, not bothering to look up. I take my sketch pad out and flip quickly to a blank page before he could see my drawings.
“Wait,” he said, grabbing my sketch pad. I narrow my eyes at him and yank my sketch pad away from him. He holds his hands up in the air, as if he was being arrested. His pencil is still in his hand. “Sorry, I just wanted to see your drawings. I saw one, and I thought it was good. I saw it when that teacher held it up in the air for everyone to see. That was really mean of her.” He looks down at his own drawing. I peer at it, amazed at how easily he had drawn what he was seeing from the window. I turn to look outside and I can see that he put a lot of time and effort into it, even if it was only from today.
What am I supposed to say to him? I don’t know him, obviously, but I wonder why he isn’t trying to make fun of me like everyone else does. Not that I’m complaining about it, though. It’s nice to actually have someone not make fun of me just because I’m different.
I don’t say anything, but I just continue to look at my blank sheet of paper in my sketch pad until my eyes start to water from not blinking. I blink and look around the room, and then I finally end up looking at the new guy, who smiles when I glance his way. I turn away from him and finally start sketching lines on my paper.
The drawing comes easily for me, just as it had come easily for him. I push that thought out of my mind as I draw legs of a female, sitting in a chair, gazing out the window, hoping for someone to come back. Its just like my dad, who waits for my real mother to come home, but already knows that that will never happen—and yet still watches for the moment that she finally does come back. I hadn’t even realized that I had been drawing such a thing until I noticed it when I finished, just as the last bell rang. Everyone was already gone, all but Mr. W and the new guy, who was working on his own drawing. I try not to glance at him, but my eyes wonder to where his hand was running the pencil over the face of someone. When did he start a new drawing? I hadn’t noticed. But then again, who am I to notice anything? I’m supposed to stay in my own corner, away from other people and keep to myself, but something kept making me glance up from my own drawing. I wish his arm wasn’t in the way. Then I could see what he was drawing.
The new guy looks up when he feels me watching him draw. “Oh,” he blushes and closes the drawing. He turns his head, causing the locks of his hair to move out of his eyes. “Did you say something?” I turn and look down at my own drawing and close my sketch pad and stand. I didn’t want to have to walk home. I wasn’t about to miss the bus anyways.
He stands as I turn to leave. “What’s your name? I asked around, but no one wanted to tell me. You know, people here aren’t too nice. They say mean things about you.”
I stop, not facing him. Am I supposed to answer him? I felt like crying right now. He totally just told me basically that no one around here sees me as their equal, which I already knew, but still, now I feel even lower now that he told me no one would tell him my name. That shows you how much they think of me. They couldn’t even tell him my name. Tears spring to my eyes and I walk out of the art room. I don’t turn back. I shouldn’t even be talking to him, even if he doesn’t know me. I don’t want him to know me, anyways. He would freak out if he knew me.
3:37 P.M.¬¬¬-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I’m late for the bus. Again. This has been the third time this week. Dad hasn’t been too happy the first time and the second time it outraged him that I walked home. I don’t see what the big deal is, but there must be some reason if it upsets dad. Its cold out, but I have to walk home.
I walk to my locker, not bothering to rush because my bus has already left. It’s all because what’s-his-face wouldn’t stop bothering me while in art class. I sigh, glad that there isn’t anyone in the hallway. I look both directions before opening my locker just to make sure that there wasn’t anyone hiding out, ready to pounce on me when I wasn’t paying attention. When I am sure no one is there, I toss my text books into my locker and grab the ones I actually need and shove them into my backpack. Just as I close my locker, someone bangs their fists onto my locker door, making me jump back and screech. I slap a hand on my mouth as I see the one guy that I never wanted to be seen near ever again in my life.
“Go away,” I manage to spit out of my mouth, looking down at the ground. I slam my locker door, hoping his fingers are in the way of the locker door, but after a few seconds, I know that they weren’t because he isn’t screaming in pain. I turn, but he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me to him. He hugs me to his chest, rubbing his hand through my hair.
I try to shove him out of the way. “Let me go, Keegan,” I whisper, not bothering to shove him away anymore. I want so badly to have him next to me, but something inside of me tell me no, but my body won’t move.
“Baby, I miss you so much. We were good together. What happened to us?” He asked, looking down at me. I yank my hand out of his grip.
“You know exactly what happened between us,” I say, turning from him. “You didn’t want me anymore because I wouldn’t talk to you about what happened.”
“You know that I still care about you, right, baby?” he asks. I almost want to run to him and kiss him like we did before my brother died.
I laugh out loud. That was the first time I had actually laughed out loud and meant it in a long time. “If you still cared about me, then you would still be with me, but you don’t care about me. All you care about is getting into someone’s pants. Stay away from me,” I say. I turn and run, tears falling down my face. I can’t really see where I am going, but I know the school like the back of my hand, so I know where to turn to get to the front doors of the school.
Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Step. Turn right, turn left. Turn left again, then straight on till morning.

