Sitting Alone

Chapter 1
Sitting Can Be Painful
As I sit here alone, I tend to find myself drifting back to memories of us. We used to be perfect, inseparable even. Though we were never officially close in a romantic way, you were always my best friend, Mark. Since forever, you’ve been that one person that I knew was always there for me no matter what. So where are you now? Don’t you see how much I need you? It kills me to think I was completely wrong.
Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I walk silently to my locker. I don’t really need any books, considering I truly don’t care about completing my homework anymore. One more zero doesn’t dictate my life. However, pretending to go to my locker is the only way I can get closer to you without being questioned.
Just as I start to shove random binders in and out of my backpack, you make your way to your locker, E169. My heart flutters a little as I see you walking closer, but as usual, that gut-wrenching pain soon extinguished my few seconds of happiness. Of course, you weren’t going to your locker to see me. Everyday, you always go to your locker at 12:55 exactly. I knew this, but when you’re living in the past, sometimes it’s easy to forget things like that.
While you bend down to reach your bottom locker, I notice myself staring at you again, observing your every move. Although this time, I let my eyes wander. Besides your bony, but broad shoulders, which were tightly surrounded by your blue Aeropostale jacket, the first thing I notice is your dark brown hair. I’ve always loved your hair, no matter how many times I told you to brush it.
Secretly, Mark’s bed head was to die for. It gave him more of a down-to-earth look. It used to remind me of how what you see was what you get with Mark, minus the quietness that seemed to engulf him.
That was something else about him that I’ve just come to love, his quietness. Whenever we’d goof off in the back of the room, though the teacher constantly glared at us, there were times when neither of us would say anything. Yet, the amazing thing was, we didn’t need to say anything. There was no awkwardness permeating the air, the kind that I usually sense between us now. It felt like we both knew what the other was thinking. We were at such a peaceful state that we didn’t need words to enjoy each other’s company. It was quite captivating in my opinion. It gave me time to look over at you and think about how much I loved you, such as I am doing now. However, back then, it was a lot less heartbreaking.
Now don’t get me wrong, Mark isn’t always quiet. Though, to most people, if his name wasn’t called on the roll every morning, they’d probably forget he exists. However, when you know him, now I mean really know him, he doesn’t seem that quiet. Sure, he isn’t always exploding with energy (except when he forgets to take his ADD medicine), but when you’re talking to him, his eyes brighten up in just a way that with every story he tells, it’s as if I’m actually living it.
Not to mention you can tell anything to Mark and trust that he will take it to the grave. He would always listen to me, no matter what the dilemma. It’s not just that he ‘listened,’ but rather that Mark truly made you feel like he cared. However, then again, he more than likely did care. Yet, as I sift through the events from the past couple of months, I can’t help but wonder if I shared too much. Perhaps, just because I could tell him anything, it doesn’t change the fact that revealing everything was probably the worst idea.
My reminiscing was soon cut short by a loud and abrupt bang of metal. My eyes shot up, just fast enough to see Mark closing his locker and walking away. Looking at my phone, I realized I had been standing there quite a few minutes. I must have appeared as a complete outcast the way I was just remaining there, not moving. Then again, it’s not too difficult to appear as something that you already are. With that in mind, I slam my locker door, quickly toss my backpack in homeroom, and head off to my next dreadful class period: lunch.
Chapter 2
Eating Lunch with the Squirrels
Awkwardly stumbling through the large doors of our cafeteria, I allow the lunch lady to slop the “Vomit of the Day” on my tray and quickly head outside. After all the things that have happened, I don’t really like to sit inside around the lunch tables anymore. I much prefer to stay under the oak trees alone, and most of all, away from where anyone can see me.
Not that most people even bother looking my way anymore. For the past few months, I’ve been perfecting my skill of fading into the oblivion; those who do catch sight of me every now and then are surprised to see I still go to this school.
After that great tragedy, I thought for sure people were never going to treat me the same. The uncomfortable looks, menacing sneers, and awkward confrontations seemed like they were never going to end. Though the unbearable attention finally stopped, I was still the school’s freak. Outcast. Weirdo. Loser. The stereotypical titles monotonously continued.
Really, these titles aren’t completely true. I’m not completely an outcast. Sure, I lack the company of any friends, but I probably could obtain them very easily if I wanted. I could if I didn’t push them all away. However, I did. That’s just who I am. I don’t like people to get too close anymore. Time after time, you eventually learn that no matter who the person is, when you let them get close, they will most definitely hurt you. You can just add them to the great list of your life’s disappointments. That is just in my case, anyways.
