13Fully Alive
I always liked you. And I think you knew it, too. You'd always smirk at me from your desk across our math table. And then I'd blush, and you'd grin smugly and turn away and wink at your beautiful girlfriend. She was always different, though. Almost every class your girlfriend would change. But she'd always be from our math class. And then one day you didn't wink at anyone. I was happy about this, you know. I really was. I smiled a little to myself and imagined you coming up to me after class and telling me that you liked me. No, wait, that you loved me. That you always had. Just as long as I had. Since the seventh grade. Then you'd tell me that all those drugs you did…that was all rumors. You didn't do any of that shit. You only drank once in a while, and you didn't have one sip of alcohol when you were the designated driver. You'd admit to me that you lied to people and told them you did drugs just so you could stay a part of the "in-crowd". You'd lightly touch my cheek with your warm hand and I wouldn't even flinch, and you'd say, "Rachel, you're the only person I've ever told this to." And then calmly I'd reply, "You don't have to pretend to be something your not." And you'd smile at me and you'd say, "Rachel, around you I don't feel like I have to pretend." And I'd smile, and I'd kiss you, and then admit that it was my first kiss a moment afterwards. And you'd be okay with that. You wouldn't laugh at me. You'd tell me that for a first-timer I wasn't so bad. And then we'd laugh together and walk down the hallway holding hands. And I would secretly enjoy all the girls glaring at me, but I'd still blush and pretend that I was embarrassed by all the publicity I was receiving. And you'd lean down and whisper into my ear, "Ignore them, they don't mean anything right now."
But of course, that wasn't how our first real conversation actually went. It was more like me dropping all of my books, and as usual, being the last person in the classroom. But I wasn't entirely alone, in actuality. You leaned down beside me and you helped me pick up my books and then helped me up with your other hand. Then you slipped my books into my bag for me and stood there staring at me.
"Thanks," I said to you shyly.
You sort of smirked, and then before I could react, your lips were on mine.
I couldn't really shove you away because I was so shocked. But after a few moments, you pulled away.
"Your first kiss?"
I bit my lip, and felt like crying all of a sudden. "Why did you do that?" I asked you softly, weakly.
You shrugged. "I don't know. 'Cause I felt like it?"
My heart was beating loudly and quickly. I was convinced that you could hear it, it was so loud. But you didn't seem to notice even though it sort of sounded to me like a bass drum from a marching band.
"Do you like me?" I asked, regretting it immediately after saying it.
You burst out laughing. And I blushed.
"No," you said. And then I felt a tear run down my face and you looked sort of like you felt guilty.
"You tricked me, then?" I demanded softly.
You swallowed and ran a hand through your hair. "I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to…I just sort of…Please don't cry."
But it was too late. I was crying. Because I liked you so much and for a second there I thought the feelings were mutual. But I had been naïve and stupid. You had just been playing with me.
"Guys? Do you plan on leaving the classroom anytime soon?" Our math teacher demanded, one of her eyebrow's raised.
"Yeah," you said. And you grabbed my upper arm rather roughly, and dragged me out of the classroom.
I sort of struggled against you, but you wouldn't let go.
"I have class now," I said, realizing the hallways were nearly empty except for a few stray students.
"You're cutting class," you said simply, making the decision for me.
"No, I'm not," I replied, feeling angry as tears still ran down my face.
"Yeah, you are," came your reply, and you dragged me out through the nearest exit.
Then you dragged me towards the back of the school where all the kids did drugs. All the teachers knew about this place, but none of them cared enough to stop it.
You let go of my arm and lit up a cigarette.
I didn't say anything in response to you smoking, but I wanted to.
"Do you smoke?" you asked.
I shook my head. You handed me one. I shook my head again.
"Just try it," you said. "You're so tense…it helps you relax."
I didn't know what to do. I wanted so badly to be strong and resist, but I wanted your acceptance so badly.
