Chapter 22

Hi guys! I'm writing here because author thoughts are at the end of the chapter and I thought it would be more useful if it were at the top. TW: MENTAL ISSUES. I put it also in the synopsis, I thought it'd be best, especially after this chapter. For all of you who are sensitive to this kind of stuff, I'd recommend you'd read only the first paragraph that continues were I left off in the last chapter between Rose and Savannah. Personally, if I were a reader, I wouldn't find the rest particularly heavy, but for some it may be. Feel free to chose. This chapter is also slightly longer than a usual one because I thought it'd be right for you guys to understand what goes on in Rose's head. Well, what goes on except Savannah, we all know she's constantly thinking about her. Maybe this could help some people relate to those who suffer from some mental illness or has dark moments, if it's a loved one or even yourself. One piece of advice: don't start by helping them. Start by listening and understanding, building trust so they feel safe to open up. Once you KNOW, you can start to think about helping. But always listen first and before acting, be completely sure you know. No assumptions, know it because you've heard it from them. The solution you have in mind may or may not be the right one, you need to understand what's the best way for them to deal with it. This advice is also for the ones who suffer, understand yourself, search your mind and find what is hurting you, then build your way out from there. Often these topics aren't discussed much or people hear but don't listen, so I thought I'd put it out there.

Have a nice day and be kind :)

I half freeze, halfway through the door. I look at Savannah, eyes wide. I slowly walk in and let the door close behind me without a sound. She looks up at me and her lopsided dirty grin is back. What the fuck?

"Hey, princess." she says. That fucking princess makes my heart skip a beat and raises my serotonin, but I'm fucking mad at her.

"Princess? Seriously? Princess? Fuck your princess." I answer, whisper-screaming so no one hears. Not that anyone is around, all the stalls are open and empty, but I don't want anyone to hear from outside and ask what the hell is going on either. But I half regret my reaction when Savannah's smile turns into a frown, looking confused and a little hurt. She can't be hurt, she doesn't fucking care about me. Either way, I can't back down, she really treated me like shit. I should stop the swearing.

"Don't act clueless." Savannah's expression changes instantly and she smiles again. I continue. "You fucking bitch, you're seriously that insensitive? Really? I hate you, I fu- I freaking hate you. Why? Why do you have to be so, so-" I'm suddenly pulled by my jacket and slammed against the wall she was leaning on until a few seconds ago. My eyes widen even more, if possible, and I find Savannah's mouth so close to mine our breath mixes. She'd just have to move an inch and she'd be there. Bad Rose, don't think about that. But it's hard not to when I have Savannah fucking Petroli's body smashed against mine, her smile making everything spin and her eyes locked on my lips.

"You're hot when you're mad, we still on for tomorrow?" she says.

"We're going to get in trouble if someone catches us like this, they'll assume wrongly."

"Always expect trouble with me, sweetheart." Her grin widens and she puts pressure on me.

"Unlike you apparently, I don't want to go through hours in the principle's office and get suspended. Also, I don't want to be pinned to a bathroom door by someone who treats me horrible in front of her friends but dares to be like this when we're alone, thank you very much."

"I could make you change your mind in less then a minute." Her answers make me want to scream 'yes, please' and 'fuck you' at the same time.

"Try me." I push her off me and go towards the door, then I stop, look back and tell her: "Anyway yes, we're still on for tomorrow." I walk so fast to class I almost trip over my own feet while I hear her scream "Wait for you at the entrance after school!" Jesus, that girl.

