Ramona Razor
Who did it?
| Clear Affecting - Frankie |
  
|
3.9% | [ 4 ] |
| Quiet Blame - Mother |
|
16.5% | [ 17 ] |
| Freak Destruction - Margette |
|
3.9% | [ 4 ] |
| Crazy Perfection - Andy |
|
3.9% | [ 4 ] |
| I have no clue! You're the writer, not me. |
|
47.6% | [ 49 ] |
| No one! Duh! |
|
24.3% | [ 25 ] |
| Total Votes: | [ 103 ] | ||
Ramona Razor
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- Posted: Wed, 07 Jun 2006 17:03:34 +0000
Other Announcements
Ghost of my Life: Part 1
Read about Emily.
Less Than Great Expectations
Read about Will.
Eyes of Eden
Read about Nismai.
Merry Christmas, Charlotte
Read about Paul.
Midway
Read about Daniel
Update Pages
Update 1
Update 2
Update 2 1/2
Update 3
Update 4
Update 5
Update 6
Update 7
Update 8
Update 9
Update 10
Update 11
Update 12
Update 13
Update 14
Update 15
Update 16
Update 17
Update 18
Update 19
Update 20
Update 21
Update 22
Update 23
*here the name changes from Jimmy to James... I think*
Update 24
Update 25
EDIT: Margarette knowing Frankie was gay changes
Update 26
Update 27
Update 28
Update 29
Update 30
Update 31
Update 32
Update 33
Update 34
Update 35
Update 36
Update 37
Update 38
Update 39
Update 40
Update 41
Update 42
Update 43
Update 44
Update 45
Update 46
Update 47
Update 48
Thank you `Nigma! You're awesome!
Ghost of my Life: Part 1
Read about Emily.
Less Than Great Expectations
Read about Will.
Eyes of Eden
Read about Nismai.
Merry Christmas, Charlotte
Read about Paul.
Midway
Read about Daniel
Update Pages
Update 1
Update 2
Update 2 1/2
Update 3
Update 4
Update 5
Update 6
Update 7
Update 8
Update 9
Update 10
Update 11
Update 12
Update 13
Update 14
Update 15
Update 16
Update 17
Update 18
Update 19
Update 20
Update 21
Update 22
Update 23
*here the name changes from Jimmy to James... I think*
Update 24
Update 25
EDIT: Margarette knowing Frankie was gay changes
Update 26
Update 27
Update 28
Update 29
Update 30
Update 31
Update 32
Update 33
Update 34
Update 35
Update 36
Update 37
Update 38
Update 39
Update 40
Update 41
Update 42
Update 43
Update 44
Update 45
Update 46
Update 47
Update 48
Thank you `Nigma! You're awesome!
Ramona Razor
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- Posted: Wed, 07 Jun 2006 17:05:49 +0000
Pictures
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Frankie's Banner.
Margette's Banner.
Andy's Banner.
Mother's Banner.
Regan's Banners
[URL=http://www.gaiaonline.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=14308867]
[img]malformed url[/img][/URL]
Frankie's Banner.
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Margette's Banner.
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Andy's Banner.
[URL=http://www.gaiaonline.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=14308867&page=1][IMG]http://img520.imageshack.us/img520/540/pillscrazyperfectionandgq4.jpg[/IMG][/URL]
Mother's Banner.
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Regan's Banners
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[URL=http://www.gaiaonline.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=14308867&page=1][IMG]http://img168.imageshack.us/img168/4189/pillsregan27rn.jpg[/IMG][/URL]
Ramona Razor
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- Posted: Wed, 07 Jun 2006 17:19:59 +0000
Update #1
"Its amazing how much one person's actions can change so much for so many other people. Even a little thing can set off a major chain of events, just like the smallest of sounds can set off an avalanche."
I remember reading that quote somewhere, some book I was suppose to be reading for school. I never believed it was true. I mean, what can a person do that could effect so many other people. That was the same year the twin towers feel and we all learned about Iraq. I guess you could say they proved me wrong in a big, big way. The effect came shortly afterwards.
My oldest brother, James, took the terrorist attacks as his cue to 'do something for his country,' as he put it. He joined the army right after Christmas.
It was just Frank and me then.
Three years passed and I was at the end of my seventh grade year. This was the year something changed the way I acted completely. The quote was still following me, even if I was older.
At the time, I had a friend that I wanted to be more than just 'friend.' His name was Ian. I had invited him over and left him with my brother to get something for us. When I cam back, I found Ian and Frankie kissing. I would have burst into tears then, but I was in too much shock.
I remember my brother taking me into his bedroom to explain.
"Please, Regan, don't tell. You can't. Especially not to Mom or Dad," he said.
"Frankie! You were kissing a guy! The guy you knew I liked!" I shouted at him.
"I'm sorry. Please, Re, not so loud," he said, trying to shush me.
"I can't believe you'd do this to me," I said. The tears finally started to come. My eyes welled up, as I looked away from him in disgust. "I hate you."
"No, don't cry. Please, don't cry. I'm sorry. I really am. You aren't serious about hating me?" The first tear rolled down my cheek and Frankie took this as a yes to answer his question. "I'm really am sorry, Regan. I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't help it. To tell the truth, I'm starting to think I'm ... you know."
I looked up at him with a confused look on my face. I had an idea, but I needed to hear it from his mouth.
"I'm gay."
About three or four months later, Frankie found out he was right. A friend had set Frankie up on a date with a girl. Apparently when Frankie brought her home, she had leaned in to kiss him. He pulled back away from her, and ran away. When he got home, he practically puked up his stomach, even though their lips never actually touched.
From then on, I forced myself not to tell anyone. When Frankie came out was his business, not mine, but for some reason, he decided to make it mine. When I got to high school, things became different. All of a sudden, Frankie was always talking with me about how David looked really hot and that it was terrible that Mark from second hour wasn't gay either. I seemed to find myself drifting away from the people that were my friends. I completely changed directions. I went from trying to impress everybody and being somebody to not really caring anymore. Everyone and everything turned into one big routine. My parents were fighting with me more often and James' letters weren't coming as often as they used to.
By my sophomore year, I'd lost all sight of what my old life had been. I was now the silent, sad-looking drab-queen I'd been wanting to be. Now that I was there though, I wasn't so sure it was what I had wanted.
Junior year came and was flying fast. I was still unknown and yet, something was different. Sure, I had started actually talking with people like Andy, my Pre-Calculus partner, and Elyse, the girl I sat next to during lunch, but I began to come up with the idea that I wouldn't have to be obscure for the rest of my life.
I was sitting around the house, listening to Frankie talking to himself when that stupid little quote popped into my head again. It made me wonder, what had been my 'little sound,' so to speak, that had sent me to where I was now? I didn't really remember.
For the rest of the night, that was all I could think about. I tossed and turned, thinking and asking myself if I really was who I thought I was. The next day at school, I had the strong urge to just scream out, "What about me?" No matter how strong the urge, I'd never do it.
For a month it was like this, and it eventually got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. And then came my day. I'd been planning to immediately lose myself in my basement room, when Frankie caught me.
"Hey, Regan, I need your help," he started. I rolled my eyes. Nothing was every good when it involved helping Frankie.
"What do you want?" I walked in and sat down at the table.
"I need you help me get out of the house tonight without Mom or Dad noticing. I'm going to meet Jake downtown," he said.
"Why do you need me?"
"Cause you know the code to that stupid security thing on Dad's car. Plus, you could come with me. Meet some guys, you know," Frank said, winking at me.
"Yeah, gay guys."
"Oh, come on. Please?" He put on his pleading eyes.
"Fine, but I don't want to go," I said, standing up and retreating to my underground sanctuary. As I fell unto my bed, I wondered if Frankie would ever tell our parents. That would be a big 'sound,' and it would cause more than just an 'avalanche.' More like an earthquake and the earth cracking in half. Frankie was just a 'sound' waiting to happen.
Then, I turned back to myself. Why wasn't I a 'sound?' Why hadn't I ever been one? Why couldn't I be one?
I spent an hour trying to figure out these questions and their answers. It was these questions that really had been driving me insane. Every time I had found an answer, I just blew it off, or didn't think it was true. I kept going over it, even though I knew the answer all along. I was too scared to do anything. I'd never be a 'sound.' I was a coward, too afraid of life to go forward or back.
