Chapter 1
Mina
Have you ever experienced or known someone who suffered from depression? I don’t mean the whole sad, feel like the world is coming to an end because your boyfriend broke up with you crap. I’m talking the real, heavy, cold depression that settles bone deep. I’m talking the feeling that life itself is suffocating you, the feeling that even an automatic bodily function as simple as breathing might shatter you. The depression I’m talking about is the kind that sits in your heart and mind, making sure you never forget just how worthless, broken and unworthy of love, happiness and even a remote sense of normalcy you are.
I’ve had therapists tell me that depression is a feeling, but it’s not…real depression is a condition. Hell, they make pills for it and everything…I should know since I’ve tried most of them. I’ve tried other ways of coping with depression too, less conventional and socially unacceptable ways. That’s right, I’ve tried drugs, alcohol and even a failed attempt at suicide. Don’t even get me started on my suicide attempt because that led to me falling deeper into the pit of depression because it was yet another thing in life that I failed at.
You’re probably wondering what could've happened in my life to push me to such extremes. Hey, it’s a valid question with a complicated answer. The truth is, nothing happened. I don't come from a broken home, never had abusive parents and never suffered some unimaginable tragedy. My depression made its presence known around the age of ten and, at that time, I had a normal, comfortable home life with parents who loved me and supported me. It’s actually my depression that destroyed everything.
By the time I was twelve, my mom decided she couldn’t handle me anymore…so she left. My dad tried to get me help, he really tried. Sometimes you just can’t save people though. By the age of thirteen, the other kids my age really started picking up on how different I was, how I isolated myself and that only made me a target. You guessed it, enter the peer bullying. Being depressed is already traumatic enough, but add the awful, hurtful and hateful words of your peers and you have a recipe for disaster.
My disaster came at the beginning of my junior year when I attempted to force myself to be normal by taking an entire bottle of antidepressants. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, it didn’t work. Now, at the start of my senior year, I’m the ‘suicide girl’, as my classmates have so cleverly dubbed me. I don’t have friends, I have my dad, but he can barely speak to me without looking uncomfortable, as if he’s worried that one wrong word will break me. So, I stay to myself, both at school and at home.
Today is Monday…the second Monday of the school year…the Monday where my English lit teacher is supposed to pair up everyone in our class to work on an assignment about famous quotes from iconic authors. I have no problem with the assignment, really, I don’t. What I do have a problem with is being forced to work with one of my classmates. Still, I force myself to get ready for school, throwing on a pair of baggy ripped jeans, a faded band tee, my favorite baggy hoodie and my trusty combat boots. My long black hair is in its usual messy bun and I don’t bother with makeup, I never do.
With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I make the six block trek to the school, trying and failing to not think about my first period English class and the impending disaster I’ll soon be facing. I make it to school just as the first bell rings, like I always do, and head straight to class where I take my usual seat in the back row closest to the window. By the time the other students are seated, Mr. Fisher is already walking in the door.
“Good morning and happy Monday! Let’s dive right in and get started, shall we? I’m going to pair you up for the assignment we discussed Friday and before any of you ask, no you may not switch partners. First up is Bradley Taylor who will be working with Luke Driscoll. Next up we have Melody Hill who will be working with Michael Lambert.” He carries on and I zone out until I hear it…my name…
“Mina Winters, you’ll be working with Owen Landry.” You see, there are very few things he could’ve done to make this whole thing worse for me and pairing me with the star quarterback is at the top of the damn list. At this point, it’s safe to say that the universe hates me. Maybe I can just sit here and get to work on the assignment and complete it for both of us. Jocks like letting nerds and outcasts do all the work, right? Wrong!
“Hey, he said we need to pick an author and famous quote. Have any ideas?” I glance at him…I shouldn’t, but he’s literally right there! His tousled blonde hair and blue eyes are definitely more attractive up close, but knowing his on and off girlfriend is one of my biggest tormentors…it’s hard to see anything more than another person who either encourages or supports the torment.
“Yeah.” I had already written down the first quote that came to mind, one by Edgar Allen Poe. I slide the paper over to him and rather than read it silently, I get to hear him read it...out loud.
“Tell me every terrible thing you ever did and let me love you anyway…that’s…wow. That’s actually really deep.” I nod my head, not even remotely sure of how to do this…the whole socializing thing...the whole being normal thing. I’ve learned the hard way that everything and anything I say can be used as ammunition.
“So, we’re supposed to write about what we think the quote means then write a response to our partners interpretation. I guess we can work on that first?” I’m a little surprised he’s not arguing with me, suggesting something more…simple and superficial. I give him a nod then flip the page to a blank one and get started.
‘When I read this quote, I take one major thing into consideration. Poe was a dark and troubled soul. For a person who lives everyday fighting themselves just to survive, flaws and imperfections are all we see when we look in the mirror. The way we see ourself, it makes it so we can more easily overlook and forgive the flaws and imperfections of others. I believe the quote is simply stating that he sees her mistakes, flaws and all of her perfect imperfection. He sees her for all that she is, not just for what she perceives herself to be. He wants her to know that no matter how unworthy and broken she may think she is, he loves her for all that she is just as much as he loves her for all she's not. It’s about loving someone’s darkness as much as you love their light.’
