To wear a mask is to hide ones true pain and feelings. The constant hurt they feel divides one even more the longer they continue their facade.”

Facade

Brookell Jones was in pain. However, no one would have been able to notice, nor guess, that there was something truly bothering her. Especially not with the easy smile on her face and gleam in her navy blue eyes. Yes, Brook (as she was known by her friends and family) was not someone who'd ever appeared distressed, unless it involved her school and social life. No, not even when her brother, Ethan, committed suicide a few short weeks before, Brook didn't show signs of trauma or suffering; she merely comforted her mourning mother and moved on with her life.

Yet, as Brook amble slowly towards her first bell class, her mind wasn't set on participating in class as she usually would, nor was she interesting in doing anything aside from wanting to go back to the home she once knew and loved returning to everyday after school. Or that was until her parents starting fighting.

It seemed that Ethan's death was the final boiling point in her parents already failing marriage, and no amount of counseling would change that. Brook's home had become a center stage for World War III, and her parents failed to notice her existence anymore.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Brook stepped into Mr.Endress's U.S. Studies class and took her seat in the back of the class. It was only a matter of seconds before the seats beside her where occupied by her best friends Jesse Knowles and Alisa Piers.

"Hey, Brook," Alisa said in her usually preppy voice. Her wide, warm brown eyes taking in Brook's appearance.

"Hi," Brook mumble back in greeting.

"What's wrong Jones?" Jesse asked with a hint of concern.

Brook shook her head slightly, and muttered, "Nothing."

She could feel the two of them giving her concerned glances before turning to face the front of the class as Mr.Endress’s entered the room.

"Okay, settled down now," Mr. (as he was known by the students) said. He stepped behind his desk and continued, "As you all known tomorrow is testing day for the OGT, and I'm sure that almost all of you will pass."

"I'm sure as hell ain't passing Mr.!" students in the front of the class yelled, causing a round of snickers.

"Now, don't say that Robert," Mr. said. "I have complete faith in you."

"Ha! That's what Mrs. Snell said and I failed her class!" Robert Billings retorted.

The class erupted in fits of laughter. It took Mr. quite some time to finally manage to get the class back on track before her began the lesson.

Brook stared glassily at Mr.’s turned back, counting how many wrinkles she spotted on his blue polo. Then, she turned her attention to the open window in slight wonder. How would it feel if she just leaped out the window right then and there? Would she survive the fall? Would being momentarily suspended in the air feel nice and heart-pounding....

"Ms.Jones? Are you still with us?" Mr.’s slightly irritated voice broke Brook of her trance and she gazed up at him warily. "Good to see you finally decided to rejoin the world of the living. Now, as I was trying to tell you for the past few minutes, Mr. Benge would like to see you."

"Oh, okay." Brook stuffed her history book back inside her bag, zipped it up and hitched one of the straps onto her shoulder.

"See you in third bell," Alisa whispered.

"Yeah, sure."

Brook gave Alisa a small smile as she walked out the room and closed the door behind her. Slowly, she made her way up the the fourth floor and towards the school's psychologist office. She knocked once and waited.

"Come on in," a deep voice answered.

Brook opened the door and stepped into the small and relatively cozy room. She walked a few feet towards the large desk cluttered with files and papers and stared into Nick Benge's clear blue eyes.

"Mr.Endress told me you wanted to see me."

"Ah, yes. I did. Please take a seat." Mr.Benge waved at the white armchair in front of his desk.

Brook sat down and dropped her bag at her feet. She folded her hands on her lap and for a moment stared at the small, porky middle-aged brunette man curiously.

"So, why did you want to see me exactly?" She finally asked.

"Well, to be truthful, I was mostly wondering why you never came to see me." Mr.Benge said with a smile. "After all that's happened I'd constantly expected to see you barging into my office one of these days."

Brook tensed. "And what made you think I would need therapy? Do you think I was traumatized or something!"

Mr.Benge held up his hands. "Calm down Brook. There is no need to get defensive."

"I'm not getting defensive!"

"Then, just please calm down and let me explain my reasons."
Brook folded her arms across her chest and glared icily at the man. Mr.Benge took a small breath and began, "As I was saying I merely wanted to speak to you because I feared for you. After the death of you brother I expected you to be confused or angry, and I did not want you to take any dangerous risk due to those emotions and feelings."

"Is that all?" She asked, eyes narrowed. "I'm sorry to disappoint you Mr.Benge but I'm not confused and or feeling angry towards Ethan. He did what he did because he felt alone, but that doesn't mean I'll end up the same way."

"Is that so?" The man mused.

"Yes." Brook stood up and grabbed her bag. "Now, if you'll excuse me I have class to go to."

"Allow me to write you a note first," Mr.Benge said already reaching for a pen and a yellow Sticky Note. He quickly scrawled across the paper and held out the piece of paper.

Brook walked up to his desk and took the note from h is hand, muttering a stiff "Thank you", she turned and exited the room, making sure to slam the door behind her, and stormed back down to her U.S. class. How dare he, She thought angrily. How dare he think that...that I would do anything as stupid as Ethan did?