At one point, I got so frustrated with myself that I just curled up in a corner of my room and started crying for some strange reason. What was wrong with me? I was so pathetic and such a coward. I cried for myself and all the things wrong with me.
Someone pushed the door to my room open. "Regan?" Frankie. "Mom says it's time for dinner. Re?"
"I'm not hungry," I answered. I shielded my face from his view, but I knew he'd already seen me.
"Are you okay? Why are you crying?" He stepped into my room. I'm pretty sure he'd never seen my cry before. I hadn't cried in a long time. When was the last time?
"Just go away. I'm fine," I lied.
"No, you're not. Your face is all red, and so are your eyes. You're crying. What's wrong?" he asked, now with a little bit more courage. Too much courage. He slowly inched his way toward me, across the room.
"Frank, leave me alone. Nothing is wrong. I just want to be alone," I said, trying to wipe away the tears on my cheeks.
"Just tell me. I promise I won't tell Mom or Dad. Besides, I could help you with it. With whatever you problem is," Frankie said. He was right next to me now. He bent down beside me. He was way too close. I wanted him away from me. Couldn't he see that?
"You can't help me. Now go!"
Frankie didn't leave, though. He reached out and touched my arm.
"Please, you can trust me," he whispered. Trust him? When had I ever trusted him? When had I ever needed reason to trust him? Never, really. He'd always had to trust me. So, why should we change the routine now?
I pushed his hand away and once again demanded he leave, only this time, I was glaring at him.
"Re, please. Whatever you're feeling, you should work out. You've kept your emotions bottled up for so long, and now they're finally busting through. If you tell me, I'll understand," he said. He was being way too pushy.
"Understand? You could never understand. You'd be too busy with your precious boyfriend, sneaking out of the house, having an actual social life, while I'm left in the background. You have an effect on people. James has an effect too. Mom and Dad effect people. Who do I effect? Nobody. I'm stuck being nobody. You have the life I was suppose to have. Do you understand now?" I glared at him. He didn't say anything, just hung his head. "No, of course not. Like I said before, you'd be too busy." More tears began leaking down my cheeks.
"But you effect me," he spoke up. He looked back up, hoping this would stop me.
"Yeah, right," I said, pulling my knees up to my chest and putting my head down.
"You do. If you were to tell Mom and Dad about me, that would be big. That would be an effect."
"Yeah, would. But I don't any other time, do I? Besides, why would I tell? They don't take me serious anyway."
"Please Re, you need to calm down."
"I will calm down when you get out of my room, f** boy!" I pushed him hard in the shoulders, making him fall backwards. I quickly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out. I slammed the door on him, and immediately burst into tears again, and holed back up in my corner. Frankie didn?t come back in.
Eventually, I sucked my tears in enough to sneak my way up the stairs and to the bathroom. I opened the mirror cabinet and took out the bottle of aspirin. As I popped two pills into my mouth, an idea came to my mind. If just these two pills could solve my headache problem, imagine what other problems they could solve. I looked down at the bottle, and quickly emptied it into my mouth. I swallowed them down, and didn't taste their chalky texture, but a bittersweet pain through my stomach and head. It tasted like a sweet sin that burns, but pleasures at the same time.
I looked up at the remaining bottles. I saw each one as a new chance for that amazing feeling. I grabbed as many bottles as I could and began stuffing them in my pockets and in down my shirt and down my pants and in my shoes. I even emptied a few to fit more pills into the small spaces. I lost count after a while, but I knew I had a lot. I sneaked back down the stairs, and emptied my pockets onto my bed. I looked at the rainbow of colored pills on my sheets. It was beautiful, that such a small thing could contain the answer to my problems. They were all miracles in small capsules.
After taking it all in, I set to work. I would grab a handful and put them in my mouth. I swallowed back and followed it with another. More and more, the sin grew, the pit in my stomach was dug deeper and deeper, my mind set in a frenzy of highs and lows with the knowledge of my betrayal to my parents and what was to come. My hands began shaking, but I kept going. It might have been the pills, but I began to feel light, like the weight of my problems literally lifted off me and thrown away like trash. My mind was buzzing and empty. My hands seemed to move on their own now.
I began to slow down. I had dropped to my knees at the end of my bed and I had slowed down a little bit, but I kept going. I may have been getting dizzy, but I kept going. I kept on feeding my newfound addiction.
I climbed up onto my bed, and swallowed the last couple. No more? How? No. I needed more. Where can I find more, though? I quickly headed up the stairs again, and into the kitchen. I started going through the cabinets for anything. I threw open the cabinet doors, pushed things out of the way, and dug deep into the forgotten mass of packaged food. Nothing. Damn.
Ms. Schauer. She'd have some more. She was known for her junkie and drug peddling ways. I had to get at it somehow. I sneaked out the front door, and next door. Her car was gone, but she'd left her bathroom window open. I climbed through and started going through the house for anymore bottles. I found quiet a few in the bathroom, even more in her kitchen, but I hit the jackpot in her bedroom. They were everywhere; under her bed, in the dresser drawers, in her jewelry box. I took as many as I could and crept back home to my basement.
I emptied the bottles into one big pile and threw the empty shells away without a care. I started again, quenching my desire. I don't remember exactly when, but I knew that my nose began to bleed at some point in time. It dripped down off my face and onto my shirt. I continued to take more and more though. I'd only gotten half way through my pile when the dizziness became worse. My hands were shaking as I slowly reached for more. I couldn't lift my hands. They were too heavy. Everything seemed to blur together, and I couldn't keep my eyes open.
I felt a darkness creep over my body, swallowing up my being. It crept into my mouth, down to my lungs, filling them and making it impossible to breathe. It slid around to my ears so I couldn't hear. Finally, it engulfed my eyes and I slid away into darkness, Hell.
"Its amazing how much one person's actions can change so much for so many other people. Even a little thing can set off a major chain of events, just like the smallest of sounds can set off an avalanche."
I remember reading that quote somewhere, some book I was suppose to be reading for school. I never believed it was true. I mean, what can a person do that could effect so many other people. That was the same year the twin towers feel and we all learned about Iraq. I guess you could say they proved me wrong in a big, big way. The effect came shortly afterwards.
My oldest brother, James, took the terrorist attacks as his cue to 'do something for his country,' as he put it. He joined the army right after Christmas.
It was just Frank and me then.
Three years passed and I was at the end of my seventh grade year. This was the year something changed the way I acted completely. The quote was still following me, even if I was older.
At the time, I had a friend that I wanted to be more than just 'friend.' His name was Ian. I had invited him over and left him with my brother to get something for us. When I cam back, I found Ian and Frankie kissing. I would have burst into tears then, but I was in too much shock.
I remember my brother taking me into his bedroom to explain.
"Please, Regan, don't tell. You can't. Especially not to Mom or Dad," he said.
"Frankie! You were kissing a guy! The guy you knew I liked!" I shouted at him.
"I'm sorry. Please, Re, not so loud," he said, trying to shush me.
"I can't believe you'd do this to me," I said. The tears finally started to come. My eyes welled up, as I looked away from him in disgust. "I hate you."
"No, don't cry. Please, don't cry. I'm sorry. I really am. You aren't serious about hating me?" The first tear rolled down my cheek and Frankie took this as a yes to answer his question. "I'm really am sorry, Regan. I couldn't stop myself. I couldn't help it. To tell the truth, I'm starting to think I'm ... you know."
I looked up at him with a confused look on my face. I had an idea, but I needed to hear it from his mouth.
"I'm gay."
About three or four months later, Frankie found out he was right. A friend had set Frankie up on a date with a girl. Apparently when Frankie brought her home, she had leaned in to kiss him. He pulled back away from her, and ran away. When he got home, he practically puked up his stomach, even though their lips never actually touched.
From then on, I forced myself not to tell anyone. When Frankie came out was his business, not mine, but for some reason, he decided to make it mine. When I got to high school, things became different. All of a sudden, Frankie was always talking with me about how David looked really hot and that it was terrible that Mark from second hour wasn't gay either. I seemed to find myself drifting away from the people that were my friends. I completely changed directions. I went from trying to impress everybody and being somebody to not really caring anymore. Everyone and everything turned into one big routine. My parents were fighting with me more often and James' letters weren't coming as often as they used to.