4:27 P.M.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

Once I get into my house, I feel safer, even though I know I’m not. I poke my head around the corner, showing the living room and dad, who’s drinking. Great. Just great. This is just what I need right now.
I tip-toe to the kitchen, hoping dad couldn’t see me from the living room, which I knew was a less likely chance. He sees everything.
“Zora! Get the hell in here! Where the hell have you been?” my dad screams. I stop and dramatically turn around. I really didn’t want to deal with this. I had to deal with too much at school, so why should I deal with him? I could run out the door and never come back. My real mother taught me to forge documents. I could move to a new school and start over, and no one would ever know what had happened.
But instead, I walk into the living room and stand in front of my dad, who grips his beer bottle tightly. “Yes, dad?” I manage to ask.
He burps, and then takes another swig of beer without turning his eyes away from me. “Where the hell have you been?” he asks. “I thought I told you not to miss that goddamn bus today. And what the hell were you thinking when you took that stupid sketch book to school? I thought I told you to stop drawing. Or have you stopped listening to me altogether, now, too?” He asks, taking another swig of beer.
I look down at the floor. I wish mom was home. I don’t like her, but she’s the closest thing I actually have to an actual mother, considering that my real mother ran off with some other man, leaving me with my brother and my dad. Dad had married only a year later from loneliness. That’s when he started drinking. I shove that thought out of my head and tried to tell him that it was the new guy’s fault that I was late for the bus. He wouldn’t stop talking, and made me late, but dad doesn’t see it like that.
“You could have fucking told him to shut the hell up and get the hell out of your way, now couldn’t you? Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t remember how to say anything anymore, right? Not since your stupid brother died.” Tears fall down my cheeks. It wasn’t my fault Rasimus died. It really wasn’t, but no one seems to believe me at all. Not even my own father. I know he blames me, and that’s why he hates me.
I narrow my eyes at him and turn on my heel and I head up the stairs, not caring if I was making a lot of noise as I bound up the stairs. I head for my room where I slam the door shut. I toss my backpack onto the floor and I flop onto my bed. I suddenly hear large, heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs. My heart quickens and I run to the door and turn the lock on the door so he can’t get in. I really wish my step mom was here. She could keep him under control, but then she would lash out on me for even thinking about making dad angry.
Dad’s fists connect with the wooden door and he bangs and bangs until he finally gives up and I actually can breathe again. I slip under my covers and sleep.

7:08 P.M.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I wake up to someone fist pounding my doors. I groan and sit up in my bed. I really didn’t want to get up and see who it is. It still could be dad still drunk, ready to slap me across the face. I flop back onto my bed, but the pounding is still there.
“Go away,” I say to the door.
“Sweetie, it’s me. We need to talk,” my step mom says. I sigh. She doesn’t sound angry. Maybe she had a good day at work today. Yeah, right. Mom never has a good day at work. Not unless she just got her paycheck. “I know how your feeling, sweetie. I can help.” She always thinks she can help me, but I know she can’t. Not since Rasimus died. No one can help me. I might as well die right now.
I don’t answer and she finally goes away. I sit up, tears falling down my face. I don’t know why, but I just need to cry right now, for dad, for mom, for my step mom, for Rasimus, for myself. I really don’t know who I was crying for, or if I was just crying because I needed to cry, but I wasn’t about to stop crying just to figure it out.
Finally, something breaks inside of me. I look over to the other door in my room, where my bathroom is. I am so glad that I don’t have to share a bathroom and that I don’t have to go out of my safe room just to take a pee. I would rather pee my pants or in a soda bottle then go out there where my drunken dad is. I slip out of my bed and head into the bathroom, still crying. I open the mirror door open and pull out my razor, watching it carefully, as if it will cut me into pieces if I turn my back on it. I set it on the side of my bathroom tub and sit down on the toilet. I haven’t cut myself since Rasimus died. Not since dad remarried. I roll up my sleeve and glance at my scars that I had on my upper arms. I roll up my pants leg and see the newer scars from when I had cut myself right after Rasimus died on the backside of my calves.
I turn my head as a knock comes at the door of my bedroom. “Honey, I have the key to your room, you know, and if you don’t open the door right now, I will unlock the door, you hear me?” her voice doesn’t sway once as she says that. “Honey? What are you doing in there? You’re so quiet? Are you alright?” She bangs on my door once more. Then I hear dad’s large footsteps down the hallway. Oh, God.
“What the hell are you doing?” dad demands from mom. “I thought I told you to leave the little shit alone! She’s nothing but trouble. If she wants to hurt herself, then let her. That’s not our problem.”
“Like hell it isn’t! She’s our daughter!” my step mom says. A memory flashes through my mind of my real mom and dad having what seemed like their first fight. It was right after Rasimus died and I had first started cutting myself. I was in so much pain, mental and physical pain, and they didn’t even seem to notice until one day I came out of my room, my legs bloodied from where I had cut myself. Mom and dad were in the hallway, arguing about something and I stood in front of them until mom noticed. She screamed and rushed over to me, but I ran back into my room before she could get to me. I should have stayed out there. I could have saved mom from being beaten by dad for the first time. I could have kept her here, but instead, I hid in my closet with the door locked and I cried, cutting myself even more as dad beats on mom, telling her that it was her fault for letting me be alone with Rasimus. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t. It isn’t.
Not my fault.
Isn’t my fault.
Never was my fault.
Will never be my fault.
It was an accident.
I didn’t mean to.
I’m sorry.
It is my fault.
He’s right. My fault. I let it happen, and now he’s gone because of me.
I should have listened.
I. Should. Have. Listened.
That’s enough to make me go over the edge as I listen to dad beat on mom, who screams for me to open the door. I don’t. I should. But I don’t. Instead, I grab the razor and take apart the plastic, leaving just the razor in my sweaty palm.