Sighing softly, Brook came to a stop outside Mr.E's classroom, and with another deep breath, opened the door and stepped inside. She could feel eyes watching her as she crossed the room and handed Mr.E the pass. He gave her a crude nod and Brook quickly took her seat.

"What did Benge want?" Alisa asked softly.

Brook shook her head softly. "Nothing really," she whispered back. "Only concerned, I guess."

"What for?" Jesse butted in.

Brook shrugged. "No reason."

"You three in the back," Mr. E called, startling the three teens. "No private conversations unless you plan on sharing with the rest of the class."

"Sorry."

M r. E scoffed and returned to his lesson. Alisa snickered softly and soon Brook couldn't help but to giggle along. It felt nice to laugh, to act normal, she decided, even it was just for a little while.

* * *

At one point in our lives we must deal with weakness. But it is that weakness that makes us a bit stronger, or brings more misery to our hearts.”

Weakness

Brook gathered her books as the final bell of the day rang, and a sea of students poured out of Bill Hughett's Astronomy class. She kept her eyes lowered and tried to appear focused on the task of putting her things away when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Somewhat startled, Brook gazed up at into her teacher's concerned filled face. She groaned softly. This was the thousands time that her teacher's stopped her to ask if she was all right, if anything was going on, or if she needed someone to talk to. Straightening up she ran her fingers through her dark hair and sighed warily.

'Brook,' Mr. Hughett began, looking slightly uncomfortable. "I've noticed a change in you the past few days, and I'm wondering if anything is wrong."

"No, Mr. Hughett, nothings wrong," Brook said bluntly. She slung her bag strap over her shoulder and gave the frowning man a small smile. "I'm serious, by the way. There's nothing wrong with me. Just a bit worried about the upcoming OGT."

"Oh, I see," Mr.Hughett grinned, and patted the dark-haired on her shoulder. "And, really, Brook, if you're concerned about the OGT come talk to me. I have a few great tips that can really help you."

"Thanks, Mr. Hughett." Brook waved good-bye to him and walked hurried out of his room. She made a quick stop to her locker and grabbed her jacket and umbrella, and turned to leave just as fast. Pulling on her jacket, Brook walked out of the campus grounds and made her way back home. Her pace was slow, and for many reasons. She didn't want to return home to find her parents still arguing for the littlest of things. No, she couldn't deal with seeing the weakness in her mother's eyes, the anger in her father's and the hatred that rolled off of both of them. She came to a halt and gave a dry sob.

It wasn't fair. None of it was. She didn't deserve any of this. Sniffing, she wiped away her tears and continued her sluggish walk back to the place she'd been expected to call home. She hated it when she cried. Her Dad always told her that crying was just another sign of weakness that she had to be strong and push through life. But, no matter how hard she fought back the tears, may they are because of anger or pain, they always fell and each time she felt as though another piece of herself had been torn apart.

To preoccupy with her thoughts Brook failed to notice that she was being followed, until she was tackled from behind. A scream tore itself from her throat and she trashed against her attackers hold.

'"Let me go!" she cried, hoping her scream would draw some attention.

"Jeez, Jones, calm the hell down. I was only messing around," Jesse's deep voice said directly in her ear.

Brook tore herself from his hold and turned around to glare at him. "Damn it Jesse? You scared me shitless."

"Sorry." The blond teen frowned and stared into Brook's face. "Where you crying?"

"What? Of course not. Don't be stupid."

Brook turned and made to stalk away when her wrist was caught in a strong grip. She was twirled around to face the disbelieving face of her childhood friend. "Don't try that crap with me, Brook. You're eyes as red and puffy. You were crying and I want to know why."

"Look it doesn't involve you, so back off," Brook snapped.

"It does actually. You're not all right, are you? Something's bothering you and you know it."

"And what if something's bothering me? Gods, Jesse for once in your life get out of my business."

Brook glared at the dumbstruck blond and shook his hold off. She ran towards her house, stopped outside the blue Victorian home and sighed. Why couldn't anyone just leave her alone? Grumbling under her breath, Brook fished her keys out of pocket and made to unlock the door when it flew open and her Dad stormed past her. Brook's mother, Amanda, appeared in the archway, face flushed red and hands balled. She pushed Brook to the side and yelled out a string of curses as the retreating figure of James Jones.

"Don't you dare come back you fucking bastard!" Amanda screamed. "Don't you ever show your fucking face in my house again!"

Brook stood stock still, then frowned, shook her head and stepped inside the house. She pulled off her sneakers, threw her keys on the table next to the coat hanger and muttered to herself, "Welcome home." She could hear her mother's angry screams being overwhelmed with tears of anguish, or maybe anger. Brook could no longer tell the difference. Making her way upstairs she walked into her bedroom, closed and locked the door behind her, and sat down in front of her hair dresser. She opened one of the drawers on the left and pulled out a swift army knife. Rolling the sleeve of her white shirt past her elbows, Brook smiled dreamily down at the scissoring cuts on her arm. Some healing, others still a bright shade of red.

"No more weakness," she whispered as she made a slash on each arm.

