Everlasting Life- Chapter Five

Chapter Five

I trembled in my sleep, feeling as miserable as I did in my reality. I dreamt about the fight at school. About how Bryce punched me, making me feel pain that I never thought could be inflicted upon my body. I could practically feel the burning sensation between the tendons and muscles in my jaw, even though it was merely a figment of my imagination. I could hear all of the chants and harassing that sounded at that particular event, still echoing throughout my mind. The voices, the words about Trina burned into my mind, making me feel even more helpless than I had presently felt in that moment.

I woke up, my hands clenched into fists from my prior fears. Sunbeams shot through the blinds that shaded my windows, making my eyes squint in pain. I kicked the covers off of the bed and began my daily routine that starts the depressing sequence of my everyday life. I slipped on a shirt and let the warm fabric conceal my body, as if it would keep the fears away. The shirt matched with my already dull pants, making it a perfect pair. I looked at the far corner of my room and saw a small picture of Trina and I, we were at her fifth birthday party, one of my most precious memories. I walked over to the room and placed my hand over the frame, the glass cold to the touch. I looked down at the picture, trying hard not to smile from the look of cheer on our childish faces. We were so young, and innocent back then, not a care in the world. How did life ever get so messed up? I pulled my fingertips away at that thought, as if my depressing thoughts would be pulled away from my grasp as well. But no such luck has ever been awarded to me for such loose thoughts. I sighed, trying to calm my mind and make sense of everything, of all the new developments.

"Charlie!" I heard Mom yell from down the hall, breaking my focus away from my thoughts.

"What?!" I yelled back, trying to respond before her temper grew.

"Get down here! I need to talk to you!"

I looked down at the floor and began moving my stiff feet over to the doorway, ready to start today's lecture. I turned the knob and braced myself for Mom's cold tone, her yelling made me anticipate a long going argument. I felt the rush of cold air brush past my cheek as I let the door close behind me, the feeling sending a chilling sensation up my spine. I could hear Mom tapping her foot in the other room, her patience was obviously waning by the second. I let one slump foot in front of the other, my face still feeling numb from last night's brawl. Flashes still echoed throughout my mind of Bryce and his gang. How his stinging punches left me crying in a pool of my own pathetic tears. How stupid can I be? How could I think that I could take on Bryce and all of those thugs? I beat myself up just thinking about it, the thoughts seemed to sting just as much as the bruises. I let my sorrow complexion meet Mom's as I met her halfway between kitchen and the living room. I could feel Mom staring at my still pain stricken face as she walked closer to me, her stature tense. She was wearing another professional type outfit, her hair was once again behind her shoulders and her long sleeves and black pants made her look more like a lawyer by the second. I let the right corner of my mouth turn into a smirk as I saw Mom's professional look, reminding me of who she used to be before Dad.

"What did you need to talk to me about?" I said, while redirecting my gaze back down to the floor. Still too intimidated by my own mother to look her in the eye. She cleared her throat and wiped her hands on the black fabric of the pants, trying to look official before she spoke.

"Well, I wanted to talk to you about things that I want you to do around the house today since you got kicked out of school." She paused. "I would like you to clean your room, do the dishes. You know what, I'll just give you the list." She handed me a small post it note as she turned around to pick up her suitcase. "Well, I've got to go to work. I'll be expecting for everything on that list to be done by the time I get home. If you don’t finish well then you know the consequences." She said, her voice growing more tenseby the second.

I glanced down at the list. It had all of the basics like clean my room, and the dishes, but it also had things that I had never even done before. Like dusting the shelves and cleaning the windows, and watering the garden. I had gotten a sneakingsuspicion that Mom was just writing random things down to keep me busy, so that I wouldn’t have time to argue.

"Mom. I don’t even know some of the things that you want me to do, how am I supposed to get this all done?!"

"I don’t want to hear it! You don’t have a choice!" Mom screamed back at me. "You did this to yourself! You decided to get into a fight! And I am very disappointed in you!" On that last note she slammed the door behind her and left. I tightened my grip on the note, my anger high. But mostly I was mad at myself. Mom was right, I did this to myself.

∞

Tears still burned my face from last night's tears, tears of bitter betrayal. I slowly got up from my bed, looking down at the imprint my body had made. I looked in the mirror, my hair in large mats from my prior neglect. I picked up a brush to make it smooth again, before setting it back down in anguish.

"Whatever. It's not like it's going to matter once it all falls out." I said to myself, still upset with the new development. I looked far to the corner of my room, thinking about yesterday. The day when I was told that I was sick. That I was going to have to undergo pure and utter torture that is treatment. The people that tell you that the treatments aren't going to be that bad, are just thinking up lies to make you feel better. All of the cautionary tales of past patients tell you the truth, cancer is a battle that you can never win. I heard Mom's footsteps come towards my room, probably wanting to make sure that I was okay after yesterday'sdilemma. I listened as her frail hand touched the wood, her knuckles made a slight knocking sound as she did her best to sound slightly audible. The hollow sound shattered the slightest bit of silence that I had created.