Sitting down on the slightly wet grass, I pull out my lunch, content with my first few minutes of reminiscing silence. However, those first few minutes couldn’t last long enough, and as Mark and his friend walked through the cafeteria doors and out to the tables outside, I instantly knew why I felt so unusually queasy. I had been anticipating their arrival, since I used to sit right there with them at the same place everyday.
Generally, this is about the time I would move from the giant oak tree to filthy places near the recycling bins so that I could plug my earbuds in and tune out the rest of the world. After Mark and I ended the way we did, I had made a habit of this daily routine. However, today I wanted to be different, so I dared myself to stay and watch the people who I’ve known for so long, but now seem so strange to me.
Chapter 3
Looking Back
“You inept, foolish young girl,” denounces a voice hidden in the shadows. Disarrayed, I quickly look side-to-side, unsure where the menacing voice was coming from. “You really think you’re ever going to be worth anything?” Instinctively, my heart starts beating louder as the “thing’s” voice gets closer. Slowly taking a few steps forward, he yells again, “Do you really think your life is more meaningful than anyone else’s? You really think you’re worth your weight in gold?”
Scrambling to my feet, I start to run. Of course, being that I was completely surrounded by blackness, I had no idea where I was running to, nevertheless what I was running from. However, as usual, when things get scary, I always run. That’s been my solution since I could remember. I just never thought I’d need a “quick fix” in a seemingly life-threatening situation.
“Answer me!” he roars. By now my heart is beating so loudly that I am positive he could hear it, no matter how far I ran. Motivated by fear, I break away from my sluggish run into a full on sprint. Of course, being that I had never felt more fear in my life (plus the additional fact that it was still pitch-black), I had no inkling that I was about to trip. I wasn’t even sure if there was ground below me. Well, I guess I found out...
I slam hard to the ground. If it hadn’t been for the adrenaline, I’d have passed out by now. Though, I really wish I did pass out. I could get away from this dreadful nightmare. “You impudent imbecile!” the voice bellows. “You think you could run from me? You of all people too!” I feel hands instantly grasped my ankles, dragging me across the ground. I can feel the skin being ripped as he pulls me along.
When he yanked me to an abrupt stop, I notice the smell of blood. As soon as I open my eyes, I lay there stunned. I had been lugged into a place that had a little more light than before. Surrounding me from all sides were dead bodies. The boys and girls, no younger than my age, had been ripped apart from every place possible. Some of the luckier ones had suffered from what seemed like a quick blow to the head, with no less than a few trickles of blood on their skin. The less fortunate had been subjected to inhuman ways of torture: skin peeled off a layer at a time, body parts twisted to the point where it became overwhelmingly gruesome, and flesh detached far enough to see the yellowish tint of the ever rotting dead bones. However, every one of them, I noticed, had two large teeth indentations on their heads. I really wish it had stayed pitch-black.
Coming back to my senses, I stagger backwards, trying to get out of the dreadful place. However, as soon as I attempt to move, a sharp pain shot through my arm, and I fall to the ground. Looking over at my shoulder, I see a bone jutting out of my lower arm. I try barely removing it, but the wound hurt too much.
“How vacuous can you be? First, you try running. Why even attempt it? Wherever you go, I’ll be close behind!” The mockery in his voice only makes me want to cry more. Stepping into the light, I finally get a good look at his face, or rather, whatever you would want to call the hideousness that lays on its shoulders. His leathery gray skin hid behind a tattered cloak. A few strands of black hair, which obviously had not been cut in a while, fell past his mouth.
“Look around, my dear. Do you see bodies that confine you here? They couldn’t escape, even when they tried their hardest. Some of the most agile kids your age couldn’t even get an inch past me. You think you have a chance?” the beast uttered, as he flashed an evil smile with his blood-stained teeth. Though red, his teeth looked dessicated. My stomach slowly started to churn as I realized he did not intend them to stay in that condition for much longer.
Just as I was about to attempt my escape once again, he grasped me by the arm. Pulling me close to his menacing face, I can smell the rotten flesh in his breath. “You should just give up now. You’re about as worthless as it gets!” he hissed. Facing defeat, I realized that I’m now as stuck as the bone in my arm.
