Damn It All to Hell

Chapter 2

Math class again. Why do I feel like I’m always in math class? Goddammit, I hate this class. I hate math. I hate school. I hate teachers. I hate everything. I don’t have the slightest clue what the teacher is talking about. This guy probably shouldn’t even be teaching. He probably should’ve retired like fifty years ago. I wonder if he knows that no one’s listening? Here I am in the back of the classroom with my jacket on, while I listen to my discman and stare blankly at him. I wonder if there’s anything I could do to get his attention? Maybe if I stare at him intently enough, he’ll decide he just can’t handle it, and he’ll tell me to leave. My eyes feel like they’re frozen open. They’re getting kind of blurry. It’s pretty cool that if I concentrate on something really hard, my eyes glaze over and I feel like I’m somewhere else. And I never need to blink. Maybe he’d let me leave if I started randomly swearing and screaming at the top of my lungs. Probably not, though. He’d probably just yell at me and give me extra homework to do. As if that would help anything, anyway. He knows I never do my homework.

God, I can’t stand being here. I don’t understand people. I don’t understand math. I don’t understand anything. Why can’t I be one of the people sitting here, staring off into space, wondering who I’m going to ask to the Winter Wonderland dance? Why do I have to be the one sitting here, staring off into space, wondering why my parents are dead? I have to be the one sitting here wondering what triggered the argument that made my father kill my mother and himself. I have to be the one sitting here wondering why none of my teachers think they should help me. I have to be the one sitting here wondering when I’m gonna die. No one will help me. My parents are dead. I don’t know what to do.

I need someone to come into this class, take me by the hand, and drag me down to the counselor’s office. It’s not like I’m about to up and go down there by myself. I know I should get some help and I do want to, but I’d rather have someone tell me to go. I need someone to take me there. I need guidance. I need something -- anything. I need to do something that will convince someone to help me, something that will make me seem dangerously insane, something that will open up the eyes of all the people in this damn class, so they have some idea of what’s going on in my head. I need to do something so shocking and so severe that everyone will know the hell that I live through everyday. They’re never gonna know what it’s like until someone makes them open their eyes. It might as well be me, right? I’m the only one who’s not afraid of anything. You can only handle so much fear and pain before you become numbed to it. Then you start to hate everyone so much that all you want to do is make them know your pain. What I’m feeling is the most horrible thing I can imagine. If there’s a hell, I’m already living in it. And I’m so bitter about it that all I want to do is wish it on everyone out there who just doesn’t get it. I just wanna take my life, hand it to them, and say, “Here you go: experience hell.”

I brought my knife to school today. I think I’ll just take it out to look at it. God, knives are beautiful. There’s nothing in the world more satisfying than looking at a brand new knife. It has such sharp edges, such clean lines. It’s a work of art, really. I could stare at this thing forever. It’s such a simple little thing, too. It’s a straight, pointy piece of metal that looks perfectly harmless when it’s just randomly sitting somewhere, but it’s a lethal weapon. I could stand up right now, go to the front of the room, and stab the teacher to death right in front of the class. I could, but I won’t. What did he ever do to me? You have to do something terribly wrong to deserve such a horrible fate, right?...Of course, what did I ever do wrong? What did I ever do to deserve my horrible fate? It was just sort of thrown on me like a dreadful curse on an unsuspecting nobody. There’s no order, no plan, no reason at all that I’m the one with the dead parents and a whole school of people who think I’m a psychopath just because my father was.

The blade is really cold. It’s spotlessly clean, and the point is so sharp that it seems to fade off into nothingness; you can’t even see it end. It’s so sharp that barely touching the tip to your thumb will draw blood. I know ‘cause I accidentally did it last night.

“Trista, why don’t you come up to the board and solve this equation?”

I wanna go home. Maybe if I go to sleep, all my thoughts will go away. Maybe if I go to sleep, I’ll wake up and be happy. Maybe I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. I’m so tired. Maybe...

“TRISTA!”

What the fuck? Oh, I should take off my headphones. ‘What?!’

“Come up here and solve this equation.”

What? Did he just say that? Did he just tell me what to do? I can’t believe he just said that. I can’t believe he thinks he has the right to tell me what to do! I think I should tell him what he should go do. ‘No.’

“What do you mean, no?”