"Trina." She began, "We were wondering if maybe you'd want to do something today. Like go to a movie?"

"Ye-Yeah, can I just get ready first? Then, we'll talk about it."

"Okay." She paused, "Do you want to talk about what happened last nigh-"

"No!" I screamed back, not meaning to talk in such a harsh tone. "Just, forget about that!"

"Okay." She said, as she began to walk away. Her small steps made me feel even worse for taking my pain out on her. I sighed, mad at myself for being in such an irritable mood. I glanced back at my laptop, the messages from last night still making my heartache. Another tear fell down my face, stinging my cheeks. I wiped my red face with my hands, the skin still dry. I went over to my desk and rummaged through all of the drawers, the sound building my anger for my sickness. I began to sob, my hands aching. I couldn't stop thinking about why this was happening to me. What had I ever done? Why did fate always have to make my life bleak. I could feel my selfesteem drain from my mind, still thinking about the comments. I felt like I no longer had any purpose. That now, my life would forever be centered around my health. I would never be treated the same as I used to. People would never treat me seriously, not anymore. Everyone knows, or at least has a hunch as to what I'm dealing with.

I could taste the saltiness of my tears drip onto my lips. I could feel my hands shaking. Up until now, I couldn’t accept that I was sick. That I was going to have to work through this, and accept that I wasn’t just going to be cured overnight. I felt my fingers close over cold, metal. I brought them out to the light, looking at large scissors. I put my fingers through the holes, ready for what I was about to do. I tried to internally talk myself out of it, but something inside of me told me that it didn’t matter anymore. I took a deep breath in, still nearly choking on tears. I brought the scissors up to my hair, gripping my dark locks in my right hand. I began to cut, letting the strands fall to the floor. I cried as I watched my hair fall. The hair that took me several years to grow out. The hair that I cried over when I was seven. I remembered feeling so envious of all of the other girls, how they had such long and beautiful locks. And now, none of that seemed to matter. The chemowas going to destroy it anyway, I wanted to be the one to get rid of most of it before the chemo did. I let the scissors weave in and out of my hair, cutting like I never had before. I could tell that it wasn’t straight, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything, all that I could think of werepast memories that were all going to be irrelevant to this. My face was wet beyond compare. The floor beneath me was scattered with small strands of black, making me cry even more. I took a deep breath in, trying to consume my grief. I let that action show what I truly was thinking, the thoughts that I was too cowardice to say out loud. I was mad, angry at myself for letting this happen.

When I had cut off more than I had intended to, I stopped and walked over to the mirror; scared to look at my reflection. When I saw I was astonished. My hair was cut like a boys, but completely uneven. None of the sides were the same length, they looked like whoever did the job didn’t even care. Strands were in random places all over my face, the reflection stunned me. I looked hideous. My face was blotched red and was pale white. My hair complemented my ugly features. But I wasn’t phased, not in the least. Something inside me convinced my inner conscience that this was what I deserved. That all of those comments were true. I slid my hands over my now short hair, still astonished. I touched the cold glass of the mirror, like my face was too horrible to look at. Soon I heard my door creep open, footsteps soon sounded.

"Trina!" Mom yelled, placing her hands over her mouth as I turned around. I touched my hair again, trying to feed my depressed emotions. "What have you done?!"

I scoffed, making my sarcastic nature appear. "Nothing that the chemo won't do. It's all going to be gone soon anyway, might as well get a head start. You should be happy, always said that I should stand up for myself." Mom's expression turned cold at that note, like I had just offended her in the worst possible way.

"I don’t know what has gotten into you lately," I interrupted her, implying my aggravation.

"Cancer mom! Cancer has gotten into me. But you should be happy about that. You’re the one who always thought that I was boring. That I never do anything."

"I never said that!"

"You’ve implied it, many, many times." I paused, choking on another sob. "All of those other moms that you'd talk to. You would always look so jealous that their kids were doing something with their lives. Well, now you can tell them, 'my daughter has cancer'!"

I saw as Mom's face scrunched up into anger. I hadn't had a fight this bad with Mom in years, obviously the tide has turned. She looked down at the floor and then glanced back up at me. She looked like she wanted to say something snarky in return, but her instincts told her not to.

"Honey. I'm sorry." She began, tears now streaming down her face. "Y-You just don’t seem to understand how hard this is for me." She could barely speak as she tried to hold back her sadness, the emotion made my feelings go on overload as well. More tears overwhelmed my face. "I mean. No parent wants to hear that their child has cancer. And I'm sorry if I overreacted. It's just, it's just that I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want you to go through this. I guess that fate just dealt you an unlucky hand." She looked back at me, her eyes screaming for me to comfort her. But, I just couldn’t. I needed to be alone, being alone was the only way that I could filter my feelings.