12:42 P.M.------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora


I somehow make it back to my bed, where I slip under the covers, my legs and arms still bloody from where I had cut myself where I fall asleep, tears still covering my face.

7:24 A.M., the next day---------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I awaken to a silent house. It seems too quiet to me. Whenever someone in the house has a bad day, or ends in a fight, the house is usually silent the next morning. Dad is probably still in bed, sleeping from when he dropped on the floor or the couch, asleep from drinking too much. I really don’t want to get out of bed.
There’s a knock at my door. I don’t move, but my eyes shift to the door. I don’t know who’s on the other side, but I’m pretty sure that its either mom or dad, and I don’t think I could face dad because of last night, or mom because she’s probably all beaten up.
But instead, I sit up and slip out of bed and I head to the door, where I unlock the door. I don’t even bother to open the door. Everyone in this house knows that if the doors unlocked, then you can come in. It’s mom. I almost gasp at what I see when she opens the door to reveal what dad had done to her.
“Sweetie, your breakfast is ready. I was trying to be quiet because I didn’t want to wake your father up. How did you sleep last night? I know things have been hard around here, but things will get better, I just know it.” She sits down on the edge of my bed. I’m surprised that she hasn’t seen the blood all over the sheet and comforters yet from my arms and legs. I look at my hands. They have blood on them too.
I nod, not sure what to say. “What did he do to you last night?” I ask. She sniffs and twiddles her thumb. I grab her face in my hands and force her to look at me. “I don’t know how you can stand to stay here with us. Look what he did to us last night. He beat you up because you wanted in. I know that I should have, but I was too afraid to let anyone in. And he pushed me over the edge, forcing myself to do this to myself,” I say to her, standing. Her eyes widen when she sees what I did. I close my eyes and fall to the floor, sobbing quietly so I wouldn’t wake him up. If he found out about this, he would beat on us even more than he did last night.
She falls to the floor with me and we quietly cry, holding each other. “Why don’t we do something fun today and just skip school? Huh? What do you say to that?” she asks.
My shoulders slump. No ordinary mother would say something like that. My real mother took me to a psychiatrist when I first cut myself. She told me that I was crazy and that I should be doing these things to my body. I ran away from mom as soon as we pulled up into the parking lot of the place. I didn’t come home for two whole days, and those were the toughest two days of my life. I had almost been raped by someone, and I was robbed by another, who only ended up taking a piece of gum that was already chewed up because that’s all I had left. I didn’t have money or anything.
When I had come home, mom wasn’t there, and dad was sitting at the table, drinking. There were empty bottles lying on the floor and across the table when I entered the kitchen. I had asked dad where mom was, and he had handed me a piece of paper. I took it from his hands and read what was on the paper. It was a goodbye letter from mom.
I shake my head at mom. “We’ll just get beat up more if dad finds out that I skipped school. Do you have to work today because I am so tired of being late for the bus after school? Dad doesn’t like how I am always late to come home and I don’t want to come home to dad like that again. I am so sick of him.” Tears fall down my face again.
What am I to do now? My wounds looks like a cat took its claws to my whole body now that I look at myself. Even my step mom doesn’t know what to do with me because of what I do. So I sob more. Mom holds me tighter, shutting the bedroom door with her foot so dad wouldn’t hear.