‘I mean no. I’m not gonna solve your fucking equation.’ That was great! I’m so funny! He looks like he’s never heard anything so obscene in his life! If he thinks that was bad, he should try finding his own parents dead in the kitchen. He doesn’t know anything. He has no idea how to respond to that. He’s stumbling around for words like he doesn’t even remember what language he speaks. ‘Is that okay with you?’ Ah, it can’t hurt to push him a little now, right?...I wonder how much he knows about my parents?

“...no, th-that’s n-not okay with me....”

Oh, really? ‘Well, I guess you’re just gonna have to learn to deal.’ Wow, my calmness is surprising even to me. It’s pretty damn cool.

“You just bought yourself a one-way ticket to the principal’s office, Missy!”

Did he just call me ‘Missy’? What the hell is wrong with him? Oh, now he’s coming back here. As if I’m afraid of this bastard. Ha! He’s towering over my desk like some gigantic crazy man who wants to kill me, but I know he’s afraid of me. I can almost smell his fear. This is getting good.

“Did you hear me? Get your butt down to the principal’s office, now!”

Yeah, right.

“I said NOW!”

Ouch! He just grabbed my fucking arm. I am not gonna stand for this. Everyone in the room is silently poised in anticipation of what’s going to happen next. This is great: center of attention at last! ‘Fuck you, asshole!’

Oh my God. I just stood up on my chair and kicked my teacher in the stomach until he fell over backwards and landed on the desk behind him. That’s rather unfortunate for the kid that was still sitting in the desk. That must’ve hurt. The whole desk is lying sideways on the ground. The teacher is scrambling for his feet, but he’s still on top of the kid who’s screaming in pain from being crunched between the broken desk and the floor.

Oh, wait. The teacher finally found his feet. He looks like he’s completely blinded with rage. He has absolutely no concept of what’s going on here. He has no idea that the class is still waiting to see how all this is going to end. He would kill me right now if he could, but I know he can’t. Nothing can touch me. I’m invincible.

My God, this guy is crazy! He’s lunging at me like I’m a bird that’s gonna fly away from a pouncing cat. Yeah, that’s it: throw all your weight into lunging at me so you end up falling over when I move out of the way -- not a good plan on his part.

He lost his balance. Of course. This is a good time for me to pull out my knife again. Ha ha! The whole room just gasped. This is even better than those hallway fights that the stupid jock kids start for lack of anything better to do with their time. For those fights, everyone gathers around and cheers them on. For this, everyone’s staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed, not quite sure if they want to run for help or not. If they run for help, they might miss out on all the action. They might have to listen to stories of what happened while they were running away for the rest of their lives. They don’t know what to do. They’re just waiting around frozen and sort of dumbfounded. Of course, they all wish they could be doing what I’m doing now; I know it.

The teacher is looking at me with the strangest expression of confusion, rage, and horror. I think I can see the faintest glimmer of sadness in his eyes, too. It’s like he’s just crushed that the world’s teenagers have gone this bad. If he only knew. He’s already breathing heavily from having taken a taxing fall. He can’t seem to believe that he’s actually involved in this situation. Teachers should think about these things before they take a job; it comes with the territory. They should know, anyway. They’re the ones who’ve spent years watching teenagers develop. Where exactly does the big surprise come from?

“Okay,...you don’t have to go to the principal’s office,...if you just put the knife away.”

He thinks I’m crazy. He thinks I’m one of those people that pulls out a knife because it’s the only thing left to do. Oh my God...I am. But he thinks I’m one of the bad guys. He thinks I’m tormenting him right now. If he had any idea of what I’ve been through, any idea at all of the pain I’ve had to overcome in the last two weeks of my life, any concept of what it’s like to find your parents dead by their own fault, then maybe he would know what’s really going on here. Maybe then he would see me as the poor lost soul that I am. Maybe then he would realize why I need more listening than talking. I just need someone to understand. I’m the one that’s being tormented here. Can’t he see it in my eyes?

All of the students have scattered away from their desks to gather in a huddle by the windows on the opposite side of the room from the door. They don’t want to leave. They’re still glued to the action before them, but now they look kind of scared. They’re all standing there, trying to hide behind the person in front of them, while still making sure they can see clearly. The only person not standing over by the windows is Malana; she’s standing right next to me. She’s looking at me like she’s not surprised at all. She’s not scared. She knows me. She knows what’s going on. She knows it’s not my fault that I’ve resorted to threatening my own teacher with a knife. She also knows she’s not in danger of being harmed. I would never hurt her. It’s not like I’m a crazy person.