As if moved by inhuman anger, his clasp on my hurt arm tightens, and he raises me in the air. My tiny body, now dangling inches from his mouth, almost collapses under the pain. “You are nothing but a crummy, low-down, waste of oxygen! I’m insulted by actually having to hold something as repulsive as you,” he scoffed. Pausing, he smirked, “Don’t worry, though. I won’t be holding you for much longer.
Finally gathering up the courage, I manage to barely stutter, “S-st-stop! Who are you? Leave me alone! I haven’t done anything!”
Raising up his head to match mine, he remarked, “You don’t know who I am do you?” Quickly looking up, I catch a glimpse of his eyes. “You don’t know why I’m here?”
His eyes sent chills up my spine. They were bright, glowing, and staring straight into me. While every bit of myself froze, I realized it wasn’t the dead bodies circling me, the fact that I could die in less than two minutes, the unbearable pain in my arm, or even this ineffable beast in front me that had me shaken and petrified. It was his eyes. Though they were almost completely blank, there was something so recognizable, even distinct, about them.
While I was still indefinitely mesmerized by his eyes, he continues to divulge, “I am - BEEP!” Shaking my head, I am brought out of my daze. “BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!” Having no idea what is going on, I claw my way out of his loosening grip. “BEEP! BEEP!” Just as I start to hobble away, his gaze snaps to me. Once again I catch a glimpse of his eyes. Slowly, I watch his eerily bright circles fade into a blurred square.
My eyes shoot open. I roll over to find myself staring at my window, which annoyingly my mother opened to bring “fresh air” into the room. “BEEP! BEEP!” Without looking, my hand slams on top of the alarm. I look over: 6:31 P.M. How annoying! I must have accidentally set my alarm last night. Rolling back over, I try to drift back to sleep.
However, as soon as I close my eyes, his flash in my mind. Jolting upwards, I decided it wasn’t a good time to go back to sleep. As the memory of the nightmare floods back into my mind, I continually ask myself the same questions, Who was it? What was it about his eyes? I know those eyes. But from where? When I couldn’t come up with a logical solution, I satisfied myself by simply stating that it was just my overactive imagination. I mean, I did drink about nine sodas last night.
Remembering the day before, I smile. My best friend Emily came over to spend the last day before school with me. Together, we spent all night long going crazy and living it up. Although we live in different states, her school doesn’t begin until three weeks after mine, so of course she spent the last few months at my house.
Of course! The last day of summer. How could I be so forgetful? As if on cue, my brother shouts from across the hall, “Marcie! Wake up! I swear to God if you are late on your first day, you will feel my wrath. I will not be blamed by mom for your lateness.” With thoughts of anxiety and my irritable mother in mind, I hopped out bed and put on my slippers.
Slowly, as if not to seem too excited, I knowingly grudge down the stairs. However, my brother, eager to get out of the house and away from our family, flies down past me. I walk through the hallway, which was still too new to be comfortable, to the kitchen.
Because I had just awakened, the white color of the kitchen burns my eyes. Blinking, I look around. Pristine. Orderly. Bright. All the signs of a new and annoying “top-of-the-market” house. As I pour my bowl of cereal, my mother enters the room. She barely takes a double-glance at what I’m eating before moving towards her computer. No one is much of a cook in my house.
“Excited for your first day at your new school, honey?” she asks in such an mother-like tone that I want to chuck my breakfast at her. How can she play that innocent? It’s not like she doesn’t know what she’s doing! My mother must play me for a fool if she thinks I haven’t realized she’s ruined my life on several accounts. It’s always the same thing all the time:
Get settled into a new place.
Finally think I’ve found some people who could be my friends.
Boss calls in with a better job. We have to move.
I have to start all over again.
Yet, what my mom has failed to realize is that by now, I’m used to it. I’ve given up the hope on ever finding true friends, other than Emily. Despite her everlasting friendship, I met Emily in the second grade, back in the good old days. That was before Luisa had won custody over my brother and me. Before we had to find other ways of “support” after my father was out of the picture.
Instead of saying all of this, I settled for mumbling a quick, “Yea, can’t wait.” Glancing at my soggy cheerios, I hope she didn’t happen to hear the resentment in my voice. To my good luck, she didn’t, since she was still immersed in her online life. No response whatsoever. Not even an acknowledgement that I had been heard.
“Marcie! You’re still not dressed? Hurry up, or else you’ll be walking to school. If I have to play bus driver, you better memorize the schedule,” nags my brother, Chance. Unfortunately, he adopted my dad’s “never be late” behavior.
“Why don’t you just leave me here? It’s not like I want to go anyways,” I mumble under my breath. Catching it, he glares at me. Preferring to succumb rather than have my head bitten off, I run upstairs to quickly choose something that would be suitable to wear. In all truth though, I have no idea what kids down here are like, or what they wear.