The statistics went flashing through my head as I accepted the cigarette in your outstretched hand. My parents were both addicted to cigarettes and I had about a ninety percent chance of becoming addicted as well after having one cigarette.
"You light it like this," you said, showing me how to do it.
But I shook my head. "I already know how," I snapped, and without thinking I grabbed your lighter and lit up the cigarette. I coughed immediately after I took my first puff and you chuckled.
"You're cute," you said.
My eyes widened. I kept on smoking. If you thought I was cute, then I'd keep on smoking.
"I'm gonna get addicted to this shit," I said. You looked surprised that I had cursed.
"You plan on doing it again?"
"My parents are alcoholics and they're addicted to cigarettes. I'm probably already addicted seeing as my genetics fucking suck. I'm really prone to getting addicted to pretty much anything."
"Do they abuse you?" you asked bluntly. I was beyond surprised that you had suggested something like that.
"N-no," I answered immediately, but you saw right through me.
"Do they hit you or is it verbal?"
I shrugged. "Only verbal," I said, not bothering to deny any longer. I wiped away another falling tear and then I looked back up at you. "I don't feel comfortable talking about this with you."
"Why not? Do I make you nervous?"
"You tricked me," I said. "That's why. You made me believe that you liked me back."
"You like me?" you asked, absentmindedly stroking your stubble.
I blushed, but didn't bother denying it. "Maybe." I crossed my arms over my chest and glared down at the ground.
"You're afraid of everyone. I thought I should talk to you about it," you said simply, shrugging.
"Did the crisis counselors ask you to do this?"
"Naw," you said. "I wanted to see if there was anything going on at home."
"Well, there is. Now what?" I demanded. "What did you plan on doing if you found out that something was going on at home?"
You shrugged. "Helping you through it."
"What? By getting me addicted to nicotine?" I threw the cigarette to the ground in anger and then stomped on it. Hard. You didn't flinch, just stared at me while smoking. "Thanks for the help, but I don't fucking need your help. Of all the fucking people…"
You just sort of stood there, and when I turned around you grabbed me and shoved me against the brick wall behind me. It was sort of a gentle shove, but I sort of whimpered nonetheless.
"I'm not gonna hit you," you said gently, immediately sensing my fear. "I just want you to listen to me, okay?"
I nodded in response and you leaned down a bit so our heads were level. You smelled good, like cinnamon. I could barely smell the cigarette smoke on you.
"My dad used to hit me. He tried to strangle me once, even. Tried to kill me a few more times after that, but he was always too drunk to end up succeeding. He once put a gun to my head and then he passed out before he could actually fire the gun. That was one of the few times I actually thanked alcohol. It saved my life in a fucked up way. But anyways…I got through it all with the help of a teacher at this very school who made me promise that I would help another person like she had helped me. She's since retired, but I'm keeping my promise. I'm gonna help you, Rachel. Okay? So you're not alone anymore."
I swallowed and then I narrowed my eyes. "I'll always be alone."
You studied me closely, and for some reason the only thing I could think about was the way your lips felt on mine.
"Why don't we hang out after school?" you suggested.
I gulped and stared at the ground. "I don't want to," I whispered.
"Why not?" you asked gently, not sounding at all surprised that I had rejected your invitation.
I choked up slightly and the tears began falling again. Then I glanced up at you. "It hurts being around you."
You looked confused for a moment, but then realization washed over your face. "Why would you like me?"
I shrugged and blushed, even though I didn't feel all that embarrassed. "I'm not sure," came my reply, and you bit your lip in thought.
"I like you more than any of the other girls I've ever dated."
I looked up at you to see if you were joking or not. You didn't look like you were joking, but then again when you had kissed me it felt like you were really into it and all.
"Why did you kiss me?" I found myself asking.
You groaned and ran a hand through your messy hair. "I'm an ass, so I figured it'd be amusing to mess with you. I wanted to see if you'd ever been kissed. Plus, all of my friends are convinced that you're the only girl in the entire grade that I can't date."