By my sophomore year, I'd lost all sight of what my old life had been. I was now the silent, sad-looking drab-queen I'd been wanting to be. Now that I was there though, I wasn't so sure it was what I had wanted.
Junior year came and was flying fast. I was still unknown and yet, something was different. Sure, I had started actually talking with people like Andy, my Pre-Calculus partner, and Elyse, the girl I sat next to during lunch, but I began to come up with the idea that I wouldn't have to be obscure for the rest of my life.
I was sitting around the house, listening to Frankie talking to himself when that stupid little quote popped into my head again. It made me wonder, what had been my 'little sound,' so to speak, that had sent me to where I was now? I didn't really remember.
For the rest of the night, that was all I could think about. I tossed and turned, thinking and asking myself if I really was who I thought I was. The next day at school, I had the strong urge to just scream out, "What about me?" No matter how strong the urge, I'd never do it.
For a month it was like this, and it eventually got to the point where I couldn't take it anymore. And then came my day. I'd been planning to immediately lose myself in my basement room, when Frankie caught me.
"Hey, Regan, I need your help," he started. I rolled my eyes. Nothing was every good when it involved helping Frankie.
"What do you want?" I walked in and sat down at the table.
"I need you help me get out of the house tonight without Mom or Dad noticing. I'm going to meet Jake downtown," he said.
"Why do you need me?"
"Cause you know the code to that stupid security thing on Dad's car. Plus, you could come with me. Meet some guys, you know," Frank said, winking at me.
"Yeah, gay guys."
"Oh, come on. Please?" He put on his pleading eyes.
"Fine, but I don't want to go," I said, standing up and retreating to my underground sanctuary. As I fell unto my bed, I wondered if Frankie would ever tell our parents. That would be a big 'sound,' and it would cause more than just an 'avalanche.' More like an earthquake and the earth cracking in half. Frankie was just a 'sound' waiting to happen.
Then, I turned back to myself. Why wasn't I a 'sound?' Why hadn't I ever been one? Why couldn't I be one?
I spent an hour trying to figure out these questions and their answers. It was these questions that really had been driving me insane. Every time I had found an answer, I just blew it off, or didn't think it was true. I kept going over it, even though I knew the answer all along. I was too scared to do anything. I'd never be a 'sound.' I was a coward, too afraid of life to go forward or back.
At one point, I got so frustrated with myself that I just curled up in a corner of my room and started crying for some strange reason. What was wrong with me? I was so pathetic and such a coward. I cried for myself and all the things wrong with me.
Someone pushed the door to my room open. "Regan?" Frankie. "Mom says it's time for dinner. Re?"
"I'm not hungry," I answered. I shielded my face from his view, but I knew he'd already seen me.
"Are you okay? Why are you crying?" He stepped into my room. I'm pretty sure he'd never seen my cry before. I hadn't cried in a long time. When was the last time?
"Just go away. I'm fine," I lied.
"No, you're not. Your face is all red, and so are your eyes. You're crying. What's wrong?" he asked, now with a little bit more courage. Too much courage. He slowly inched his way toward me, across the room.
"Frank, leave me alone. Nothing is wrong. I just want to be alone," I said, trying to wipe away the tears on my cheeks.
"Just tell me. I promise I won't tell Mom or Dad. Besides, I could help you with it. With whatever you problem is," Frankie said. He was right next to me now. He bent down beside me. He was way too close. I wanted him away from me. Couldn't he see that?
"You can't help me. Now go!"
Frankie didn't leave, though. He reached out and touched my arm.
"Please, you can trust me," he whispered. Trust him? When had I ever trusted him? When had I ever needed reason to trust him? Never, really. He'd always had to trust me. So, why should we change the routine now?
I pushed his hand away and once again demanded he leave, only this time, I was glaring at him.
"Re, please. Whatever you're feeling, you should work out. You've kept your emotions bottled up for so long, and now they're finally busting through. If you tell me, I'll understand," he said. He was being way too pushy.
"Understand? You could never understand. You'd be too busy with your precious boyfriend, sneaking out of the house, having an actual social life, while I'm left in the background. You have an effect on people. James has an effect too. Mom and Dad effect people. Who do I effect? Nobody. I'm stuck being nobody. You have the life I was suppose to have. Do you understand now?" I glared at him. He didn't say anything, just hung his head. "No, of course not. Like I said before, you'd be too busy." More tears began leaking down my cheeks.
"But you effect me," he spoke up. He looked back up, hoping this would stop me.
"Yeah, right," I said, pulling my knees up to my chest and putting my head down.
"You do. If you were to tell Mom and Dad about me, that would be big. That would be an effect."
"Yeah, would. But I don't any other time, do I? Besides, why would I tell? They don't take me serious anyway."
"Please Re, you need to calm down."
"I will calm down when you get out of my room, f** boy!" I pushed him hard in the shoulders, making him fall backwards. I quickly grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out. I slammed the door on him, and immediately burst into tears again, and holed back up in my corner. Frankie didn?t come back in.
Eventually, I sucked my tears in enough to sneak my way up the stairs and to the bathroom. I opened the mirror cabinet and took out the bottle of aspirin. As I popped two pills into my mouth, an idea came to my mind. If just these two pills could solve my headache problem, imagine what other problems they could solve. I looked down at the bottle, and quickly emptied it into my mouth. I swallowed them down, and didn't taste their chalky texture, but a bittersweet pain through my stomach and head. It tasted like a sweet sin that burns, but pleasures at the same time.
I looked up at the remaining bottles. I saw each one as a new chance for that amazing feeling. I grabbed as many bottles as I could and began stuffing them in my pockets and in down my shirt and down my pants and in my shoes. I even emptied a few to fit more pills into the small spaces. I lost count after a while, but I knew I had a lot. I sneaked back down the stairs, and emptied my pockets onto my bed. I looked at the rainbow of colored pills on my sheets. It was beautiful, that such a small thing could contain the answer to my problems. They were all miracles in small capsules.
After taking it all in, I set to work. I would grab a handful and put them in my mouth. I swallowed back and followed it with another. More and more, the sin grew, the pit in my stomach was dug deeper and deeper, my mind set in a frenzy of highs and lows with the knowledge of my betrayal to my parents and what was to come. My hands began shaking, but I kept going. It might have been the pills, but I began to feel light, like the weight of my problems literally lifted off me and thrown away like trash. My mind was buzzing and empty. My hands seemed to move on their own now.
I began to slow down. I had dropped to my knees at the end of my bed and I had slowed down a little bit, but I kept going. I may have been getting dizzy, but I kept going. I kept on feeding my newfound addiction.
I climbed up onto my bed, and swallowed the last couple. No more? How? No. I needed more. Where can I find more, though? I quickly headed up the stairs again, and into the kitchen. I started going through the cabinets for anything. I threw open the cabinet doors, pushed things out of the way, and dug deep into the forgotten mass of packaged food. Nothing. Damn.
Ms. Schauer. She'd have some more. She was known for her junkie and drug peddling ways. I had to get at it somehow. I sneaked out the front door, and next door. Her car was gone, but she'd left her bathroom window open. I climbed through and started going through the house for anymore bottles. I found quiet a few in the bathroom, even more in her kitchen, but I hit the jackpot in her bedroom. They were everywhere; under her bed, in the dresser drawers, in her jewelry box. I took as many as I could and crept back home to my basement.
I emptied the bottles into one big pile and threw the empty shells away without a care. I started again, quenching my desire. I don't remember exactly when, but I knew that my nose began to bleed at some point in time. It dripped down off my face and onto my shirt. I continued to take more and more though. I'd only gotten half way through my pile when the dizziness became worse. My hands were shaking as I slowly reached for more. I couldn't lift my hands. They were too heavy. Everything seemed to blur together, and I couldn't keep my eyes open.
I felt a darkness creep over my body, swallowing up my being. It crept into my mouth, down to my lungs, filling them and making it impossible to breathe. It slid around to my ears so I couldn't hear. Finally, it engulfed my eyes and I slid away into darkness, Hell.