•••

As my brother’s car pulls up to the parking lot, I read the entrance sign of the school: Chancellorsville Middle School. Sounds friendly. Yet, I know all too well that first appearances can be deceiving.
Before my brother lets me escape, he traps me with another one of his “ego” speeches. “Look, nothing against you, all I’m saying is we aren’t related. We don’t even know each others’ names. It’s hard enough to build a good reputation the first time, not to mention the sixth. If my high school finds out you’re my sister, I’m screwed!” Chance continuously rants.
Though I was a little offended by his words, I knew they were true. It was hard to fit try to fit in several times, and as annoying as my brother is, I loved him enough to stay out of his way. Besides, if he wasn’t happy with his new school, I knew my morning rides with him would be a living torture. “Okay, okay! I got it, Chance. I don’t know you.”
“And if they ask you who that “extremely-sexy-beast” that picks you up everyday is?”
“I say, ‘It’s one of my mother’s friend’s sons. They have late work meetings every day, so we decided it would save money and time to carpool.’” This line has been engraved in my brain ever since my brother got his license.
“That’s my sister.” He ruffles my hair. I flinch back. I don’t like people touching me. He must have noticed how upset I seemed, because his tone instantly became softer. “Look, I’m sure you’ll do fine. You might care about your grades, but we both know you are a social person. Just be yourself. There’s nothing to worry about.” He smirks, “And hey, if you’re stupid enough to mess up, you can always join the chess club again.”
We both start to laugh. I remember my sixth grade year when I tried the “chess nerd” approach. It wasn’t long before I got kicked out of the club for not knowing a single thing about chess, which later ruined our chances for state. After that, I just stayed under the radar, passing between the library and the music room, whenever it was empty.