And then I swallowed. "So you wanna date me in order to prove your friends wrong?"
And you shook your head. "I don't want to date you."
When you said that, it hurt. It really did. For some reason, I would rather you want to date me in order to prove to your friends that you could rather than not wanting to date me at all.
I covered my face in my hands in an attempt to calm myself down and process everything going on at the moment. "I'm sorry," I said softly, when I removed my hands.
"For what?" you asked.
"For making you care about me. I'm not worth it."
"Don't say that. Don't ever say that," you said. I felt your arms wrap tightly around me, and I cried and clung to you as if my life depended on it. You didn't seem to care. I did, though. Perhaps it was only a simple hug for you, but it meant the world to me.
After you hugged me, I followed you to your car after agreeing to skip the rest of school and go back to your house. When we got to your house you led me down to your basement and locked the door behind us.
"Why did you lock the door?" I remember asking you.
And you said, "Just in case my dad comes home early."
And I said, "Oh."
And you smiled at me in an attempt to comfort me and you placed a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry, alright? We're safe here, so don't be nervous."
I nodded and followed after you. You sat on the worn-down, torn, brown couch that we learned to love so much, and I sat down beside you.
"Talk," you said.
And so I did. Never had I told someone so much about me. Never had I told anyone else any of this. And you listened. You seemed to genuinely care about what I was telling you, but I was still slightly skeptical as to whether or not you actually did care. Nevertheless, I continued on with my life story. And when I was done you looked at me.
You said, "You're an amazing person, Rachel."
"Thank you," I practically whispered.
"You don't believe me, do you?" you asked.
And I shook my head. "No…I'm sorry."
You shook your head as well, and then you grinned. "I'm going to make you believe me."
You kept to your word. You made me believe I was amazing. We hung out for the next five months, and you left all of your old friends for me. I didn't want you to, but you did anyway. You claimed that I was far more important than any of them. And then in January, you asked me out. You told me that you loved me. I told you I loved you, too, but it didn't mean nearly as much since I had told you the same thing about five months earlier. Still, you said that me loving you meant the world to you. You said that I meant the world to you. And you meant the world to me.
I lost my virginity to you in February. I was nervous, but you assured me that everything would be okay, and it was okay. I never honestly believed that sex felt good. I thought it was sort of a myth. The first time sort of hurt, but every time after that was…amazing. The way your hands felt on me…the way you looked at me. I just wanted to be in your arms for every moment of my life.
And then April hit. Just three months before graduation, and you said to me, you said, "Rachel, I can't do this anymore."
And I looked at you, confused. "What can't you do?" I asked.
"I can't live like this anymore," you said.
"Live like what?"
"With my dad. I can't do it, Rache, I just can't."
I swallowed. The way you said it made it sound like you were giving up on life.
I nodded understandingly and I wrapped my arms around your chest, but you pushed me away roughly.
"No, Rache. I can't do this to you."
"Can't do what?" I asked confusedly.
And you said, "Hurt you like this. I fucked you up, Rache. I really did."
I almost screamed at you I was so angry. You were saying what the crisis counselor had told me repeatedly. You were just confirming it. "No! Why won't people stop fucking saying that?"
I burst into tears and in an angry rage I took the glass coffee table that sat in my living room in front of our couch and I threw it against the nearest wall. I wasn't sure why I was so angry, but you just sat there calmly and watched me do it. You didn't even flinch as the coffee table made contact with the wall and broke into thousands and thousands of small pieces. Glass went flying in all different directions and you just sat there through it all.
After I had thrown the table, I just stood there, panting heavily as if I had just run the mile in gym class.
"Rache…You smoke now, you have sex now, and you curse now…I've turned you into just another teenager. That wasn't how it was supposed to happen. I wasn't supposed to change you; I was just supposed to help you get through all of the abuse you deal with."
"You did! Why are you letting everybody tell you that you fucked me up? You saved me! You fucking saved me!"