8:13 A.M-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

Mom had dropped me off at school before going to school. She had picked me out an outfit that made me look like I was an Eskimo, but with thinner clothing. I had a hat on my head and a long sleeved shirt on and long pants long enough to where no one would notice that I had just cut myself the night before.
I watch the ground as I walk to class in a daze. I know that I forgot to do my homework, and something inside me tells me that I will survive whether I pass the class or not. I even forgot to grab my sketch pad. I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t want someone else to find it and take it away from me. Dad would be really mad at me for taking it to school again behind his back.
Someone behind me laughs. I turn slightly to see a girl that I recognize that hangs out with Megan. I ignore her, but then she starts laughing really loudly. I stop and turn around.
“Is something funny?” I ask angrily. She stops and gasps, her eyes wide like she couldn’t believe that ‘the freak’ just talked to her out loud.
“You talking to me, freak?” she asks, shoving passed me. She knocks into me, causing me to fall over. But I don’t fall all the way over. Someone catches me, grunting as they do.
“What a bitch,” a male says. I can’t see with this stupid hat on my head. I take it off to see who it is. I frown when I see the new guy holding me up. I move out of his arms, hoping that I didn’t blush when I looked at him. “Hey, you okay? She pushed you pretty hard.”
Go away.
He doesn’t. Instead, he follows me as I enter the school building. “So, what’s your name? You must not have heard me yesterday when I asked you. My name is David, by the way.” I pick up my pace, heading for my locker. I stop in front of my locker and turn the knob until the locker swings open. I rummage through the stuff, but I don’t have much to go through considering that everything is at home. I slam my locker shut and turn away from him, but he stands in front of me so that I can’t move unless I go around him. “You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” He studies me for a moment, but then I start to get a little freaked out, so I move out of the way.
Someone behind me laughs. I turn to see Megan and the girl that had shoved me talking, whispering, pointing at me. “Did you see what I did to her? It was so funny. She was all like, ‘do you have a problem?’ and I was all, ‘not really. Get away from me freak’. And she was all, ‘I’ll make you pay.’ And I was all like, ‘oh, yeah, well, I bet you make everyone pay, just like you made you brother pay, right?’. It was so funny. Then she tripped and fell to the ground, but then that new guy rescued her.” They turn from where they were and glance over at me. “Awww…how sweet. Her hero is talking to her right now,” she says a little too loudly. People turn to glance at me and I duck me head.
“What the hell? Do these girls always do this to you?” David asks, narrowing his eyes at them. I almost laugh. It would feel nice to laugh again, but I don’t think I ever will. David glares at the girls some more until they turn and leave, laughing over dramatically until they turn the corner and I can’t see them anymore.
David looks back at me, but I turn and leave. “Wait, where are you going?” he asks. He jogs up to me and I stop.
“Look. Thanks for doing that for me, but I don’t think that this is a good idea. You don’t even know me, and I don’t even know you, so why are you even talking to me?” I ask in one whole breath. I can’t believe that I am actually talking to someone who hasn’t been mean to me yet.
He stops too and looks at me. And I mean, really looks at me. It started to creep my out, so I turn away from him. “What do you mean? Oh, when I caught you so you wouldn’t fall? That was nothing. It’s fine. You’re welcome, by the way.” He smiles and I can’t help but feel like he really means it. Wait, what am I thinking? No. I cannot let someone get to me.
“Why are you even talking to me? We don’t even know each other,” I manage to say without breaking into tears. I swallow, and I can tell that my tears are about to escape any second now. I really couldn’t deal with this right now.
Just go away.
No, stay.
You’re the only friend I have, even if I don’t know you.
No, I take that back. Go away. I don’t need someone to follow me around.
Go away. You’re the new guy that no one wants to start hanging out with.
Stay. I don’t care if people stare.
You’re real.
David smiles again. “Because I think you’re nice. You’re not like other people,” he replies. I snort.
“And your going to just judge me because I don’t talk all that much?” I ask in a whisper when someone walks by, calling me a slut. David turns to the boy who called me that.
Hey! Shut the hell up, jerk!” He yells, letting it echo down the hallway. The boy turn and smiles, fakes salutes him and turns the corner. David turns back to me and shakes his head. “Why don’t you ever do anything about these people? Do you just let them walk all over you?”
Tears finally do escape my eyes and I burst out sobbing. David cocks his head to the side, and then brings me into a hug, and I immediately tense up and pull myself from his grasp. I run into the nearest bathroom, where I cry my eyes out again.


12:00 P.M.-----------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora


I don’t know how long I had been in the stall, but I am pretty sure that its lunch time now because there has been more bells than I can count. Everyone is here, in the bathroom, talking and flirting. They are talking about plans for the weekend or how they would like to get into the new P.E. teacher’s pants because he’s really hot and sexy and all that boring crap. I don’t move from the seat in the stall except to move my feet up so that no one knows that I am in the bathroom at all.
“Can you believe that that stupid new guy turned me down?” Megan’s voice. I look down under the stall and see eight more feet, which means that her whole gang of girlfriends are in here. Great. Just what I need. I hold back a sniff so they wouldn’t hear me. “I mean, who would even think about turning me down? No guy in their right mind would turn me down. I even offered to do whatever he wanted me to do, but no, he didn’t want me. He said he wasn’t like that. Well, I guess he’s getting what’s coming to him for hanging out with the brother murderer. He’ll find out soon enough that that Zora girl isn’t what he thought she was. She’s going to end up killing someone else. You know how murderers are. They need to keep killing. If she did kill someone else, I would want it to be herself. That way she wouldn’t end up killing me. I mean, I wouldn’t care so much if it happened to someone else, but not me. I don’t want to end up having my perfect body ruined by some psycho chick that went and killed her own brother.”
I clench my fists together and grind my teeth, but I don’t say anything. A single tear falls down my face, but I ignore it.
“Can you believe what she said to me this morning?” The girl who pushed me down. I close my eyes and tune her out. I really don’t want to hear this story over again.
I must have dosed off because I snap awake when someone banged on the stall door. “Come on! I need to fucking pee! I know you’re in there; I can see your feet! Stop ignoring me! All the other stalls are filled! Come on!”
Oh, crap. I wonder what time it is. “Uh, hold on. I was taking a crap,” I say. I immediately want to take that back. Man, that’s really embarrassing. Who would want to know if I was taking a crap or not? Surely I wouldn’t want to know that if I was her. What am I supposed to do? I really don’t want to go, not while she’s there. She’ll go and tell the whole town practically and it will just end up all over the school. I don’t think I could handle that.
Thankfully, the bell rings again and she groans and leaves. “Thanks a lot, now I’m late for my next class.” The door slams shut behind me and I listen for the rest of the girls in the other stalls to wash up and leave.
Once their gone, I leave the stall and head out of the bathroom.