Ramona Razor
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- Posted: Wed, 07 Jun 2006 22:09:19 +0000
Update #2
Three hours I would lay there, untouched, not moved, bleeding and sweating. Frankie came into my room at midnight and found everything dark. He tripped over a few bottles, but blew it off, thinking he'd just tripped over clothes. Through the darkness, he could see me on the bed.
He sat on the bed next to my body and gently shook my shoulder. He noticed how unusually warm I felt. "Re? Regan, wake up. It's time to go," he said. No answer. "Come on, Re, you promised, and if this has to do with before, I know I shouldn't have intruded, and that I shouldn't be asking about your personal life. I'm sorry, okay?" Still no answer. "Please, Re. I really want to get out of here. At least tell me the code." Silence. "Come on, I'm not kidding anymore. Wake up." Nothing.
"Re? Re, answer me. Please. You're scaring me," he said, shaking my shoulder more violently. He tilted my head toward him. He couldn't see much, so he quickly flipped on the lamp on my bed stand. The first thing that came into view was the blood and sweat running down my cheeks to mat my hair. Next were the bottles on the floor and the forgotten extra pills.
"Oh, my god," Frankie said, pulling away. He backed out of the room and quickly ran up the stairs and to his parents' room. He woke them both up with tears running down his face.
"What is it?" our father asked, already angry he was being waked up in the middle of the night. Frankie explained through his blubbering tears. "What is wrong with Regan?"
"I don't know, but she was bleeding and really hot and she wouldn't wake up," he said.
Immediately, our father raced out of his bedroom and down to me. He flipped on the light to my room and saw the mess of empty pill bottles, pills, blood across my bed, and the sweat beading on my forehead. He ran over and checked my heartbeat. It was racing like crazy. He pulled my shaking hand over his shoulder and carried me up stairs. "Call 911," he demanded from my mother. She ran into the kitchen to make the call. "Frankie, go get some of those bottles and put them in a bag." Frankie hurried to collect my empty containers.
Twenty more minutes passed before the ambulance arrived. They quickly took my body to the hospital. I didn't realize it at the time, but I had just set my own chain of events. I would have an effect on people I barely knew, people I didn't know at all, and people I had known my whole life.
I had set off my own avalanche and it was cascading down a mountain of people. It was unstoppable. I was unstoppable.
My parents and Frankie all hurried to the hospital to be with me. Around three in the morning, the doctors finally let my family into the room they had let me rest. I was still passed out, but a hospital gown had replaced my clothes, and wires now surrounded me, monitoring my breath, heart beat, temperature, and other things. If my mother hadn't been crying before, she broke through the dam now. She ran over to my side and collapsed at my bed. She grabbed at my hands, and cried over my body.
My father stepped forward to comfort my mother. Frankie stood by the doorway, staring at the floor. The room was silent, excluding my mother's gentle sobs. My father rocked my mother back and forth. They all knew they were going to have some hard times ahead for them. Frankie had already made a silent vow to himself that he couldn't tell anyone at school and never his parents that it was his fault I had tried to kill myself. If he would have stayed in my room and demanded I talk with him, then it never would have happened. The silence in the room was deadly.
The doctor entered the room and immediately recognized the situation. She'd seen this tension before. She went over and tapped my father on the shoulder. "Mr. Michaels?"
My father looked up at the doctor. She looked young for her age. She looked in her twenties when really she was at her late thirties. "Yes?" my father answered.
"May I speak with you outside please?"
My father left my mother by my bedside and walked past Frankie like he wasn't there. Once out of the room, the doctor began going though the normal stuff.
"Mr. Michaels, I'm Dr. Campbell. I'm guessing all you want to know about right now is your daughter, so, I'll just get right to the point. We obviously know she'd overdosed, and thanks to your son we know some of the medications she took, but your son did say something about unmarked bottles. You don't know anything about that, do you?"
My father shook his head, and answered, "No."
"Ah, well, anyway, we're doing a blood test right now to figure out what she took. We pumped her stomach, but it didn't work quite as well as we'd hoped. Do you know how long she might have been passed out?"
Again, my father shook his head, no. He stared intently at the ground.
"Must have been for a while, then, because most of the medications had been absorbed into her blood stream. That's why we didn't get much. Once the blood test comes back, we'll know for sure. But I'm telling you this now, she is very lucky. She had a 107-degree temperature, her heart was going crazy, she wasn't breathing properly. She's very lucky to be alive."
"I know," my father answered.
They stayed all night and way into the morning. The blood tests came back and showed that I had traces of LSD, ecstasy, and other weird, crazy drugs. I could thank Ms. Schauer for those. Apparently, in her spare time, she would go to raves to sell them off to the kids for easy, yet dirty money. If only she had known it was because of her that four kids had died last year from her drugs. And that those four kids just happened to be the old friends I'd left behind.
By morning, my heartbeat had slowed down, but my temperature was still through the roof. My mother thought it was best if Frankie stayed away from school, so she called in sick. Somewhere around eleven in the morning, my parents finally decided to go to work. My mother would go into denial, and my father just wouldn't say anything. Frankie stayed.
Frankie took the place where my mother had been. He spoke very lightly to me as he cradled my hand in his. He'd sigh every now and then to ease the tears from forming. He tried to avoid looking at me, but eyes just seemed to look up for one quick second and then back down again.
"I'm sorry, Re. I'm sorry for what I did. For what I've always done. You're right. I don't understand. And you probably should have the life I have. Everything is wrong. I'm wrong," he said. He hung his head. As he did, anger started to rear its head.
"Why would you do something like this?!" he yelled suddenly. "It's so stupid! You leave us with nothing and don't even tell us why you did it! How could you?! It's not fair! You're so stupid!" He hit the bed with his fist and again hung his head. I remained unmoved, unfazed, and blank.
This continued through the day. The only times he left were to use the bathroom and get lunch from the cafeteria a floor below. My mother took her lunch break and came to the hospital to see Frankie. Only Frankie.
"Hey Franklin. Are you hungry?" she asked, sitting down next to him. She acted as if I wasn't even there.
"No, I bought some lunch already," he said. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at me.
"Oh, well, I want you to go to school tomorrow," she said.
"I can't, mom. I can't leave Regan here by herself. It wouldn't be right," he said, gripping my hand.
"What are you talking about? Regan isn't by herself. She's at school where you should be." My mother had hit denial hard.
"Mom, stop. She's right here. She's not going to school for a while. The doctors say she's in a coma and other kids in her place have been in comas for weeks. They're not sure what's going to happen to her."
"Don't say such things. Your sister is just fine. Coma? Ha! Where did you come up with something like that?" Really hard.
Frankie didn't say another word.
*Go to Update 2&1/2 below update #4.
Three hours I would lay there, untouched, not moved, bleeding and sweating. Frankie came into my room at midnight and found everything dark. He tripped over a few bottles, but blew it off, thinking he'd just tripped over clothes. Through the darkness, he could see me on the bed.
He sat on the bed next to my body and gently shook my shoulder. He noticed how unusually warm I felt. "Re? Regan, wake up. It's time to go," he said. No answer. "Come on, Re, you promised, and if this has to do with before, I know I shouldn't have intruded, and that I shouldn't be asking about your personal life. I'm sorry, okay?" Still no answer. "Please, Re. I really want to get out of here. At least tell me the code." Silence. "Come on, I'm not kidding anymore. Wake up." Nothing.
"Re? Re, answer me. Please. You're scaring me," he said, shaking my shoulder more violently. He tilted my head toward him. He couldn't see much, so he quickly flipped on the lamp on my bed stand. The first thing that came into view was the blood and sweat running down my cheeks to mat my hair. Next were the bottles on the floor and the forgotten extra pills.
"Oh, my god," Frankie said, pulling away. He backed out of the room and quickly ran up the stairs and to his parents' room. He woke them both up with tears running down his face.
"What is it?" our father asked, already angry he was being waked up in the middle of the night. Frankie explained through his blubbering tears. "What is wrong with Regan?"
"I don't know, but she was bleeding and really hot and she wouldn't wake up," he said.
