Incapable

CHAPTER ONE

TW- BAD editing and BAD grammar...

I gripped the rim of the porcelain sink and tried to steady my hands.

“One last time,” I whispered to myself. One. Last. Time. Opening the cupboard door below the sink, I reach into the back corner and bring out a foil package. Before I consider taking another pill, I swiftly turn around making sure that the door was locked and secure, but it wasn’t.

Stood in the doorway, in his lifeguard uniform, my brother stood- whistle dangling from his hand. Eyes on the foil package in his hand, I could tell that he had no doubt about what it was. He had walked in on me before, yet I couldn’t stop myself. It was hurting him, I could tell, but I was selfish.

I wanted to hurt myself; I didn’t want anyone in the way to ruin my chances. As soon as I spot him, he’s gone. Looking back at the foil package I reconsider my choices. But ignoring the pang in my heart, take out 3 pills and fill up a plastic cup.

-

I’d rather not go to school today, but it was evident that my parents didn’t care of what poor excuse I had, so at the back of the school bus, I take out my journal and open to the bookmarked page. Writing down a single sentence.

If it wasn’t for the crowd of boys, I would have elaborated on the statement yet I felt intruded. Two seats down and it felt like they were right in my face reading my journal. Shutting the leather-bound book, I stuff it in my bag facing away- looking out the window.

“Party at mine, today!” Cringing at the loudness the crowd of boys seemed to emit, I would have rather walked the full 40 minutes in the cold outside. Away from the group that took a sudden interest in sitting at the back of the coach. I knew who they were, of course, I did. Everyone did.

If I hadn’t transferred to this specific high school, I wouldn’t have believed in the whole idea of jocks, cliques, and whatnots. But this school was the epitome of the idea.

Down the hallways, crowds of girls in short skirts, nerds with their textbooks and their robots, jocks with a ball in hand. They were everywhere. It was this idea of cliques that disgusted me of the school. Everyone seemed to only rely on the idea of their public image and not on their personal health. Whether they were the bad boys, who just wore dark clothes, they were immediately classified as addicts. The jocks being players and the popular girls as being bullies and everyone else as nobodies.

I wouldn’t have classified myself as one of these major groups when it was evident that all the attention was on them. 240 students and those handpicked to be ‘popular’ were royalty. They were the leaders of the school. Roaming the hallways, making their mark in the newsletters, running their own extra-curricular clubs- making it hard to get extra credits when all the clubs where bombarded and over-ruled by at least 5 people from the popular cliques. They were everywhere.

Everywhere!

Continuing to look outside the bus window, I’m momentarily stunned when I feel someone tapping my shoulder. Turning swiftly round, I flinch away scared of what was to come from their nuisance.

“You’re Nick’s sister, right?” his voice drifting through the bus. Nodding shyly, I hug my school bag to my chest my eyesight focused at his ear. Not willing to look anywhere else. I don’t know how he knew who I was, but it gave me an uncomfortable feeling, to know that my brother was friends with ‘this’ group. Shaking my head, I take my bag and move down the bus walking out.

I could walk. It didn’t matter if it was fucking 5 degrees on an early January morning.

-

Monday mornings were rather a spectacle, the variety of emotions running wild through the hallways. Whether it was the one person excited to begin another week or another who just wanted to go back to sleep or the many others being to hung-over to even stay conscious, because they were up way to late partying.

It was never like this every Monday morning, each week brought a different feeling. And this one surely brought the drowsiness of those that were hungover. Whatever had done last night, I doubt that they would be like this for the rest of the day. 3 cups of coffee each and they would all be fine.

Dodging the already forming crowd of students, I jog up the stairs ready to make my long journey to the art block. Advantages of having an art teacher as a tutor meant that you could hide in the corner of their art room whenever. Mr Myers, had been my form tutor for the 3 years I had spent in this school, he seemed to be the only one who understood, yet I couldn’t open up to him, in fear that he would call my parents or something worse. And every morning walking into his classroon to get ready for the day- he would find me in the right corner hunched over a textbook.

And that was how it was today, but instead of him coming in alone, he was with another student. Looking up slightly, I try to not avoid over hearing the conversation. It was rude of me but when I recognized who he was having it with, I felt even more intrigued.

“Blaze, football isnt going to cut it. You’re doing fine with your grades, you just need a little push, you’re still in the safe zone. You need to take extra credits, do something fun- drama, dance, hell I wouldn’t mind if you did art. You just need something to get you out their0 to show everyone the possibilities you’ve got.”

I was familiar with this speech it was something he had recited to me every single time I was in this room when I could have been doing something else. Something more involved to help my CV. Clubs meant commitment and the only thing I was comfortable doing was sitting near the back of the school orchestra playing the violin.

I was rather fond of music, yet I couldn’t see myself doing anything other than contributing to the school orchestra. It was the idea of failing that scared me- the idea that I there where people that were obviously better than me and did not mind showing that off.

“Ah!” Startled at his outburst, I swiftly look up and immediately regret it when both eyes are on me. “Just the person!”

Dear God, help me know.