•••

The fourth period bell rings. I quickly dart down the hall, staying behind Gregory Walters, who happened to be tall enough to block out anyone coming from the opposing direction. This is about the time most kids would go to their locker to gather up their textbooks. I, however, refuse to do this.
Over the past couple of weeks I have built up this regular routine. I go to class without any textbooks or binders so that I can dodge any possible confrontations during the five-minute gossip intervals. We haven’t needed any books lately, which makes it all the easier for me to blend in with the unnoticed. Even though we do read from our texts in science, I picked the seat in the far left corner of the room so that old and blind Mrs. Johnson cannot tell whether or not I am “fully prepared” for class.
However, as I am about to dodge Katie Rogers, a way too friendly prude, I overhear some of the students inform, “Yea, you’ll need your history book. We’re having an open-book quiz. Mr. Foster says if you don’t have your book, you’ll receive a zero and get a call home.”
Crap. I guess my perfect plan was bound to have a flaw or two. Not willing to let my perfect 100% average be severed by a zero, I quickly run to my locker. Awkwardly moving through the sixth graders, I clumsily run into my locker. “19-29-09. Twist. Pull upwards. Wiggle and... Ha!”
As luck would have it, I got one of the school’s trick lockers. It took three days, my homeroom teacher, and a rather observant janitor to figure out how to deal with the kinks. Although Ms. Peterson seemed more than agitated by my lack of abilities to figure out school issues on my own, the janitor was glad to help me out of my sticky situation.
Hearing the second bell go off, I glance side to side. “Great now I am going to get a tardy. Not to mention everyone will stare at me as I walk through the door.” Making sure there was no one around, I start bolting to my history class. As of right now, Mr. Foster is going down the roster. I have about 30 seconds until he calls my name.
I start to slow down as I see the handle of the door. However, before I could look up, I collide head on into what feels like a bony chest. “Oh gosh! I’m so sorry!” a voice apologizes. Looking up, I see a tall and skinny boy reaching out his hand to me. “Are you okay?”
Stretching to grab his hand, I reply, “Yea, I’m fine. Sorry, it was my fault. I didn’t see you coming.” I must have sounded so stupid to him. While he was making an effort to pull me up off the ground, I noticed how his hands were so big that they completely fit around mine.
Playfully, he jokes, “You’re in a rush to get to Mr. Foster’s class? I never knew the history of the Cold War could drive a person to such extremes!”
I start to blush. “Well, I-”
“Hey, it’s cool. I’m going to the same class. What’s your name?” he asks as he holds open the door for me. Wondering how to respond, I glance at the floor, where I notice a dark green binder.
“It’s Marcie. Here you go -” I glance the name sloppily wrote on the binder. “Mark.” He flashes me a smile, showing off his blue colored braces.
Mr. Foster looks at both of us. “Ah, Mr. Russo, Ms. Moretti. I’m so glad you could finally join us. Please, take a seat.” I notice people staring at us. Nervous, I glance at Mark, who doesn’t seem to notice. If he did notice, he didn’t care, and for once in my life, I didn’t either.

Chapter 4
Being Replaced

I look up to watch my old group, while I still sit uncomfortably underneath the oak tree. Without even taking a glance upwards, I already know what they are doing. Stacy obviously is being her bubbly energetic self, while simultaneously flirting with the “ferociously handsome” Nathan. Next to his left sits Ralph, who is no doubt annoying people with his pointless actions.
On the opposite side of Ralph is Zane, Gale, and Nick. They spend most of recess talking about comical nonsense, which can become rather excessive every now and then. Next to Nick is Jonathan, who sits quietly and waits to join in an ethical conversation. To Jonathan’s left is the gorgeous, but sometimes thunderous, Stella. When Stella is not accompanied by Ashley, she stays quiet for most of the lunch, listening in on the latest gossip with a disgruntled face. However, when Ashley is around, the two become quite the hyper bunch.
Apart from them, there is Danny, who doesn’t have a specific spot, though he usually sits close by Mark. Although he is silent, Danny is one of the nicest ones in the group. He was the last one to continue to talk to me, even when the rest of the school tried to tune me out. Of course, I refused to let him get too close either, so eventually our friendship fell apart as well.
In between Stacey and Stella is Kristina. Often in the back corner of the table, she talks about her love for soccer and hatred for the more “popular” girls. Though usually, Kristina will try to avoid that topic so that she can maintain her “goddess-like” image. Lastly, in the middle of the table, there’s Mark, who would be stuffing his face with just about anything around this time.
I look up to see if I am correct. To my surprise, I had pinpointed everyone’s position except for Kristina’s. Instead of sitting in the far back corner with Stacey, she was sitting on the right side of Mark. This perplexed me for a second.
In the past, I knew Kristina had dubbed “strong feelings” toward Mark. She often kept her flirting at an extreme minimum, especially while he was dating our old friend Jay. However, looking at her now, I see Kristina yearns for Mark’s attention, since she is practically sitting on top of him.
This shouldn’t bother me, but for a few minutes, I sit infuriated with the lack of space between them. Even from where I am, I can see her hopeless attempts to giggle at his jokes in the girliest way possible, while at the same time getting close to his face. It’s as if she’s slapped an “I’m extremely desperate! Please look at me!” sign across her forehead. He seems too naive to notice.
I look away and try to observe the birds’ nest above me. Though truthfully, this was the only way I could force the tears back into the crevices of my eyes. In times like this, I always feel weak to cry out in the open, so I try distracting myself. However, it appears that today, even the baby birds are mocking me with the companionship of each other.
I try observing something else. I am so disgusted with myself. I’ve been strong for months now. How can I let myself cry at the mercy of Kristina? Normally, her sad attempts to get any male attention whatsoever would never bother me. But today, it feels as though she is not only trying to take Mark’s heart, but she’s trying to take my place. She’s attempting to remove the only happy memories I’ve had in my life and push them away with her growing ego.
Once again, I hear her giggle. Though no one knows, I can feel the rudeness behind it all. Kristina acts so innocent sometimes; it’s repulsive. When I first moved here, I thought she was genuinely nice. Despite my past assumptions, it appears she had me fooled like the rest of them. It wasn’t until it all came crashing down that she revealed her true side to me.
I hear the seventh period bell ring faintly inside. Although I know I should get up to leave, I refuse to move until I know there are no more tears that try to escape. When I am satisfied that I have calmed down, I look up just in time to catch Mark’s concerned eyes. For what seems like forever, I stare into the eyes that only prove further how unattached I am from the world. Those big eyes that used to be so full of hope now only kill me that much more.
Before I can stop it, tears start rolling down my face uncontrollably. To save myself from further embarrassment, I quickly run off, avoiding my next class, which was only study hall. I have more important things in my life to deal with than a tardy slip from Ms. Collins.
After stumbling through the bathroom doors, I check the stalls to make sure no one is in the room. I crawl into the largest stall and lock the door. Then, after I am positive no one can hear me, I break down and really cry.