Immediately, our father raced out of his bedroom and down to me. He flipped on the light to my room and saw the mess of empty pill bottles, pills, blood across my bed, and the sweat beading on my forehead. He ran over and checked my heartbeat. It was racing like crazy. He pulled my shaking hand over his shoulder and carried me up stairs. "Call 911," he demanded from my mother. She ran into the kitchen to make the call. "Frankie, go get some of those bottles and put them in a bag." Frankie hurried to collect my empty containers.
Twenty more minutes passed before the ambulance arrived. They quickly took my body to the hospital. I didn't realize it at the time, but I had just set my own chain of events. I would have an effect on people I barely knew, people I didn't know at all, and people I had known my whole life.
I had set off my own avalanche and it was cascading down a mountain of people. It was unstoppable. I was unstoppable.
My parents and Frankie all hurried to the hospital to be with me. Around three in the morning, the doctors finally let my family into the room they had let me rest. I was still passed out, but a hospital gown had replaced my clothes, and wires now surrounded me, monitoring my breath, heart beat, temperature, and other things. If my mother hadn't been crying before, she broke through the dam now. She ran over to my side and collapsed at my bed. She grabbed at my hands, and cried over my body.
My father stepped forward to comfort my mother. Frankie stood by the doorway, staring at the floor. The room was silent, excluding my mother's gentle sobs. My father rocked my mother back and forth. They all knew they were going to have some hard times ahead for them. Frankie had already made a silent vow to himself that he couldn't tell anyone at school and never his parents that it was his fault I had tried to kill myself. If he would have stayed in my room and demanded I talk with him, then it never would have happened. The silence in the room was deadly.
The doctor entered the room and immediately recognized the situation. She'd seen this tension before. She went over and tapped my father on the shoulder. "Mr. Michaels?"
My father looked up at the doctor. She looked young for her age. She looked in her twenties when really she was at her late thirties. "Yes?" my father answered.
"May I speak with you outside please?"
My father left my mother by my bedside and walked past Frankie like he wasn't there. Once out of the room, the doctor began going though the normal stuff.
"Mr. Michaels, I'm Dr. Campbell. I'm guessing all you want to know about right now is your daughter, so, I'll just get right to the point. We obviously know she'd overdosed, and thanks to your son we know some of the medications she took, but your son did say something about unmarked bottles. You don't know anything about that, do you?"
My father shook his head, and answered, "No."
"Ah, well, anyway, we're doing a blood test right now to figure out what she took. We pumped her stomach, but it didn't work quite as well as we'd hoped. Do you know how long she might have been passed out?"
Again, my father shook his head, no. He stared intently at the ground.
"Must have been for a while, then, because most of the medications had been absorbed into her blood stream. That's why we didn't get much. Once the blood test comes back, we'll know for sure. But I'm telling you this now, she is very lucky. She had a 107-degree temperature, her heart was going crazy, she wasn't breathing properly. She's very lucky to be alive."
"I know," my father answered.
They stayed all night and way into the morning. The blood tests came back and showed that I had traces of LSD, ecstasy, and other weird, crazy drugs. I could thank Ms. Schauer for those. Apparently, in her spare time, she would go to raves to sell them off to the kids for easy, yet dirty money. If only she had known it was because of her that four kids had died last year from her drugs. And that those four kids just happened to be the old friends I'd left behind.
By morning, my heartbeat had slowed down, but my temperature was still through the roof. My mother thought it was best if Frankie stayed away from school, so she called in sick. Somewhere around eleven in the morning, my parents finally decided to go to work. My mother would go into denial, and my father just wouldn't say anything. Frankie stayed.
Frankie took the place where my mother had been. He spoke very lightly to me as he cradled my hand in his. He'd sigh every now and then to ease the tears from forming. He tried to avoid looking at me, but eyes just seemed to look up for one quick second and then back down again.
"I'm sorry, Re. I'm sorry for what I did. For what I've always done. You're right. I don't understand. And you probably should have the life I have. Everything is wrong. I'm wrong," he said. He hung his head. As he did, anger started to rear its head.
"Why would you do something like this?!" he yelled suddenly. "It's so stupid! You leave us with nothing and don't even tell us why you did it! How could you?! It's not fair! You're so stupid!" He hit the bed with his fist and again hung his head. I remained unmoved, unfazed, and blank.
This continued through the day. The only times he left were to use the bathroom and get lunch from the cafeteria a floor below. My mother took her lunch break and came to the hospital to see Frankie. Only Frankie.
"Hey Franklin. Are you hungry?" she asked, sitting down next to him. She acted as if I wasn't even there.
"No, I bought some lunch already," he said. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at me.
"Oh, well, I want you to go to school tomorrow," she said.
"I can't, mom. I can't leave Regan here by herself. It wouldn't be right," he said, gripping my hand.
"What are you talking about? Regan isn't by herself. She's at school where you should be." My mother had hit denial hard.
"Mom, stop. She's right here. She's not going to school for a while. The doctors say she's in a coma and other kids in her place have been in comas for weeks. They're not sure what's going to happen to her."
"Don't say such things. Your sister is just fine. Coma? Ha! Where did you come up with something like that?" Really hard.
Frankie didn't say another word.
*Go to Update 2&1/2 below update #4.
Persephone Waker
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- Posted: Thu, 08 Jun 2006 15:22:23 +0000
Good as usual, Razor. I hope you update this more often. Ok, I'll shut up. That story left me in tears. Seriously!
Ramona Razor
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- Posted: Thu, 08 Jun 2006 23:00:59 +0000
Tears? Gees...I can make people cry with my writing...Weird...
P!nk_Bubblegum
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- Posted: Fri, 09 Jun 2006 00:17:45 +0000
The PoWER OF WORDS Razor... It's the power of words that you have mastered.. heart
Ramona Razor
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- Posted: Fri, 09 Jun 2006 00:40:58 +0000
I have been well taught. Black belt with my words, and yet I still haven't mastered peotry. Damn...
Ramona Razor
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Update #3
The next day, much to Mom's protest, Frankie was able to stay home. His father made the argument that he would need time to get over what had happened. So, my mother called in absent once again for Frankie and me. At first, Frankie just laid on the sofa and listened to the silence of the empty house.
But somehow, his feet led him down to my bedroom. He pushed the door open cautiously as if he was scared I would yell at him for it or something. The room still looked like a bomb had gone off and the dust was finally settling. No one had gone near my room since two nights ago. It seemed eerie and just waiting for an explosion of activity like a battleground in some war. There was still my pile of pills, or the remains of it. Looking at it, he immediately got the picture of me, leaned over the end of my bed, taking the pills in handfuls in his mind. He quickly pushed the image away.
He slammed the door, rushed back up the stairs, and stayed away for the rest of the day.
At my mother's work, she stepped out the door and walked out to her car. As she did, her cell phone went off in her purse. She answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi Mom." James.
"Jimmy! What are you doing? How are you doing? Where are you calling from?"
"Woo! Slow down, Mom. I'm calling from an airport, and I'm doing just fine."
"Airport? Why are you in an airport?"
"They're sending me home. My tour is over. I'm coming home," James said.
"Oh, Jimmy, that's so good! I'll get to see my little soldier again. When are you getting here?"
"Tomorrow around five or six. Don't worry. I'll just call you when I get back. Right now, we're in Britain. We've got to get on another plane for home in five minutes. So, how is everyone?"
"Fine, they're all fine," my mother lied.
"What about Frankie and Re?"
"Great," she said. She bit her lower lip. She may have acted like she was in denial, but she knew perfectly well and wouldn't let her husband of son see it. "What do you think we've done? Forgotten you?"
"No, I know you haven't forgotten me. I just wanted to know. It's been almost a month since I got a letter from everyone at the same time."
"Well, yes. We have been quite busy lately. But soon, you'll be home and won't have to wait for letters."
"Finally. Oh, I have to go. Love you, Mom."
"I love you too, Jim. Be safe."
"I will. Bye."
"Bye." She hung up the phone and slipped it back into her purse. Maybe James? return would help everyone get over my suicide attempt. My mother just couldn't stand what was going on. It made her sick to know that her daughter was a suicidal maniac. And that I just happened to be the center of all the attention.
She hated my guts right about now.