2:50 P.M.-------------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I don’t have anything to work on in art. I sigh and sit down at my usual table, and thankfully, that David guy isn’t there. I don’t think I could handle seeing him right now. That was so embarrassing when he hugged me when I started to cry. But my luck is never good and in walks David, right when the late bell rings. He smiles and waves to Mr. W, who nods to him. Mr. W must like David already if he’s nodding to him. He never nods to people he doesn’t like. I think it is like a respect sort of thing. Maybe it’s because David is good at drawing. I toss that thought away and instead I turn and pay attention to something on the table. It’s a paint stain. I scratch at it, but it doesn’t come off.
“Hey,” David says, taking a seat where he had sat yesterday. “How are you feeling? Any better than this morning?” he asks, as if nothing happened. It’s okay, though because he doesn’t understand me very well.
I nod to him, but I don’t say anything. I turn and pay attention to Mr. W., who is talking about our next assignment. I have already taken this class twice now, and I already know what he does. I’ve done this assignment twice, and each time I get better at it, I think. But I don’t have my sketch pad with me, so I can’t draw anything.
“Why are you so quiet?” he asks, raising his eyebrow at me. I turn and face him and I notice that his hair is shorter than it was yesterday. Maybe he shaves it off. I shrug. He sighs and rubs his temple. “Okay, here’s the thing. People talk around here, right? Are you following me?” I nod, not really sure where this was going. “Alright, then. And since people talk, things that aren’t true like to be spread around. Right?” I nod again. “Good. You’re still following me, right?” I nod once again. “Okay and people are saying things about you that are probably true. Can I name a few?” he asks.
“What have you heard about me?” I ask in a whisper, not making eye contact. I don’t think I could stare at him if I was forced to.
“Well, like how you’re suicidal because your brother died. People are saying that you killed him. I don’t think that’s true. You don’t look like someone who could commit such a thing. Please, I am just trying to figure you out here. Help me out. I know that you look harmless, but I would really appreciate it if you would talk to me. Just looking at you tells me that you’re in a lot of pain.” David actually looks like he cares.
I stop. Mr. W. is taking role. My name is coming up soon, so I wait until he does.
“Zora Airvita?” Mr. W. asks, looking towards me. I nod to him, and he returns the nod and writes something down in his attendance book. I glance back at David. He’s looking at me strangely.
“I was hoping that you would be the one to tell me your name, not a teacher, Zora. I like the name. Does your family own a vacuum cleaner company because your last name sure seems like it would be one.” I frown and he stops smiling. “Sorry, just thought I could try and cheer you up.”
“Well, it doesn’t help much. And why would you want to know me? I’m nobody. Everyone here hates me. No one wants to be friends with someone who tries to kill herself because she’s grieving over her dead brother.” I say this without actually meaning for it to slip out of my mouth, but it does.
Just go away.
I don’t want to talk to you.
I’m nobody.
Stay. I need someone to talk to.
Please, I’m begging you. Leave.
No, stay.
Leave.
Stay.
Leave.
Go away. I don’t need you.
Yes, wait. I do need you.
You’re so handsome.
No. I don’t need you.
I don’t need you.
Wait, please don’t go.
I clutch my head with my fists and I bang them against my head, trying to make the pain go away, but knowing that it won’t go away. I’m getting one of my stress headaches. I really don’t need this right now.
I open my eyes to see David staring at me. “What are you looking at?” I demand, frustrated.
“Your arms. Are you okay? It almost looks like someone or a cat or something scratched you.” He reaches for my arm, but I pull away, not quick enough, though, because he grabs my arm, but gently. “What happened?” he asks, pulling up my sleeve. I yank my arm away from him and yank my sleeve down to my wrists. I look away from him, wanting to stand up and leave, but this is my favorite class, and I am not leaving just because someone is being mean to me, and plus, I have missed all my classes except for this one, so I think that I need to go to my last classes of the day.
“Nothing happened,” I reply in a whisper, still not making eye contact with him. I wish he would stop bugging me. So instead, I start naming off phobias that I know off the top of my head out loud so that I wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore. I’m not even sure if these are real, but what the heck, right? “Albuminumphobia, fear of kidney disease; Philemaphobia, fear of kissing; Genuphobia, fear of knees; Xenophobia; fear of racism or chauvinism; Olfactophobia, fear of odors; Bromidrosiphobia, fear of personal odor; Acoustic phobia, the phobia of sound…”
Defecaloesiophobia, fear of a painful bowel movement.
Metallophobia, fear of metal.
Claustrophobia, fear of small spaces.
Eremophobia, fear of who you are.
Eruethrophobia, fear of blushing.
Ergophobia, fear of work.
Felinophobia, fear of cats.
Francophobia, fear of France.
Frigophobia, fear of the cold or things that are cold.
“Zora?” David asks. I glance up at him. “Do you need to go to the nurse’s office? You’re rocking back and forth. Did I say something to make you freak out like this.” David stands and walks over to my side of the table.
“Don’t touch me!” I shriek at him. He holds his hands up in the air like he did the first time we were in here together. I stand quickly, but my brain isn’t acting the way it should be and I almost fall over. David catches me, but I squirm out of his grip. “Let me go!” I start to cry.
“Please, let me help,” David whispers to me. My whole body seems to be shaking. My mind shuts down and my eyes blur up with tears. David drops me. I think. I can’t be sure, though. But I feel something slam into my body. Maybe it’s the ground.
Need air.
Can’t breathe.
Need air.
Can’t breathe.
In and out. In and out. That’s all it takes.
Breath in and out. I can do this.
Icantbreatheandnothingiscomingoutandineedtobreatheicantdothisanymorejustkillmenow.
“Help! Mr. Whitetaker! Something’s wrong with Zora!” I can hear David screaming at Mr. W. What’s he doing?
“She’s having an epileptic seizure I think,” Mr. W. says. “Call nine-one-one someone! Now!”