And you did. You honestly did. But you never believed me.
And then I ran to you. I remember this clearly. I ran and practically jumped on top of you and cried into your chest. You didn't even hold me; you just sat there staring straight ahead of you. That was when I lost you.
We stopped hanging out. You made up shitty excuses for things that you had to do that I knew you didn't have to do. You pushed me away and when I confronted you about it you just said, "I'm ruining you, Rachel. You don't see it, but I am." You'd still hug me. You'd kiss me occasionally. We'd still even fuck occasionally. But all of the physical contact we had had lost all meaning. It had entirely lost meaning. I knew you didn't feel anything when you kissed me. There was no feeling involved.
I got the phone call the day before we were supposed to graduate from high school. We were supposed to go to college together. We had both gotten full scholarships to a state school. Sure, it wouldn't be a brilliant education and it was most certainly no Ivy League school, but we were going to go together and that was all that mattered. Or at least it used to matter.
When I got the phone call I was desperately hoping it would be you and that you'd be calling to say that you wanted to take me out to dinner tonight in honor of our graduation the next day. But it wasn't you. I was so excited by the idea that it might be you that I hadn't even bothered to check the caller ID.
"Hello?" I answered the phone hopefully.
"Hi, is Rachel Marks there?" the voice on the opposite line said.
"This is she," I replied and the person cleared his throat on the opposite line.
"I regret to inform you that Jason Winters has taken his own life. I'm very sorry."
I froze and almost laughed, convinced it was a prank call. But then I realized even Michael Rattinson, your old best friend and current enemy, wouldn't have been so cruel as to do such a thing. And no one was as cruel as Michael Rattinson.
I slid down the fridge which I had been leaning against until I reached the floor. I stared straight ahead, and my hand went limp, causing the phone to crash loudly against the kitchen tiles. I didn't bother hanging up the phone when the man began speaking again.
"Ms. Marks! Ms. Marks? Are you there? Ms. Marks? Are you alright?"
He spoke for almost five whole minutes before finally hanging up. And when he did finally hang up I just continued to sit there, frozen.
And then after about fifteen minutes of just staring at the cabinet in front of me, I began to cry. I felt so alone. So, so alone. I was wondering why you would ever leave me. And then I ran up to my room, ignoring the fact that my muddy shoes were still on my feet and I was going to get the carpeted stairs all brown and gross and my mom would scream at me for hours. When I reached my room I pulled out my white graduation dress that you and I had shopped for together, and I grabbed it off of its hanger. Then I darted past my mom, who had just walked in through the front door, and I ignored her screaming. I ran for five and a half miles in a skirt. And then I reached the bridge. The bridge that we loved. The bridge that we'd spent many a days at, just talking. Laughing. Kissing. Wrapped up in each other's arms…
I took the graduation dress, and without considering the fact that perhaps later I would've wished I'd kept it to remember you, I ripped it with my bare hands. I'm not sure how I found the strength, but then I threw each individual piece into the fast-flowing river below me. I had no doubt in my mind that this was where you'd killed yourself.
And then I rushed towards our secret safe. There was a little hole cut into the bottom of a streetlight that sat on the bridge. In there we had put a few small things that meant a lot to us, and I was sure that you had left me some sort of note or item to remember you by.
And sure enough, there were both. First there was a locket with a picture of the two of us in it, and I clumsily put it on. Then I fished around a bit before discovering the note. Written in your easily recognizable, illegible handwriting.
Rachel,
You saved me. You thought that I was the one who saved you, but you were so wrong. I was so lost, and you helped me find myself, Rache. I know, it sounds pathetic, right? And it is, to some extent. But really, thank you. I know you're wondering how you could have possibly saved me when I ended up killing myself, but honestly you taught me how to love. I do love you; I want you to know that. I did this because I loved you. You deserve so much better than me and I was just stopping you from being everything you could've been. So love again, Rachel. Please, love again.