She quickly got into her cat and sped off to meet with another new 'client.'
The next day, much to Mom's protest, Frankie was able to stay home. His father made the argument that he would need time to get over what had happened. So, my mother called in absent once again for Frankie and me. At first, Frankie just laid on the sofa and listened to the silence of the empty house.
But somehow, his feet led him down to my bedroom. He pushed the door open cautiously as if he was scared I would yell at him for it or something. The room still looked like a bomb had gone off and the dust was finally settling. No one had gone near my room since two nights ago. It seemed eerie and just waiting for an explosion of activity like a battleground in some war. There was still my pile of pills, or the remains of it. Looking at it, he immediately got the picture of me, leaned over the end of my bed, taking the pills in handfuls in his mind. He quickly pushed the image away.
He slammed the door, rushed back up the stairs, and stayed away for the rest of the day.
At my mother's work, she stepped out the door and walked out to her car. As she did, her cell phone went off in her purse. She answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi Mom." James.
"Jimmy! What are you doing? How are you doing? Where are you calling from?"
"Woo! Slow down, Mom. I'm calling from an airport, and I'm doing just fine."
"Airport? Why are you in an airport?"
"They're sending me home. My tour is over. I'm coming home," James said.
"Oh, Jimmy, that's so good! I'll get to see my little soldier again. When are you getting here?"
"Tomorrow around five or six. Don't worry. I'll just call you when I get back. Right now, we're in Britain. We've got to get on another plane for home in five minutes. So, how is everyone?"
"Fine, they're all fine," my mother lied.
"What about Frankie and Re?"
"Great," she said. She bit her lower lip. She may have acted like she was in denial, but she knew perfectly well and wouldn't let her husband of son see it. "What do you think we've done? Forgotten you?"
"No, I know you haven't forgotten me. I just wanted to know. It's been almost a month since I got a letter from everyone at the same time."
"Well, yes. We have been quite busy lately. But soon, you'll be home and won't have to wait for letters."
"Finally. Oh, I have to go. Love you, Mom."
"I love you too, Jim. Be safe."
"I will. Bye."
"Bye." She hung up the phone and slipped it back into her purse. Maybe James? return would help everyone get over my suicide attempt. My mother just couldn't stand what was going on. It made her sick to know that her daughter was a suicidal maniac. And that I just happened to be the center of all the attention.
She hated my guts right about now.
She quickly got into her cat and sped off to meet with another new 'client.'
Ramona Razor
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Update #4
Somewhere around that time, I would have been in my fifth hour, Pre-Calc. My partner, Andy, was sitting in the back of the class, as usual. And, as usual, he was bent over his usual green, spiral notebook. He brought it with him everywhere, and when he had filled one up, usually within two weeks of getting it, he'd go out and by another one. Exactly like the one before. He had a box filled with these green notebooks, some going all the way back to sixth grade. The subjects of the pages varied; homework, songs, random writings, quotes, important reminders, drawings. He never showed it anyone, but I had sneaked a peak once when he left to go the office, once. He was a really good artist, and he's short writings weren't that bad. He also caught me look through the pages that day.
I turned another page to find a beautiful drawing of the school's courtyard, over looking all the chairs and tables. Everything was covered in snow. It was amazing. I wouldn't have been able to draw anything close to that. It looked so real.
I skimmed through to the next drawing. But this one caught me by surprise. The whole page was filled with drawings and doodles of me. My whole face was plastered over the page and the back and the next page. Each one had a different expression. One showed me bored, my head leaned against my hand for support, staring forward. Another showed me smiling and laughing, probably from one of the many jokes he had said or a general conversation. Another showed me biting my thumb, a nasty habit I had picked up from James.
"What are you doing?" Andy asked. Somehow, he had appeared next to his desk. He had come back faster than I had expected. He glimpsed at the notebook and immediately recognized his own drawings. His face shrank from curiosity to extreme fear and sick surprise.
I quickly shut the notebook and put it back on his desk. "Sorry," I said. I looked down at my desk. I could feel my face turning red. I didn't dare look at him. I was too scared. Andy snatched up the book, and buried it deep into his backpack.
There was an awkward silence between us for the rest of the week.
Today, though as Andy sat in the back, he looked to the door, expecting me to walk into the room. Of course, I didn't.
He looked across the room at the girl with short, boy hair. He had seen me talking with her before. Especially during lunch when he walked past the cafeteria. Once again, he took out his notebook and flipped to a new page. He started drawing me again. He'd drawn my face so many times, it was implanted in his brain's walls.
He drew me so that I was looking off, dreamily. He'd never seen me like that, but he still knew how I would look. The bell rang just as he finished my hair.
Andy got up and followed after the girl with short, boy hair. He reached out and touched her shoulder as they stepped out the door. She stopped and turned to face him.
"Sorry, but um, you wouldn't happen to know where Regan is? She's been gone for the past two days."
"Oh, no, I don't know. I've been trying to find her brother, but I couldn't fine him either," she said. She walked away, then.
Andy was surprised she'd told him. He followed after her and went into her sixth hour. She sat down at her desk and started to pull out a book. "What? I don't know where she is. I told you that."
"Do you have her phone number? You could call and figure out," Andy said.
"I already tried. No on answered. Why do you care so much?"
"Well, uh, she is my partner in Pre-Calc," he argued.
"Yeah, and you want to use her to get a better grade, huh? Just because she's smarter than you," the girl answered to him.
"No! It's not like that!" Andy yelled back. All the people in the class looked at him puzzled. Including the teacher. The girl, however, was looking at him with an evil grin.
"You like Regan. Don't you?"
Andy's face lit up bright red. He looked down at the floor and managed a few uh's and um's.
"You do like her! I knew it! You're always staring at her in Pre-Calc. That's so cute!"
Andy could hear whispering and see people staring. His mind froze up. He didn't want everyone to know. He began to panic. His brain thought of the one thing to do. Run.
He ran out of the room, down the hall, and out the front doors. After that, he lost all sight and sound. All he knew was that he was running. When he finally got his senses back, Andy was standing in front of my house. He had walked me home some days after school.
Frankie sat up on the couch. He was so bored. He looked out the window and saw some kid standing in the middle of the street, staring at the house.
The kid stood there for twenty minutes and didn't move. Finally, he stepped forward toward the house and moments later, the doorbell rang. Frankie let him ring it a couple times before he got up, and answered. He opened the door a little and peeked out.
"Uh, hi. I'm Andy. I was w-wondering if Regan is here," he asked. He acted as if he wasn't supposed to be here, and Frankie didn't want him there either.
"No, she's not," Frankie said. He went to shut the door, but Andy stopped him.
"But I, uh, brought her homework. I was going to help her," he said.
"She won't need any help," Frankie said.
"Do you knew when she might be back to school?"
Frankie dropped his gaze to the ground. He wished he knew the answer to that question. He looked back up at the guy.
"Look, Regan isn't here, because she's in the hospital."
Andy broke in. "The hospital? What is she doing there? What happened?"
"I can't say, but she won't be going to school for a while. I'm really sorry," Frankie said, and shut the door.
Frankie immediately broke down as soon as he shut that door. The freshness in his mind was too much to bare. But what could he do? Nothing. And it was killing him.
Somewhere around that time, I would have been in my fifth hour, Pre-Calc. My partner, Andy, was sitting in the back of the class, as usual. And, as usual, he was bent over his usual green, spiral notebook. He brought it with him everywhere, and when he had filled one up, usually within two weeks of getting it, he'd go out and by another one. Exactly like the one before. He had a box filled with these green notebooks, some going all the way back to sixth grade. The subjects of the pages varied; homework, songs, random writings, quotes, important reminders, drawings. He never showed it anyone, but I had sneaked a peak once when he left to go the office, once. He was a really good artist, and he's short writings weren't that bad. He also caught me look through the pages that day.
I turned another page to find a beautiful drawing of the school's courtyard, over looking all the chairs and tables. Everything was covered in snow. It was amazing. I wouldn't have been able to draw anything close to that. It looked so real.