Maths and Literature and every lesson that came after went in a haze. It's happening again, this time I can feel it. I'm forgetting, am going to forget. It's all slipping away. Speaking about slipping, I put Slipping Through My Fingers from ABBA because it never fails to make me cry, to make me feel. I need to hold onto feeling. I won't forget if I'm feeling, and even if I do I forget, I don't forget I am real. Who says that the us living as memories in our head know they're memories? What if all this was one big memory? One big memory I can't seem to escape from but at the same time don't want to escape from. I want to feel, feeling makes me real. I'm sprawled on my bed, motionless, like a starfish grabbing onto a rock that is feeling or a jellyfish getting carried by the sea that are my emotions. I raise an arm towards the ceiling and study my hand, I turn it and move it. I'm real. I feel real. Am I real? I sit up fast. My head spins and my vision goes black but I don't care, I stumble towards the desk, sit down, take my notebook, a pen and write, because this is what I do when I think. I write, my thoughts going faster than my hand:

'How much effort would it take to walk to the closest tower and jump off?

None, none at all.

Or steal my mom's car and crash it.

Or take too many sleeping pills.

Or set myself on fire.

Or explode, flames dancing around me, as if they were following a paganist death ritual.

At least my jaw would stop hurting from clenching it constantly.

At least my lips would stop hurting, the mark that's on them from biting too long too hard would disappear as if it were never there.

At least my hands would stop hurting from clenching the edges of my blanket until my fingers go white.

At least my eyes would stop hurting from holding back tears which want to escape so bad, but I can't let them out, they plead every second I can't remember, every second that thing takes over my body as my mind wanders. I can't let them out.

At least my head would stop hurting every time I'm about to explode.

I probably would not need even a little inch of explosive, I'm so fucked up, just get a ray of light, minimum heat, and I'd create the biggest explosion in the history of the Universe.

Would it even matter if I weren't real?

If I were and if I weren't, would it matter if I chose to just fade away?

To actually jump off that tower or crash that car or take those pills or set myself on fire or explode.

Would it actually matter?'

I sit back on my chair, look up, my head dangling. I feel like I'm about to cry, but I don't know if I have the strength. The thing that takes over me, I don't know what it is. It's always there on the back of my mind, my head silently trying to figure out what it is. It's this feeling when this wave crashes over me and I start crying as if I were never to stop, this feeling when I think there's no meaning to anything, that feeling when I'm in the toilet, lining up pills on the bathtub's edge with a glass in hand. I don't know what it is, but it's always there to haunt me, as if it were looking for a flaw, any flaw at all, so it can grab it and destroy me. It holds absolute power on me, it can do anything it wants and it knows this.

I go back to listening Slipping Through My Fingers. I always cry because when I was little, my mom used to put it on, grab me by the hand and spin me around while singing it to me. I cried because I never wanted to grow up, I never wanted to slip through her fingers. I wanted to be there with her forever, she was my best friend. Then stupid adolescence came and ruined everything, now I'm afraid to get too close, I don't want to get hurt by her refusal. I grab my teddy bear, a polar bear half my size called Mrs. White, and a robe I bought in Italy. I put the robe on and hug Mrs. White tight, recalling memories from my childhood, baby me not knowing she's just living in my head. My bear still smells of Milan. She smells of Home. Home. I miss it but I can't even say I wish I could go back and I wish my dad didn't fuck up, can I? He cheated, he did things a father should never do, as soon as my mom caught him he fucking put my cat to sleep as revenge. MY cat for something MY MOM caught HIM DO. He ruined my childhood and took one of the only people I could talk to. I told my cat everything, everything there was ever to know about me, sometimes things I wouldn't even admit to myself, like that the things that father did were wrong, and that I shouldn't feel like I'm the one supposed to be blamed, even if I did. I hug Mrs. White so tight in other circumstances I would be scared to pop her head off, but now I don't care. She's the only physical proof I have that my happy memories were real. That I am real. With her I can remember. With feeling I can remember. They're not memories that might fade tomorrow, moments I can't remember. They're there, they're real. I finally explode, tears coming out as if I've been holding them back from centuries, clutching anything that's near. I fold myself in half because the black hole in my chest swallowing me slowly, piece by piece, is too painful to stand. Every muscle in my body is tense, I don't even know what I'm thinking, I don't even know if I'm thinking. I'm just there. Me and my pain and my music and memories of Home.