Unknown time-------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

“You’re going to have to look out for your daughter, Mrs. Airvita. She’s had a small seizure, caused by uncontrollable amounts of emotions. She’s had them before. Did you know that, Mrs. Airvita?” someone says.
I don’t want to open my eyes. In fact, I don’t want to do anything right now. In fact, I just want to lie here and die. No one would miss me. Not even my own dad, who probably isn’t here right now. I bet I’m in a hospital.
I finally open my eyes, though, even though I don’t want to. I can see that I am in a hospital. I turn my head, but I don’t see mom or dad. I don’t see anyone at all. I turn my head to the other side of the bed, facing the window. I about to scream, but David stands and slaps his hand over my mouth before I can. “Shh…it’s just me. Your okay now, Zora. You had a small seizure. You’ll be fine though.” He lets me nod before removing his hand from my mouth.
“What happened?” I ask, tears flowing down my cheeks. He smiles sadly and wipes my tears from my face.
“I told you,” he said, then stops. He listens to the doctor. I listen to.
“But I am watching out for my daughter, doctor. She’s all that I have left. I don’t understand what I am supposed to do. Her father, my husband…well, he isn’t the best, you know? But he is good enough to her.”
“Ma’am, your daughter is suffering from depression. I want to put her on antidepressants for now. She cuts herself, and that’s not healthy. Does she eat? Does she show signs of any vomiting or binging?” the doctor asks. I blink and more tears fall down my face. What am I supposed to do now? I don’t want to live anymore, but there are people out there that care about me.
I turn my attention back over to David, who looks like he wants to cry to. “Zora, I want to tell you something. And I have never told anyone else this in my entire life. The only people that know about this are my family.”
I smack my hand over his mouth this time. “I’m sorry, but I don’t want to know. I don’t even understand why you would even think about talking to me. You don’t understand me, I don’t understand you. There isn’t much more to say about this. I don’t want to be friends with you, can’t you see that? I am glad that someone doesn’t hate me, but—” he removes my hand from his mouth and counters with his hand over my mouth.
“No, you listen, please. I want to be your friend. I know who your father is and I understand what he did to you and your step mom was very wrong. I totally understand that. It doesn’t bother me that your suicidal or that your brother died or that no one at school likes you because your shy and different and beautiful and all of the above. I want to be your friend because you were the first person to actually listen to me. And don’t say that you haven’t listened to me because I’ve seen it in your eyes. I saw the way you looked when I first showed up in art class and the look you had when you watched me draw. I know this all sounds really, really creepy, but you have to trust me. Not everyone is going to be there for you, not your mom or your dad. But I want to be here for you. I want to know you.” He smiles down at me. My eyes widen with more tears. Now what am I supposed to say to that? I’m not just going to stop being the way I am just because someone understands me.
How could he possibly understand me? I’m nobody. He’s everybody. He might not know it, but he’s one of them, not one of my kind. Well, one of a kind, anyways. He leans down. What is he doing? Oh, no, please tell me he doesn’t want to kiss me. I’m not ready for that. No. I will never be ready for that.
Yes, kiss me, David.
No, don’t you dare or I will stab you will this IV in my arm.
No, I wouldn’t do that to someone else, would I?
Yes, I would if he got any closer.
Oh, man. His lips look so good.
No, I don’t want this. I don’t even know him.
I don’t even like him!
Why am I always thinking oppositely?
Because I’m a freak, that’s why.
No, I need someone to comfort me.
No, I don’t. I don’t need anyone. I’m perfectly fine without someone.
He leans in closer to me and I reach for my arm. I pull. I wait for the kiss. He finally makes it to my lips and I yank the IV out of my arm.
Can’t breath.
I need air.
I feel like I’m suffocating.
My heart’s racing violently, and not in a good way. I stab him with the IV.
“Ow! What the hell?” he asks, bringing his lips away from mine. He reaches for his arm and I finally realize what I had done. The needle is sticking out of his arm.
I sit up quickly. “Oh, my God. What have I done?” I yell out loud. I grab the IV and yank it out of his arm. “Oh, my God. I am so sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. I’m so sorry, David.”
H calms down after a few seconds and leaves. I don’t know what to do now. Is he going to turn me in? Is he going to join the group of Hate Zora Airvita Club? Oh, God. I’m so stupid. There went a perfectly good guy that actually had a small speech about me, telling me that he didn’t care if I was suicidal and that it didn’t bother him. What am I thinking?
You don’t need him. He can take care of himself.
Yes, I do need him. He was actually trying with me, and I let him down.
Well, who cares anyways? What’s one person that actually likes me going to do?
He probably hates me now.
I gape at David as he returns with gauze over his wound that I had given him. He has a smile on his face. He walks over to me and sighs.
“Not only are you suicidal, but your also murderous. I like it. But seriously, I am totally sorry. I thought we were cool now. I bet you hate me now.” He looks down at the floor.
I blink a few times. What? I was just thinking the same thing. What is it going to take to get rid of this guy? Murder? Heck, I’m not capable of that, am I? No, but when I think about it, I had just stabbed him with a needle that I yanked out of my arm. The sudden realization comes to me.
I look down at arm and see that I had bled all over the bed. I scream.
“Oh, my God,” David says. He runs from the room.
So much blood. I can’t think straight.
What have I done?
It feels like my life flashed before my eyes.
I want to die now.
No, I don’t want to die.
People care about me.
No, no one cares about me.
David cares about me.
But he doesn’t even know me.
So what? Who cares if he doesn’t know me well enough?
He still came back, even though I stabbed him with my own IV.
Why am I so stupid?
I slip into unconsciousness.