I skimmed through to the next drawing. But this one caught me by surprise. The whole page was filled with drawings and doodles of me. My whole face was plastered over the page and the back and the next page. Each one had a different expression. One showed me bored, my head leaned against my hand for support, staring forward. Another showed me smiling and laughing, probably from one of the many jokes he had said or a general conversation. Another showed me biting my thumb, a nasty habit I had picked up from James.
"What are you doing?" Andy asked. Somehow, he had appeared next to his desk. He had come back faster than I had expected. He glimpsed at the notebook and immediately recognized his own drawings. His face shrank from curiosity to extreme fear and sick surprise.
I quickly shut the notebook and put it back on his desk. "Sorry," I said. I looked down at my desk. I could feel my face turning red. I didn't dare look at him. I was too scared. Andy snatched up the book, and buried it deep into his backpack.
There was an awkward silence between us for the rest of the week.
Today, though as Andy sat in the back, he looked to the door, expecting me to walk into the room. Of course, I didn't.
He looked across the room at the girl with short, boy hair. He had seen me talking with her before. Especially during lunch when he walked past the cafeteria. Once again, he took out his notebook and flipped to a new page. He started drawing me again. He'd drawn my face so many times, it was implanted in his brain's walls.
He drew me so that I was looking off, dreamily. He'd never seen me like that, but he still knew how I would look. The bell rang just as he finished my hair.
Andy got up and followed after the girl with short, boy hair. He reached out and touched her shoulder as they stepped out the door. She stopped and turned to face him.
"Sorry, but um, you wouldn't happen to know where Regan is? She's been gone for the past two days."
"Oh, no, I don't know. I've been trying to find her brother, but I couldn't fine him either," she said. She walked away, then.
Andy was surprised she'd told him. He followed after her and went into her sixth hour. She sat down at her desk and started to pull out a book. "What? I don't know where she is. I told you that."
"Do you have her phone number? You could call and figure out," Andy said.
"I already tried. No on answered. Why do you care so much?"
"Well, uh, she is my partner in Pre-Calc," he argued.
"Yeah, and you want to use her to get a better grade, huh? Just because she's smarter than you," the girl answered to him.
"No! It's not like that!" Andy yelled back. All the people in the class looked at him puzzled. Including the teacher. The girl, however, was looking at him with an evil grin.
"You like Regan. Don't you?"
Andy's face lit up bright red. He looked down at the floor and managed a few uh's and um's.
"You do like her! I knew it! You're always staring at her in Pre-Calc. That's so cute!"
Andy could hear whispering and see people staring. His mind froze up. He didn't want everyone to know. He began to panic. His brain thought of the one thing to do. Run.
He ran out of the room, down the hall, and out the front doors. After that, he lost all sight and sound. All he knew was that he was running. When he finally got his senses back, Andy was standing in front of my house. He had walked me home some days after school.
Frankie sat up on the couch. He was so bored. He looked out the window and saw some kid standing in the middle of the street, staring at the house.
The kid stood there for twenty minutes and didn't move. Finally, he stepped forward toward the house and moments later, the doorbell rang. Frankie let him ring it a couple times before he got up, and answered. He opened the door a little and peeked out.
"Uh, hi. I'm Andy. I was w-wondering if Regan is here," he asked. He acted as if he wasn't supposed to be here, and Frankie didn't want him there either.
"No, she's not," Frankie said. He went to shut the door, but Andy stopped him.
"But I, uh, brought her homework. I was going to help her," he said.
"She won't need any help," Frankie said.
"Do you knew when she might be back to school?"
Frankie dropped his gaze to the ground. He wished he knew the answer to that question. He looked back up at the guy.
"Look, Regan isn't here, because she's in the hospital."
Andy broke in. "The hospital? What is she doing there? What happened?"
"I can't say, but she won't be going to school for a while. I'm really sorry," Frankie said, and shut the door.
Frankie immediately broke down as soon as he shut that door. The freshness in his mind was too much to bare. But what could he do? Nothing. And it was killing him.
Ramona Razor
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Update #2 & 1/2*
"I can't believe we're finally going home," Collin said. He leaned back in his seat, while the bus continued to tremble on across the dry, hot sand.
"Seriously, I can't wait to see everybody again. My mom, dad, girlfriend," Mark answered. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"Yeah, I get to see my wife and kid," Collin said, pulling a picture out of his pocket.
"I didn't know you had kids. You seem too young for that." Mark stole the picture from Collin's hand and looked at the little boy sitting on the carpet. Near him was woman that looked in her twenties, but was really late thirties.
"Well, I'm not, am I?" He took the picture back. "What about you Jimmy?" Collin looked to the man sitting next to him. James was staring out the window. He looked at them when he heard his name.
"Just a couple of family. A brother and sister. Nothing much," he said.
"Sister, huh?" Mark said. He laughed.
"She's only sixteen."
"Two year to wait," Mark joked.
"That's gross! She's not like that," James said. He didn't want to think about his sister that way. "Besides, its my brother that does that sort of stuff," James added.
James got the effect he'd wanted. Mark pulled away, shuddering, looking disgusted. Jimmy grinned and turned back to the window. He wondered how the two had changed. Sure, they'd sent him pictures, but that didn't stop them from changing their personalities. Judging from the letters, his parents were still the same. Frankie had changed a little, but not much. Still the same old Frankie. Sister. She was the one he worried about. She wrote a lot. Three or four pages front and back sometimes. She never mentioned friends, or going out, or crushes. It was as if she wasn't a teenager at all. The way she wrote, it was like she was dead and the letters back and forth were her only support line. He didn't dare not write back. Poor Regan. Whatever her story was, he'd find out. After all, he was her oldest brother. How could he not find out?
Too bad he still didn?t know what I'd done. The destruction I'd caused would get to him.
* I forgot to post this part. It goes in right between post 2 and 3. So yeah... Sorry! *
"I can't believe we're finally going home," Collin said. He leaned back in his seat, while the bus continued to tremble on across the dry, hot sand.
"Seriously, I can't wait to see everybody again. My mom, dad, girlfriend," Mark answered. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.
"Yeah, I get to see my wife and kid," Collin said, pulling a picture out of his pocket.
"I didn't know you had kids. You seem too young for that." Mark stole the picture from Collin's hand and looked at the little boy sitting on the carpet. Near him was woman that looked in her twenties, but was really late thirties.
"Well, I'm not, am I?" He took the picture back. "What about you Jimmy?" Collin looked to the man sitting next to him. James was staring out the window. He looked at them when he heard his name.
"Just a couple of family. A brother and sister. Nothing much," he said.
"Sister, huh?" Mark said. He laughed.
"She's only sixteen."
"Two year to wait," Mark joked.
"That's gross! She's not like that," James said. He didn't want to think about his sister that way. "Besides, its my brother that does that sort of stuff," James added.
James got the effect he'd wanted. Mark pulled away, shuddering, looking disgusted. Jimmy grinned and turned back to the window. He wondered how the two had changed. Sure, they'd sent him pictures, but that didn't stop them from changing their personalities. Judging from the letters, his parents were still the same. Frankie had changed a little, but not much. Still the same old Frankie. Sister. She was the one he worried about. She wrote a lot. Three or four pages front and back sometimes. She never mentioned friends, or going out, or crushes. It was as if she wasn't a teenager at all. The way she wrote, it was like she was dead and the letters back and forth were her only support line. He didn't dare not write back. Poor Regan. Whatever her story was, he'd find out. After all, he was her oldest brother. How could he not find out?
Too bad he still didn?t know what I'd done. The destruction I'd caused would get to him.
* I forgot to post this part. It goes in right between post 2 and 3. So yeah... Sorry! *
Ramona Razor
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- Posted: Tue, 13 Jun 2006 00:30:13 +0000
Update #5
I made a comment earlier about my mother going to see a 'client.' I'll explain this. My mother is an interior designer. She basically makes the pillows and drapes match. Well, she was hired by some actor to fix his bedroom and make it look nice a long time ago. Sixteen years to be exact. Two days after going to his house, the guy cam in the room. One thing led to another, as people always say, and my mother ended up sleeping with that actor.
And that actor left his mark. My mother found out she was pregnant about a month or so after.
My 'father,' once he found out my mother was pregnant, he demanded she get an abortion. They already had two children. They didn't need another, but my mother refused. My father went so far as to push my mother down the stairs at about four months in.