My response is simple and I’m done writing it in under five minutes. Owen takes longer, but after fifteen minutes, he’s sliding his onto my desk and grabbing mine without a word spoken. I glance over at him then back to his paper, sliding it closer so I can read what he wrote.
‘I think Poe is telling his lady that no matter how much she screwed up and how bad things are, he’ll still love her in the end. He’s willing to forgive her mistakes because he loves her.’
I’m not surprised it took him fifteen minutes to come up with this, but I am surprised that it’s a more thoughtful answer than I expected from him. I risk taking another look in his direction and I don’t know what to make of his wide eyes and slightly slack jawed expression. I decide to move onto my response to his interpretation, hoping we can finish most of the assignment up before the bell ring.
‘I believe Owen felt some of the weight of the quote, but without knowing the author’s past and his struggles, he may have missed some of the deeper meaning it holds. Poe, as with many of the great authors, had demons he fought every day and he not only saw, but accepted the demons he saw in the woman he loved. It’s about more than forgiving mistakes, but his more simplified interpretation is well thought out and is the view of someone who sees love and romance as something beautiful and untouched by darkness. I believe Mr. Landry is a romantic at heart.’
I tried not to be critical, but part of me wonders if he’ll think I was trying to be insulting. I wasn’t, not in the slightest. When the bell rings, I quickly set his paper back on his desk with my response written below his then hurry out of the room. I don’t want to see his reaction to what I wrote and I sure the hell don’t want to stick around to see if his ex/not-ex is going to show up to walk with him. I make it to lunch without having any further attention drawn to me and I happily make my way outside to my usual spot under the tree between the school and the football field. People don’t bother me here, but I should’ve known to expect that to change with the way my morning started.
“Oh, look! It’s our own little suicide girl! You know, it’s a real shame you’re such a fuck up. I mean, seriously…you couldn’t even manage to kill yourself without screwing it up.” That would be Cassy, Owen’s sort of girlfriend.
“Look, I get why you did it, I really do. If I was as stupid, pathetic and weak as you, I’d off myself too. Maybe you can try again, only…not fuck it up this time.” She stares at me with her usual malicious smirk, silently daring me to grow a backbone and fight back. It’s not that I can’t fight back, but why should I? Everything she’s saying is the same shit I say to myself every day.
“I’ve got it…maybe you can try this instead of downing a bunch of pills next time. Remember, wrist to elbow.” She tosses a razor blade next to me and offers a wink before turning and walking away with her group of lemmings in tow. This is a normal occurrence, nothing out of the ordinary…just another damn day. I grab the razor blade, don’t ask me why, and slide it into my backpack then sling it over my shoulder, get up and head to my next class ten minutes early.
My last two classes are uneventful and at long last, I’m heading home. Cassy’s words are mixing with my own dark thoughts, swirling like a cyclone in my head, each word punctuated by the sound of my feet on the sidewalk until my mind registers the fact that it’s not only my footsteps I’m hearing. I always walk alone, no one ever approaches me…and yet…the footsteps are right beside me and are keeping pace with me. I finally look up from the ground and my gaze lands on a pair of all too familiar deep blue eyes.
“I said hi, but you seemed…distracted?” My eyes dart around, looking at literally anything but him.
“Sorry.” Okay, so apparently, I’m talking to him now?
“It’s fine. I was actually hoping we could work on more of the assignment. I have practice Tuesday through Thursday and we have a game Friday, so I thought this would be the best time to get more of it done since he wants a rough draft next Monday.” Oh god, he wants to work on it? Wait…where does he want to work on it?!
“Where?” Wow, if only my speaking skills were on par with my writing skills. I’m such an idiot!
“Well, we can work at your place, or I can have my brother pick us up and we can work at mine.” So, a little fact, suffering from severe depression and forced isolation leads to becoming an introvert. As an introvert, this exact scenario is a nightmare no matter how you swing it. At my place, I’ll feel like my sanctuary has been shattered. At his place, I’ll feel trapped. So why do I say…
“Can we go to yours?” Well, at least it was more than a one-word response, right?
“Sure, let me call Jacob.” He pulls out his phone and I can see him speaking, but my mind is stuck sorting through the details of our little meeting, trying to figure out how we've gone from never speaking to me going to his house in less than twenty-four hours.
“He’ll be here in five minutes.” And so, we sit awkwardly at the nearest bench while we wait. I try to ignore the curious looks and cold glares being cast our way by the other students walking by, but I’m too observant, I see each and every one. Finally, a black Chevy Blazer pulls up and Owen motions for me to follow him. I’m glad he lets me sit in the backseat and even more glad when the drive takes only another five minutes. I fire off a text to my dad, so he knows where I am and even include the address once we arrive, but I know he won’t care. I think part of him is just too damn tired to worry about me anymore.
“Alright, kids. Have fun and Owen, Tess is home, so no funny business.” Jacob speaks in a scolding tone, but he has a mischievous glint in his eyes that I don’t quite understand. I get out without a word and follow Owen to the front door of this overly luxurious house that's only a hundred or so square feet shy of being a mansion.
“Come on, I’ll show you to my room.”