Unknown time-------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

Thisisnotgoingthewayiplannedmylifetogo. I wanted my life to be filled with people who love me. That’s the way it was, until Rasimus died. It was my fault. I’ve been telling myself this whole time that it wasn’t my fault. Everyone around me tells me that it’s my fault. Their right. It is my fault.
It happened while making breakfast. Rasimus was on the phone, talking to his boss. He hangs up the phone, angry. I grab something from the cupboard. I think its salt for my eggs, but its not. I decide to give the eggs to Rasimus because I was feeling sorry for him because he just lost his job. He sits at the table and I decide to make myself some cereal instead because I’m running late for school. This was when I actually cared about life and school and people and how I looked.
“How do I look?” I had asked Rasimus, who took a bite out of the eggs that were supposed to be for me. He gives me a thumbs-up and smiles, letting a few scrambled eggs fall from his mouth. I giggled and kissed him on the cheek and made myself a bowl of cereal. I never really liked cereal all that much, but it was all that we really had in the house. Mom walks into the kitchen and kisses Rasimus on the cheek, who does the same to her. Then dad shows up, tucking his shirt into his pants while trying to make a tie look like a tie, but miserably failing at it. He stops in front of mom, who chuckles and fixes his tie for him. He gives her a kiss.
I finish my cereal and wash my bowl and dry it and place it back in the cupboard where it belonged and went to brush my teeth.
When I came back into the kitchen, Rasimus was sitting at the table, looking at his eggs. “Rasimus, are you alright?” I had asked him. Mom and dad glance over at him, hoping it was nothing.
He nods, then walks out of the room, not bothering to wash or dry his dishes. I smile and take the plate from the table. I notice something strange about the eggs. It almost looks like there’s something like pepper in the eggs. Rasimus doesn’t like pepper because he’s allergic to it. We don’t even have any in the house. I pick at the strange-looking substances on the plate. I pick one up and smell it.
I know that smell anywhere. I scream and rush over to the cupboard. With shaking hands, I pick up the rat poison box that we keep in there for when we have rats. We haven’t had any since a long while, but it was there all the same.
“Mom!” I scream.
Mom walks back into the kitchen and sees the look on my face. “What’s the matter?” she asks.
I can’t say it. So I hand her the box and point to the eggs that are sitting on the edge of the sink. She doesn’t understand for a second. “Oh, my God.” She drops the rat poison and it spills all over the floor as she runs to find dad, who runs to find Rasimus, who we all find lying on the floor, dead.
Things were a blur after that. We had an autopsy on Rasimus, and it was the rat poison that had killed him. He had been allergic to four things in the rat poison. It wasn’t the rat poison that killed him. It was the stuff in it that had killed him. And I let him die. I killed him.
We buried Rasimus a week after we found out what had killed him.

Unknown time-------------------------------------------------------------------------Zora