I was lucky to be alive even then.
Well, a few months later, I was born. Of course, my 'father' wasn't dumb. He did the math and figured out I was his. Along with the thick, dark hair on my head when both my parents had lighter hair than that. He refused to sign the birth certificate until my mother told him who'd it been. Three days she held her dignity and said my 'father' every time he asked, but finally, she cracked and just said it. My 'father' wrote down his name, but that didn't stop him from going out to find my real father. I don't know what happened exactly, but I do know one thing. My 'father' must have done something pretty bad to my other dad because he never came to the hospital to see me or anything like that. My mother only sent off a picture of me as a baby to him. That was it.
Ever since then, every month, a check would come in the mail. Child support. I've never seen my real father. I don't even know what he looks like. I think he wanted it this way, too. He continued with his actor lifestyle, I stayed in obscurity.
I didn't even find out about him until my sixth birthday.
"Come here, Regan! It's time for your cake!" my mother called. I ran out of the living room in a complete frenzy of excitement, leaving my grandma and grandpa Addison. I climbed up on a chair and looked at the pretty, pink birthday cake. It was a Barbie cake, just what I'd been wanting.
I was about to reach over and pull the miniature Barbie off the cake, when my mother pushed my hand away. "No, no, Regan. That's after you blow out the candles."
I shrank down in my seat and began to pout. That is until my mother emerged from the cabinet with six pink candles. I reached for them and my mother let me put them on.
"Hey! Mom said I could put the candles on!" Frankie whined.
"Well, you weren't here, so, I did it," I said in a snotty, mocking tone.
"That's not fair! Daddy!"
My mother spoke up, instead. "Now, Frankie, it's your sister's birthday. She should be able to put the candles on her cake."
"She's not his sister," my father said under his breath.
"Stop it. Don't do this now," my mother hissed back.
Jimmy arrived at that moment. He took one look at the cake and said, "Ew! It's pink! I don't like pink!"
"Jimmy, it's not that bad. Besides, it's just like the cake we had at your birthday a month ago. Chocolate on the inside, white on the outside," my mother said.
"But mine had GI Joe on it! GI Joe is better than Barbie." My grandparents came into the room.
"Are we going to sing for the birthday girl?" Grandpa Addison asked.
"Let me light the candles, Dad, and we'll start," my mother answered. We made it through the song, eating the cake, and tearing apart the presents. My father and mother then walked out to the garage to get my last present, and I followed them secretly to see what it was.
Once I saw I was getting a bike, I was about to leave. But their conversation stopped me.
"Honestly, Scott, I don't know why you would say something like that, and in front of Regan, too. You do this every year," my mother said.
"Well, it's the truth. Regan is only a half sister to them, and it's about time they knew," my father retorted.
"Regan's only six. Can't it wait? At least until she's older and she can understand it."
"No, she needs to know I'm not her father."
I gasped and they heard. They thought I was too young, but I understood more than they expected. They both saw me standing by the door. I ran away and hid myself in my room, which, at the time was shared with James. He was in the room and saw I was upset.
"What's wrong, Re?"
"Daddy's a liar."
My mother came to the door. "Regan, sweetie, please come out of your room. Mommy and Daddy need to talk to you."
"Are you in trouble?" James asked.
I got up and reluctantly left the room. My mother led me into the kitchen where my dad waited.
They spilled everything to me. Who my real father was, why my Grandma and Grandpa Micheals had never really given me birthday presents before, why I didn't have the same light brown hair as Frankie or Jimmy. For a little while later I had a different look at everything, but I was only six and pretty soon, my young mind wandered back to its original state.
As for the whole 'client' thing, my father never really trusted my mother the same. He always referred to the people as her 'clients,' even though he never really caught her with another man. He hadn't, but I had.
I made a comment earlier about my mother going to see a 'client.' I'll explain this. My mother is an interior designer. She basically makes the pillows and drapes match. Well, she was hired by some actor to fix his bedroom and make it look nice a long time ago. Sixteen years to be exact. Two days after going to his house, the guy cam in the room. One thing led to another, as people always say, and my mother ended up sleeping with that actor.
And that actor left his mark. My mother found out she was pregnant about a month or so after.
My 'father,' once he found out my mother was pregnant, he demanded she get an abortion. They already had two children. They didn't need another, but my mother refused. My father went so far as to push my mother down the stairs at about four months in.
I was lucky to be alive even then.
Well, a few months later, I was born. Of course, my 'father' wasn't dumb. He did the math and figured out I was his. Along with the thick, dark hair on my head when both my parents had lighter hair than that. He refused to sign the birth certificate until my mother told him who'd it been. Three days she held her dignity and said my 'father' every time he asked, but finally, she cracked and just said it. My 'father' wrote down his name, but that didn't stop him from going out to find my real father. I don't know what happened exactly, but I do know one thing. My 'father' must have done something pretty bad to my other dad because he never came to the hospital to see me or anything like that. My mother only sent off a picture of me as a baby to him. That was it.
Ever since then, every month, a check would come in the mail. Child support. I've never seen my real father. I don't even know what he looks like. I think he wanted it this way, too. He continued with his actor lifestyle, I stayed in obscurity.
I didn't even find out about him until my sixth birthday.
"Come here, Regan! It's time for your cake!" my mother called. I ran out of the living room in a complete frenzy of excitement, leaving my grandma and grandpa Addison. I climbed up on a chair and looked at the pretty, pink birthday cake. It was a Barbie cake, just what I'd been wanting.
I was about to reach over and pull the miniature Barbie off the cake, when my mother pushed my hand away. "No, no, Regan. That's after you blow out the candles."
I shrank down in my seat and began to pout. That is until my mother emerged from the cabinet with six pink candles. I reached for them and my mother let me put them on.
"Hey! Mom said I could put the candles on!" Frankie whined.
"Well, you weren't here, so, I did it," I said in a snotty, mocking tone.
"That's not fair! Daddy!"
My mother spoke up, instead. "Now, Frankie, it's your sister's birthday. She should be able to put the candles on her cake."
"She's not his sister," my father said under his breath.
"Stop it. Don't do this now," my mother hissed back.
Jimmy arrived at that moment. He took one look at the cake and said, "Ew! It's pink! I don't like pink!"
"Jimmy, it's not that bad. Besides, it's just like the cake we had at your birthday a month ago. Chocolate on the inside, white on the outside," my mother said.
"But mine had GI Joe on it! GI Joe is better than Barbie." My grandparents came into the room.
"Are we going to sing for the birthday girl?" Grandpa Addison asked.
"Let me light the candles, Dad, and we'll start," my mother answered. We made it through the song, eating the cake, and tearing apart the presents. My father and mother then walked out to the garage to get my last present, and I followed them secretly to see what it was.
Once I saw I was getting a bike, I was about to leave. But their conversation stopped me.
"Honestly, Scott, I don't know why you would say something like that, and in front of Regan, too. You do this every year," my mother said.
"Well, it's the truth. Regan is only a half sister to them, and it's about time they knew," my father retorted.
"Regan's only six. Can't it wait? At least until she's older and she can understand it."
"No, she needs to know I'm not her father."
I gasped and they heard. They thought I was too young, but I understood more than they expected. They both saw me standing by the door. I ran away and hid myself in my room, which, at the time was shared with James. He was in the room and saw I was upset.
"What's wrong, Re?"
"Daddy's a liar."
My mother came to the door. "Regan, sweetie, please come out of your room. Mommy and Daddy need to talk to you."
"Are you in trouble?" James asked.
I got up and reluctantly left the room. My mother led me into the kitchen where my dad waited.
They spilled everything to me. Who my real father was, why my Grandma and Grandpa Micheals had never really given me birthday presents before, why I didn't have the same light brown hair as Frankie or Jimmy. For a little while later I had a different look at everything, but I was only six and pretty soon, my young mind wandered back to its original state.
As for the whole 'client' thing, my father never really trusted my mother the same. He always referred to the people as her 'clients,' even though he never really caught her with another man. He hadn't, but I had.
xnote_to_selfox
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- Posted: Tue, 13 Jun 2006 02:21:28 +0000
I really like this so far. Can't wait to read more! heart