Unraveled

Veridian

The sound of crunching, twisting metal, glass shattering and screams…it’s deafening. My head slams against something, but the pain doesn’t register…not even as the warm blood trickles down my forehead and finds its way into my eye. The world around me is spinning as my body is jostled violently until suddenly, everything stops. The sound…the movement…everything stops.

I struggle to get my eyes to focus, my left eye blurrier than the right due to the blood still flowing into it. When my right eye finally regains function, I feel the blood in my veins run cold as I stare ahead into the cold, lifeless eyes of the body beside me. This is the moment that my life ends…

I feel cold…cold and empty. After the last three months of my life, I don’t even know how I’m still standing…still breathing. It takes everything in me just to get out of bed every day, but today is worse than every day before it since the accident. Today, I not only wake up in a place that isn't my home, but I’m being forced to go back to school. I put minimal effort into getting ready, my hair in a messy bun, no makeup and a pair of ripped black skinny jeans with a faded band tee and my faded black converse completes my first day of school look.

“Veri? Are you almost ready?” My Aunt Sara has been my rock through all this, one of the few people who feels the loss of my family as heavily as I do. Her patience is commendable, but I fear her attempts to help me heal are in vain.

“Yeah, be out in a minute.” I know her, I know she wants to say or do more, but thankfully she doesn’t. I listen to her retreating footsteps before tossing my phone and housekey into my backpack then head out of my room. My aunt insists on walking with me for my first day even though the school is only a half mile away, but I don’t mind. At least she doesn’t expect me to get into her car. It’s officially been thirteen weeks since the accident and aside from the ambulance ride, I’ve only been in a car twice since and both times I ended up having to be sedated. Yeah, you guessed it…I’m a wreck.

“You should eat before we go, Veri.” Her kind, caring nature are admirable, but I wish she’d just give up when it comes to me, god knows I have.

“I’m fine, auntie. I’m not hungry.” She sighs in defeat and leads the way out the door. The walk to the school is quiet, but it’s not an uncomfortable quiet, at least no more uncomfortable than any other moment of my life these days. Once we reach the crosswalk in front of the school, she gives me a quick hug and a kiss on my forehead before gently nudging me forward. I swear, compared to the rest of my family, I’m a damn runt. I’m five feet and four inches where my aunt, the shortest of all her siblings, is five foot eleven.

I cross the street and walk at a brisk pace toward the large double doors at the front of the school, feeling like every person in the vicinity is watching me. After grabbing my class schedule from the office, which conveniently comes with a map that has all of my classrooms circled on it, I head to my first class and am relieved to find the door already open even though I’m fifteen minutes early. I choose the desk in the far back corner and make myself comfortable with my headphones in while I blare Alleviate by Imminence and pull out my sketchbook to work out some of my tension.

As often happens with me these days, I lose track of time and my only way of knowing how much time has passed is the current song on my playlist that's filtering into my ears, Casual Sabotage by Yungblud, which tells me I’ve spaced out for the length of four songs. I look up to see the classroom is almost filled and just as my eyes find the door, an older man walks in and heads to the front of the class. I remove only one of the pods from my ear, needing the soothing melodies of my playlist to keep me grounded.

“Good morning class and welcome to the first day of yet another wonderful school year! It looks like we only have one new face here today! Everyone, this is Veridian Marceles, please do your best to ensure she feels welcome! Now, I’m going to pass out the syllabus that will outline the projects, assignments and reading lists for the first semester. We have two large assignments that will each count for 25% of your total grade. The first is a solo assignment which is due at the end of the semester and the second is a group assignment. For the second assignment, you will be grouped in pairs. Everyone in rows one and three, come up and draw a name from the jar, these will be your partners and there will be no trading or switching.” I watch as the first and third rows all stand and make their way to the front, draw a paper from the large glass jar and hand it to the teacher.

He hands each one a packet and instructs them to sit next to their partner and discuss the topic they wish to do the assignment on. I stop paying attention and return to the sketch I started when I first came in only to be interrupted when a packet of papers is dropped on my desk, landing on my hand holding the pencil so it covers my drawing.

“You pick.” The deep, gruff voice makes my stomach drop and knot up, but rather than get a look at the person responsible, I pick up the packet and scan it over, quickly finding the topic that seems most interesting. I use my sketch pencil and circle it then hold the packet back up to him.

“Favorite historical literary quote?” I nod my head, my eyes still focused on my drawing.

“So, do you not talk because you can’t talk, or is it because you don’t want to?” I set my pencil down and close my sketchbook then slowly let my eyes wander to the seat beside me where an impressive man is sitting. Even sitting, I can easily guess he’s around six foot four, his shaggy black hair is lightly tousled and falling over his forehead, but it’s his deep blue eyes that look like the sky right before the night falls that catch my attention. Sure, his muscular body that is tightly wrapped in light blue jeans and a form fitting black t-shirt looks nice, but those eyes are mesmerizing.

“I talk just fine, when I have something important enough to say.” The corners of his lips curl up into the most heart stopping smile.

“Alright, fair enough. Do you have a quote in mind?” I nod and sit back in my chair.

“Two actually, my favorite quotes. The first is from Oscar Wilde, ‘Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future’. The second is by Edgar Allen Poe, ‘Tell me every terrible thing you ever did and let me love you anyway’.” His eyes widen slightly and he rubs his lightly stubbled chin with his fingers.

“Those are pretty deep. We have to write about the person who penned the quote and we each have to write our own reader interpretation. I don’t know much about either man, but I guess that’s the point of the assignment, to learn about them.” I put my sketchbook back in my backpack.

“I’ve done reports on both in my old school for my literature class. We can use my notes from those assignments to help finish quicker.” He nods and starts speaking, but I don’t hear anything he’s saying. The sound of tires squealing on the hot pavement just outside sends my mind into a frenzy as flashes of memory surface, playing like a glitching DVD in my mind. I feel the edges of my vision darken, my chest feels tight and the room feels like it’s spinning. I try to stand, but my legs are like jelly and I end up back in my chair, but now I can feel weight bearing down on my shoulders, hands holding me down and a deep, gruff voice cuts through the fog in my head.

“Breathe, watch me and do what I do.” My eyes slowly focus on the dark haired man crouched beside me, watching the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he takes until my body begins automatically mimicking him. I have no doubt the rest of the class is watching my mini-meltdown, but the only person I focus on is him.

“How are you feeling?” His voice is calm and smooth, leaving me feeling as close as I can to being ‘okay’.

“I’m alright. I’m fine.” My body tenses when I hear muffled laughter and I look up to see that more than half the class is staring at me. Some have pity in their eyes, but the most prevalent emotion I see is amusement and I really can’t tell which one I hate worse at the moment. I grab my backpack, stand up and hurry out of the classroom, nearly knocking over my project partner who was still kneeling in front of my seat. The worst part of being in an unfamiliar place is not knowing where the hell you’re going, like right now. I find two dead ends before finally finding an exit. As soon as the warm air hits me, I feel calmer, more at peace, less suffocated.

I find a tree near the courtyard and sit down on the grass beneath it, put in my other headphone then turn up my music in a desperate attempt to drown out the voices in my own head. I lose myself again, my memories of the crash intertwining with my memories of the people it stole away from me.