I’m not going to the principal’s office. The teacher knows that. I know that. Everyone knows that. There’s no way in hell he could get me to go to the principal’s office. But there’s a fun way to tell him that. ‘Sir, I’m not putting my knife away, and Ican’t go to the principal’s office.’

“...Oh no? And...and why’s that?”

‘I can’t go to the principal’s office because I have to go to the hospital.’

“...w-what?”

I have to go to the hospital because I’m slitting my wrists as we speak. I have to go to the hospital because I’m going to bleed to death within a matter of minutes. Even if someone rushes me to the hospital right now, I still might bleed to death. At last, I know what was running through my father’s mind as he felt the life, that once was rampant within, as it slowly faded from his veins. At last, I know what it feels like to slowly drift off into the relaxation of complete and total peace. At last, I know what it’s like to see the blood as it squirts out of my own arms in eager fountains of joyful release. I’m gonna die. I’ve never felt so sure that the end of my torture is near. At last, I know what it’s like. At last, at last...

The teacher has streaking spots of blood all over his face. The class is screaming in horror. The screams are growing fainter by the second, and the lights are getting dim. A pained look of helpless concern mixed with regret and absolute disbelief is stamped on my teacher’s face. He’s thoroughly helpless and completely quiet. He’s just standing there watching me die. No one’s running away. No one’s getting me help. No one knows what to do. They’re all stunned, as if what they’re experiencing is even part of what I’ve had to live through. I hate them all. I’m so relieved to feel my hate draining away...

“TRISTA!”

The teacher is screaming at me, shouting my name, shaking me by the arms, trying to awaken himself from the nightmare, trying to save himself. No one to help me. No one. No help. Help!...

“TRISTA!”

‘What?!’ Goddammit, what?!

“Are you okay?”

Am I okay? Am I okay?!...Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. I can’t breathe. I can’t see straight...

“Trista?”

‘Yeah, I’m okay.’ Yeah, I’m okay. Yeah, I’m okay. The sound of my answer is still echoing through my brain. Yeah, I’m okay. I’m very dizzy, but yeah, I’m okay. I’m more confused than anything else. My hands have red and white splotches all over them. The insides of my forearms are pale, pale white, but they’re intact. I can hear the teacher asking me things, but I can’t tell what he’s saying. What the hell is going on? The rest of the class is sitting around me, casually awaiting my response. They’re all seated in their normal desks. The teacher is standing at the front of the room, looking at me like I should be answering something.

I’m starting to shake. I can’t control my breathing. I’m so scared. Help! What’s going on? I have to get some air...I have to leave...I have to get to the hospital....

I can hear the teacher shouting after me as I run down the hallway to the school’s main entrance. Fresh air...must get fresh air.... I can barely support my own weight. I think someone’s following me....

Finally outside. Thank God. Breathe, Trista, breathe...in...out...in...out....

“Trista?”

Oh, thank God, it’s Malana. ‘Malana!’

“Are you okay?”

‘No.’

“What happened in there?”

‘I don’t know. What did you see?’

“What do you mean, ‘What did I see?’”

‘WHAT DID YOU SEE?!’

“I saw you sitting at your desk listening to your discman until Mr. Rutherford asked you to take off the earphones.”

‘Then what?’

“What do you mean, ‘Then what?’ Then you took off the earphones! Trista, what’s going on?”

‘Oh my God.’ Oh my God. Oh my God.

“Trista, you’re scaring me.”

‘You’re scared?!’ She’s scared? Nothing she’s ever experienced in her life comes even close to being able to compare to the exhausting fear I just felt. I didn’t know who I was. I didn’t know where I was. I didn’t know who I was or where I was or what was going on.....

“Trista, calm down. You have to breathe slower.”

Breathe slower. Easy for her to say. ‘I’m bleeding to death! I’m gonna die!’

“Trista, you’re delirious! Tell me what’s going on!”

‘I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die...’ I can feel myself shaking behind the falling tears, but I can’t feel a single part of my body. Every muscle is twitching and throbbing. My entire body has collapsed beneath my weight. I’m falling apart!

“Trista, you’re not going to die! What the hell is wrong with you?! CALM DOWN!”

Calm down. Calm down. I have to calm down, or I can’t tell Malana what’s going on. I have to calm down so she can help me. I have to calm down so I can breathe....

“That’s it, breathe...”

“Girls, what’s going on out here?...Is she okay?”

“Yes, Mr. Rutherford, she’ll be fine.”

I wish I could be so sure.