•••

I’m not sure how long I cried in the stall, but I can almost correctly surmise it is well past ninth period. However, this long escape from the depths of my school was not intentional. After I had cried for over thirty minutes, my sobs had brought forth an excruciating headache. By trying to rest my aching brain, I had accidentally fallen asleep.
The dream at first was rather peaceful. I was sitting alone in a beautiful field of flowers. While the sun cascaded on my back, I closed my eyes and detected an unusual feeling. Although I was alone, I felt at peace. There was not a worry in the world that was on my mind. With every breath I inhaled, I felt bright life flow in and out of me.
Then, I remember hearing a rustle in the grass. Opening my eyes slowly, I saw Mark a few feet away, bathed in a golden sunlit silhouette. At first, I felt my heart tense up, and I embraced myself for the usual pain.
Instead, Mark sat down right in front of me. As he picked up my hand and intertwined it with his, I felt all the tension ease away. Not understanding how the anxiety between us had melted away so easily I look at him. When I stare into his gaze, I feel as though I am looking into eyes from the past. They were exactly how I remembered them: big, brown, full of love and hope, reflecting the warmth and good qualities that he failed to see. At that moment, it seemed as though I had fallen in love with him all over again.
Distracted by his true beauty, I failed to notice the flowers around me start to shrivel. The glorious sunlight was consumed by a black abyss once again. Mark’s comforting hands immediately locked me in a vindictive clutch. Still bewitched by those mesmerizing eyes, I watched helplessly as they turned from a summery brown into a cold empty white. Once released from the gaze, I discerned too late what it was that now kept me captive. It was back.
“Fool,” it laughed.
I instantly woke up after seeing those menacing eyes. His laugh was still ringing in my head. Pulling my legs close to me, I realized that I had fallen asleep in the bathroom. My body was completely drenched in a thick layer of sticky sweat. I felt like crying again, until I realized that it was not my own bathroom I was in, but the school’s,
Jumping up, I check my phone for the time: 2:15. It’s almost eleventh period. There is no way my mother is ever going to forgive me! I’ll be grounded for the rest of this miserable eternity. Motivated by fear of punishment, my brain began to forlornly churn for ideas. After about five minutes, I had produced an extremely believable excuse. Perhaps I can use this sweat to my advantage.

•••

I sit waiting on the cold surface of the school nurse’s bed. She fretted unsettlingly back and forth across the room. Of course, her worrying had been part of my plan. I knew that if I had stumbled in bent over in two and covered in sweat, she would be extremely alarmed. When she realized who I was, she contacted the school’s head, who apparently had sent out an email to teachers to report any sight of me. The warning message was the standard procedure for any student who has been absent for over two classes without an excuse form.