Invisible

When I finally came around, I was still sitting on the bench. At the park. In the dark, with one flickering streetlight a little ways away. And I was drenched. Brilliant, I thought. Just fucking brilliant.

I gathered my things, picking up my dripping bag. I looked in it and sighed in relief that my iPod was inside, dry. It was still pouring down rain, yet I began my excruciatingly long walk back to my house. As I walked, I thought about why I had ended up in the park and why it was so late. I didn't remember,

I tried to sort through my jumbled thoughts. I slowed my pace as I went through my day in my head. I walked, shifting my bag on my shoulder, bathed in the dim light coming from the street lights. I tried and tried to remember. I remembered the school day, waking up, getting dressed, running in late to Mr. Jones room, Jack...

Jack. Jack Barakat. The new kid. It all came rushing back to me. Him sitting next to me in first block. Him crashing into me on the way to lunch, when everyone else managed to slither past me without bumping into me or glancing my way. His voice.

He talked to me. He said my name.

But he never quite looked at me.

Maybe I imagined it?

But it seemed so real...

And then the panic attack. Hiding at the side of the school. Having a full-on meltdown. Then hearing his voice again.

Now that one I had to have imagined.

I realized I had stopped walking. I continued on my way, towards my house. The thoughts in my head chased each other, trying to decide who was right.

I came to the conclusion that I was overly tired, and had imagined Jack's voice during my panic attack. Possibly even the small interaction at lunch.

That had to be it, didn't it? I mean, no one ever talked to me, looked at me, or even bumped into me. I was invisible.

But the truth was, I was starving for human interaction.

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I finally got home, dropped my bag, and tossed my keys onto the kitchen table.

Mom, I'm home! I said sarcastically in my head. I was, but I knew she wasn't. She never was. I flopped myself onto my couch. I hadn't seen my mother in weeks, my father for even longer. I was used to it.

I shoved myself off of the couch and grabbed my bag running up the stairs to my bedroom. I paused outside my parents' room, peeking in sadly. It was completely abandoned. It looked like a motel room, bed, dresser, mirror. No personalizations. No pictures, no clothes, not even a hairbrush. I sighed and turned away, walking the last few steps into my room. I chucked my backpack onto the ground in front of my closet door, and kicked off my shoes. I plopped down on my bed, then fell onto my back and stared at the ceiling.

I was so confused. I had told myself I had imagined it all, but half of me didn't believe it. He just felt so effing real. Could I really have imagined that? I have been ignored for months, why would someone suddenly notice me?

I nearly shouted out in frustration. Eventually I decided to go downstairs and get some food. I jumped off of my bed and bounded down the stairs. I ripped open the cupboards and fridge, looking for something to eat. Eventually I grabbed some cookies and cream ice cream, and a spoon, then ran out of the kitchen and sat down on the couch. I stared into the tub and jabbed my spoon into it.

Why? Why is it all so confusing?

It's not like I had anyone to talk to. I have nobody. I was always alone. Was I even here? How could I know? Everyone ignored me anyway. The numbness was overwhelming. I stabbed the spoon into the ice cream once more then set the tub down on the coffee table.

I told myself I wouldn't do this again.

But nobody cares anyway and I need it.

Suddenly, I REALLY needed it. I jumped up and ran back upstairs. I opened the drawer in my nightstand and fumbled around until I found what I was looking for. I clenched it tightly into my fist and walked to the bathroom.

I got there and shut the door, locking it, not that I needed to. I slid down the door until my butt hit the ground. I opened up my clenched fist and looked down at the small blade in my hand.

I quickly pulled up my sleeve, and dug the blade into my wrist, one, two, three, four times. I paused to watch the sickening beauty of the blood start sliding down my arm. Then I sliced my skin open over and over, not stopping until I had a wide array if fresh scars, nearly up to my elbow. I let my head fall back, making contact with the bathroom door. I felt so alive.

I stood up and quickly rinsed of my arm with cold water. I didn't even wince, I had done this so many times. I didn't bother to wrap it up. I just walked out of the bathroom holding a rag to my bleeding forearm.

I decided to go out to get some fresh air. I walked out to my front porch, embracing the cold and pushing the cloth into my wrist. I walked forward, my bare feet slapping against the planks of the porch, and took a seat on the top step.

I looked across the street, zoning out. I just sat staring at nothing, thinking. I looked at the house across the street, my eyes lingering on an upstairs window. I stared into it.

Then I realized someone was staring back.

Staring at me.

Notes

I AM SORRY IT IS PROBABLY SHIT IT IS PAST MIDNIGHT RIGHT NOW BUT AT THIS MOMENT I ACTUALLY QUITE LIKE THIS CHAPTER.

I SHALL NOT DROP THE BOMB IN THIS STORY UNTIL I GET MORE SUBS AND SOME COMMENTERSSSS.

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