I don’t know where I am. I open my eyes and see that I’m in a different room, probably in the same hospital. Someone or something had woken me up. I think. Maybe I’m dead. I have always thought that when you die, its like you never died at all and your in the same room and clothes that you died in. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to die.
“Zora,” a familiar voice says in a whisper. I turn my head to the left. No one. I turn my head to the right. No one. “Its me, your big brother.”
I scream. I scream loud. I must be dead if I’m seeing my dead brother right in front of me. “You’re not real! You died!”
My dead brother shakes his head. “I am dead, your right. But you are not far from dead.” He walks over to me and kisses my forehead.
I sob loudly. “I killed you, Raz. I didn’t mean to! I’m so sorry!” Tears blur my vision all around me, but I can still see Rasimus as clear as day. I must be dead and he’s just playing a trick on me because I killed him. “I killed you,” I manage to say out loud again. He hugs me to him and lets me sob onto his clothing he died in.
“I need you to be strong for me, sis. I want you to live and have a happy life. People on earth care about you,” he says. He lifts me up out of the bed and faces me towards the window. But I’m not seeing anything from outside. It’s my house. Our house. Mom—my real mom is there. With dad. He has a soda can in his hand instead of a beer bottle. He’s actually smiling. I watch as mom and dad hug and it bring more tears to my eyes.
“I don’t understand,” I finally say, glancing at Rasimus.
He nods, and then takes me back to the bed, but he doesn’t place me back there. Instead, I see myself, sleeping in the bed. I look like I lost a lot of weight. David is there, and so is my step-mom. David looks so much older. He has a beard and a mustache. I notice that I look a lot older too, so does my step-mom. She’s crying and David stands and rubs her back. They embrace each other in a hug.
“I can’t believe that she tried to kill herself again. I thought she was doing so well with you, David. You’ve been together for almost ten years now,” mom says. Ten years? “She looked so happy at your wedding. I don’t understand what went wrong.” Wedding?
David nods and I watch a tear fall down his cheek. It gets caught in his beard. He doesn’t wipe it away. “I know. I have no idea. I thought things were going well enough too. She didn’t seem to be depressed anymore. I try and give her what she wants, but I don’t think any of us can give it to us.”
Mom nods, then flops back down in the chair. Then the doctor comes in, his head down. “This is the third time this year that she’s tried to kill herself. Is she still taking her medication?” David and my step mom nod.
“Well, actually, I don’t know,” David said. “I think she is. She says she is. She seems so much happier, and then this happened. Why do you think she keeps doing this?”
“She’s too gone now, I’m afraid. She’s going to die the next time she does something like this. She seems to be slowly dying from the inside out, I’m afraid. It’s not something we can stop.” He walks out of the room.
Rasimus smiles sadly at me. “You’re going to keep trying to kill yourself until you eventually do die. I don’t want my sister to die. Not until it’s her time.” The moving picture of me and everyone else disappears and Rasimus lies me down on the bed once again.
He kisses me on the cheek and leans in to whisper something to me.

I scream. Tears sting my eyes, but I don’t care. “Rasimus!” I scream. David grabs me by the arms and holds me, rocking me back and forth. “Rasimus came to me, David. He came to me. He told me that it wasn’t my fault that he died. He told me not to worry about him anymore because he’s in Heaven with all the angels that love him. He told me that,” I say. I move away from David. He’s searching me for something that I don’t know of.
“I know. You were talking as if he was sitting or standing right here. You said things like, ‘I don’t understand’ and ‘ten years’ and ‘wedding’. What does that even mean? Do you want me to get the doctor? He told me to if you awoke.” I swallow and nod slowly. He stands, but before he does, I grab his hand and squeeze it. He almost looks surprised. “And you know what? I’ve been coming here for a long time now. Its good to have you back.” A long time? What did that mean? He was joking right? He isn’t because I almost laugh out loud when I finally notice that he has a beard growing on his chin.
The doctor comes in a few seconds later, smiling. “Good news, Zora Airvita. You’re good as new. Just don’t cut yourself anymore. And just to let you know, you were in a coma for almost ten years. It’s really good to have you back. Would you like me to call your parents?” He looks down at the clipboard in his hands. “Uh, a Martha Airvita and a Ron Airvita, am I right?”
I nod. “Wait, what? I am so confused. I was just in a coma and your not even going to check to see if I’m fine?” I demand.
He nods. “We will once your family gets here. I want you to celebrate before you go into a coma again,” he jokes, winking at me. He turns and leaves, leaving me alone with David.
I glare at him. He chuckles and sits down beside me. “I am so sorry. I should never have kissed you all those years ago. Now look where it got you. I made you go into a coma somehow.” He sniffs. This must be hard for him.
I shake my head and laugh. “I don’t care. I’m glad you did what you did.” He gives me a strange look. “Someone showed me that life is more important than self-pity.”
“You were in a depression, Zora.”
“I don’t care. How long have you been coming here?” I ask, taking his hand. He glances at our hands intertwined for a long time.
“Ten years, six days, five hours, and so many minutes and seconds,” he says, laughing. His laugh was choked off by tears. “I love you, Zora Airvita. I always have no matter if we had only known each other for that short of time.”
I smile and grab his face in my hands and I kiss him. I consider this my first kiss. When we pull apart, he pulls something out of his pocket. I already know what it is. “Yes, I will.” I say. He gaps at me, then smiles. He pulls the ring out of the ring box and slips the ring onto my finger and kisses me like it was the first and last time we ever kissed.


4:32 P.M.

Turns out, the whole entire time that I was in a coma, mom—as in my real mom—got back together with each other and my step-mom found someone who—till this day—still takes really good care of her. And it turns out that my step-mom never really loved dad like she always said she did, but she loved him in her own way. I don’t blame her for getting a divorce, though.
David and I married and we have two children. I haven’t thought about dying since I awoke from a coma all those years ago and I feel happier than I have in so long.
It feels so great.
Yes, it does.
No more arguing with myself anymore.
No more telling myself that I don't belong.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 17.04.2012

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