"Yeah. I guess so." I shrugged back at her, Mom's constant glare making me feel uncomfortable. "Could you please just leave me alone? I want to be left alone." Mom nodded, her sobs growing even louder. She made her way over to the doorway, one step almost in the hallway.

"Trina. If you ever need to talk, just know I'm here." I nodded, as Mom closed my door behind her. I sat back down on my bed and let the tears continue, letting the liquid soak the fabric of my pillow.

"Why is this happening to me?" I whispered to myself, hoping for some kind of sign. But the real world doesn’t work like that. "Why would Charlie do this to me?"

∞

I glanced down at the list once again, still laughing at the length of the note.

"What has my life become?" I asked myself, hoping for a greater power to answer. Even though that I knew that relying on hope never works, not anymore, not after what happened. I sighed, resting my feet on the lengthy couch. I threw the piece of paper to the side as I began to get up, my legs beginning to become numb. Soon, I heard a slight knock on the door. My mind was full of questions as I got up to answer it. Who else would know that I wouldn’t be at school today? The thought pierced deep within my mind. What if it's Bryce? Coming here to teach me a lesson. I shook of the feeling, not wanting to get another bloody nose twice in a row. I let my slump feet slide across the cold floor, my nerves made me feel intolerant to the vivid pain on my face. I ran my fingers through my ashy hair, feeling the greasiness that I can't seem to wash out of my hair. I let my finger reach towards the black door knob, feeling the slick texture touch the palm of my hand. I opened the door slowly, still unsure as to what I was doing. Ever since I was practically beaten to death, I've been wary of my surroundings. Half the time I feel as though I'm stuck in a constant spiral of defeat.

"Charlie." The visitor said, as I let the wood of the door unsheathe their face. I could tell who it was before I even met her green eyes. It was my guidance counselor, Robyn. I still remembered her gentle voice and her streaks of blonde hidden in the deepness of her dark hair. Her expression always showed a symbol of compassion, and love. That's why I always thought that she was perfect for her job. Her pale skin matched the mystery of her eyes. She wore a black T-shirt, and a pair of blue jeans. She has always been casual compared to most people I had seen prior to her, that was mostly what had made her so likeable. The last time I saw her, I remembered the tragedy that I had just experienced, the sadness that took a toll on my heart.

"I'm sorry to just drop in on you like this. But, I heard that you were expelled. I asked for a day off today so that I could come talk to you." Her eyes glanced at me, the fierceness piercing into my own. "Your Mom thought that you might need it. I know that you need to do some chores around the house for your Mom, so I'll make this quick. She thought that you may need to talk to someone-" I stopped her before she could finish the last syllable that her breath was lingering upon.

"No!" I said, trying my best to not sound too harsh though even I could sense anger in my voice. "I don’t need to talk to anybody. Thanks for coming all the way down here, but I didn’t experience another death. I'm fine." She repositioned her weight on her feet, swallowing hard like I had just kicked the oxygen from her lungs. "Look, I'm sorry. That came out wrong." I used my hands to explain myself, still stopping on words that I had yet to finish. "I just don’t need anyone to tell me that I need to calm down. Look, I'll talk to you when I get back to school, but I don’t think that now is a good time. I just need some time to myself, you know?" She nodded, her smile almost turning into a frown.

I began to slightly sweat, feeling sorry for taking my anger out on her. "Well, I'll just leave you to it then." She said, as she began to go back out the door. "I hope that you get through this Charlie. God only knows what kind of desperation you're going through now." She shut the door behind her, leaving a small echo throughout the house. A tear shed from my eye, it spilled down my cheek, stinging some of the cuts that were made by Bryce. I went back over to the coach, and resumed my prior loneliness. I stared out the window as I watched Robyn drive away. More tears soon came, my face feeling swollen beyond compare. I have always pushed everyone away, everyone who has ever tried to help me. I thought more about Dad, soon thinking of past memories.

The time when Dad took me fishing for the first time. We didn’t have time when I was younger, so when I turned seven he told me that we'd finally go. I remembered being so happy, hardly able to contain my excitement. I remembered how he helped me bait my own hook, how good he was at fishing. Fishing was always his sport. Ever since he died, I haven't been fishing since. The only pole that we own was Dad's, I can't hold something that used to be his. It brings back too much pain. My face was wet with tears, my injuries still stung. I can't let go of Dad, I can't forgive myself for what happened. Even though Mom has told me many times that it's not my fault, I still think it is. He was in that car because of me. I wanted him at my soccer game. That stupid game. If only I didn’t ask him to come, then he would still be here with me. And I wouldn’t had to have grown up without a father. I know that I still shouldn’t miss him so much, but all this stuff with Trina, it just brings back past pain. Past pain that I had tried so hard to forget.