Love forever,
Me
I didn't even cry when I read your note. I hadn't cried at all since I'd received the phone call announcing that you were dead. But then I took a seat on the bench that we loved; the bench that we always sat on. And then I cried. I didn't just cry, I sort of screamed a bit too. And then I threw up. All over myself. All over one of your hoodies that I was wearing. And when I couldn't stop throwing up I leaned over the bridge and threw up down into the water twenty feet below. The water that you'd thrown yourself into the night before. Then I hoisted myself up on the ledge of the bridge and considered throwing myself into the water. I figured it would make a great angsty-romance novel. The boy kills himself tragically by throwing himself off of a bridge, and his girlfriend, while visiting the bridge only a few hours later decides she can't live without him so she does the same. Sort of like Romeo and Juliet, only with a bit of barf and high school drama mixed in.
But then I heard your voice, if you really want to know. I heard you. For a second I was afraid I was going schizophrenic, since you know it did run in my family and all. Well, anyway, I heard you say "If something ever happens to me, you'll move on, won't you? You won't hurt yourself?" I promised you I wouldn't, and even if you'd never know that I'd broken my promise I'd still feel guilty. So I didn't. I slid off of the ledge on the bridge just as a man was running up to me. And I'll always remember him saying this for some reason, but he said to me, "Are you okay? Were you just about to…jump off the ledge?"
"No, I'm not okay. But I'm alive. I'm alive just for him."
And I shoved past the man. The man who's life I certainly wouldn't want. He was wearing a fancy suit and his hair line was certainly receding, and he was carrying a briefcase. He probably worked in a cubicle, surrounded by other bored cubicle-workers. He probably led a miserable, miserable life. Perhaps he had a wife. Perhaps they really loved each other. Perhaps they had their first kid coming on the way, and they'd all be happy. Happy for the rest of their lives. But that wasn't the kind of life I wanted. I wanted a life with you; I wanted a live I wouldn't regret. We'd be happy, you know, the two of us. We'd get an apartment in Seattle, and we'd spend each night walking around the city, sipping black coffee. And you'd wear the same cologne that you always did. And I'd feel safe with you. You'd love me no matter what, after all.
And so I walked home, that night after I'd thrown up all over myself and then contemplated whether or not I should kill myself. The very same day when you'd killed yourself. And it had just rained. The streetlights illuminated the sidewalks, giving me an overwhelming feeling of depression. But it reminded me of you, for some reason. You reminded me of the city streets just after it had rained.
When I got home that night my mom hugged me. For the first time in like six years. She didn't seem to mind that there was dried barf all over your sweatshirt that I was wearing. She just said, "Honey, I'm so sorry." But she probably didn't care. She never really did like you much.
I went upstairs into my room. And I kneeled down in front of my bed and I reached under it and pulled out the shoebox. Our shoebox.
I pulled out that one picture. The one of you and me kissing on top of our high school. And the sun was setting in the background. And we both looked so happy. A single tear fell onto that picture, and I spent the rest of the night just staring at the two of us. And then, you know what I did? You'd probably die of shock if you could see what I had done, but I stood up. I stood up and I walked over to my desk. I pulled out the scissors that lay in the desk drawer. The ones I used to cut myself with. I grabbed them, I opened my bedroom window, and I chucked them out. I chucked them out and they hit the tree outside that we had once climbed and both gotten really hurt climbing. And then I turned around and I stared at a picture of the two of us on my wall.
And here's where you'd probably die of shock. You know what I said to that picture?
I said, "I'm gonna be someone."
And I knew I was. I was gonna be someone. I was gonna be someone just for you.
Authors Note: Merry Christmas! Lol...How pleasant is this story? So cheerful! So anyways, I'm Jewish, but for all of you celebrating Christmas I hope you guys enjoy it. I just felt like writing something like this. So tell me what you think. Don't be afraid to tell me it sucks. I sort of think it does, but whatever. Be totally honest with me, okay? So bye bye. :)