* * *

Drugs are a poison. At times they heal us, and other times they take control of our lives. Ruling our better judgment and drowning us in their numbing embrace.

Numb

Brook was awoken by the sound of someone crying. She sat up in her bed, drew back the knitted blanket, and slid out of bed. Her feet shuffled towards the door and she slowly opened it. The hallway was dark except for the ray of light coming from her parent’s bedroom door. She cautiously made her way to the door and pushed it open. Peering inside she saw that her Dad was sitting on the bed next to her whimpering mother, holding her and whispering words of soothing nothingness. Brook drew back and made her way back to her room. She closed the door behind her and slid to the floor, the cool wooden surface pleasant on her warm skin.

She knew that she shouldn't be surprised. That little scene was always what happened after her parents fought. They made up for the night and the battle began all over again in the morning. Banging her head back against the surface of her door repeatedly, Brook numbly wondered why her parents didn't come to investigate. Or did they no longer care about their youngest, and remaining, child? Could they care less that she cried in her sleep, that she was plagued with guilt?

Drawing her knees up to her chest, Brook rested her head on top. Empty. She felt so horribly empty. She swallowed back her sob and sighed. Rising to her feet, Brook walked towards her dresser and pulled out the knife she kept hidden beneath folded T-shirts. In the light the blade gleamed with a sinister way, but Brook couldn't bring herself to cut herself. It wouldn't do her any good. It only brought pain that lasted a few moments, and nothing more. She didn't want to feel a single thing.

Hiding the blade beneath the articles of clothing, she closed the draw, and made her way out of her room. Closing the door a jar she ambles toward the bathroom, opened the door and flicked on the lights. Closing it behind her, Brook gazed spitefully at her reflection. She hated what she become, a mere shell of her former self. Sliding open the glass mirror she stared at the cabinet crammed with prescription drugs. Never had she self medicated before.

Ethan did though.....

Shaking her head to rid herself of the thought, she grabbed the nearest bottle and, as if fate itself was on her side, it was pain killers. Popping open the bottle she shook a few of the white tablets onto her palm, set the bottle down and turned on the tap water. In a few seconds she'd swallowed the pills, and with a shuddering breath reached for another bottle of pills, taking one of each, until her body felt blissfully numb, and her mind foggy.

Leaning against the wall for support, she slid to the floor and made a small noise of pleasure. She couldn't feel a thing anymore, nor did she take notice to the tears that streamed down her face.

Finally

, she thought. Finally, I feel whole.

And in the moment of her own personal darkness, Brook failed to hear the words that traveled from her parent’s room and seemed to fill the entire house with its caressing embrace.

'I love you."


* * *

Thy shall feel guilt, and thou shall feel pain. But only the truth can set thou free from thy haunting sorrows.”

Guilt

It was the sound of someone screaming that awoke Brook from her drug fogged sleep. Groaning in pain, she peeled her face from the tiled floor and, and pushed herself into a sitting position, only to regret it seconds later. Her vision swam and stomach clenched in pain at the sudden movement. Whimpering softly, she closed her eyes and breathed in deeply a few times, trying to subdue the pounding in her head. And, yet, even at a state such as these she could still hear the piercing words her parents spat back at one another. Filled with venomous hatred that only brought nausea to her stomach.

Gasping for breath, Brook stood shakily to her feet and numbly began to pile the prescription bottles inside the cabinet, her eyes downcast so she would not catch a glimpse of her reflection.

Done with the task, she stripped out of her faded gray sweat pants and black tank top, stepped into the shower, closed and locked the glass door behind her. She turned on the nuzzle and gave a small yelp when ice water fell down on her. It took a while before she became used to the droplets licking every inch of her skin, and soon began to enjoy the cold. Closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side, she sighed in delight, a lazy smile curling her lips. She could have stayed there forever and allowed her body to freeze and become numb; the very prospect of doing so brought a flutter of joy in her heart.

Yes, she dearly wanted to cease any feeling in her body. Never wanted to feel another blow against her, for she would be numb.

Brook threw her head back and stared up at the tiled white ceiling, her lips parted, and before she could understand what she was doing, words filled with sorrow and pain spilled from her lips.

"Ethan I'm sorry," she whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. "I'm so sorry. I should have done something sooner. I-if I'd only told someone what you were doing you'd still be here....then, maybe none of this would be happening."

She sank to her knees and wailed like a wounded child, unsure of what to do and lost of whom to find comfort in. Her lips trembled as she chanted her brother's name. It was all her fault; if only she'd told her parents. If only she'd tried to help Ethan, then he would still be here.

"It's my entire fault!" she cried out. "Everything my fault!"

Brook yelled in anger, tore at her bare skin until blood ran down the drain, but she didn't care. She couldn't care. Not with her sub conscious mind constantly torturing her, taunting her very existence.

...Ethan....

His name played itself in her mind, his observant blue eyes imbedded in her memories.

...Ethan...Dead...All my

fault....

* * *

Impressum

Texte: This image does not belong to me. Copy right.
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 25.05.2011

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Widmung:
To those who had fallen, and those who still live to fight their demons.