Chatper Two
Breathing fast I sat up quickly in my bed. Running a hand over my face, I wiped away the cold sweat along my brow. I could hear him coming in late yet again. No doubt that he just came back from a bar in town. I can hear him staggering down the hall, swearing everything that crossed his intoxicated mind.
I jumped out of bed quickly and quietly. I hastily grabbed my hoody and my discarded pants. Hopping up and down I put them on my freezing form. I had to get out of here.
Had to get away... from him.
My father.
I crawled over my bed to my window. I unlatched the lock and begun to open the window. I can hear him approaching my door.
Cursing myself for not locking the door, I skillfully pulled myself out the window, narrowly missing the rose bush. Then, without closing my window, I ran.
I knew what would happen if I would have stayed there. I knew the words that would come. I knew that they were true. But that didn't mean I had to listen to them.
I ran until I couldn't run any more. Looking up I found myself standing on South Main St. Glancing around I saw my sanctuary. I made my way to it, not watching for traffic. Before I knew it, I was inside and making my way towards my guitar.
I never realized before how many people came here at night to rest. How many people that didn't have a home to go to at night. This here was the real world, where you had to fight to survive. Here's where the strong prevailed.
I sat down, gingerly, leaning against the wall behind me. I tried to close my eyes. I tried to fall asleep, but the memory of the guy before kept me from doing so.
His eyes were what separated him from the rest. They seemed to read me without restraint. Without disgust.
But, with compassion.
Letting my mind wander I find myself thinking of my mother. I can still remember the way life was before the accident that took her from me.
My mother always smiled. She always found a reason to look on the bright side of things. Everyday she made a point to tell me that I was loved. She made a point to tell me that I will succeed in life.
I could still picture my mother. She was tall and had long wavy black hair. Her eyes were a deep, crimson brown that shone with life, love, and yes... compassion.
While she was alive, we held a strong relationship. We weren't just mother and daughter. No, we were best friends. We talked about everything. She always would tell me that I was mature for my age.
But that was before.
It all ended on a Tuesday about seven years ago, when I was only ten years old.
The day was bright, with the sun shining and my mother singing a song she had heard on the radio. She had a beautiful voice. She had a soft, warm alto voice that was close to being a low baritone. I loved listening to her sing.
I was getting myself ready to leave for the local, family-oriented karaoke lounge. Going to the karaoke lounge was a habit my mom and I had for about two years. We would go every Tuesday to sing and listen to the others. It was my favorite day of the week.
When we got into the small, rustic red, 1997 Chevy pick-up my mom turned up the music. It was a country song, one my mother knew well. As we drove she sang along to the music as I watched the scenery go by.
We were coming up to an intersection when an old, beaten-up looking, Honda came out of nowhere. It hit my mom's side sending us into a tree.
I went unconscious on impact.
About a day later I awoke with a headache that just seemed to get worse by the minute. It took me a few seconds to realize that I wasn't at home in my twin size bed. The air here smelled sterile. I knew then that I was in the hospital. It took me a few minutes before the images came.
I screamed out, before I could think about anything else.
Immediately two doctors and five nurses entered my room. All of them looking at me frantically, wondering what was the matter. It took them a moment to realize everything was fine. All of them left except a small nurse with short blonde hair and green eyes. She sent me a sympathetic look as she crossed the room to stand by my bed.
"Bad dream, honey?" the nurse said as she glanced at a machine located to my left.
"Where's my mommy?" I said in a whine, as I looked around me frantically.
The nurse stopped watching the monitors and sat down on the side of my bed. She took my hand softly into hers before she spoke.
"Do you remember why you are here?" she spoke softly.
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as my mind thought the worst.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart, but your mommy didn't make it," she said with tears in her own eyes.
I laid there in shock. No tears were shed right away. I just stared off into space thinking, no hoping that this was all a very bad dream. Hoping that I would wake up hearing my mother singing happily in the kitchen as she made my dad and I breakfast.
The nurse left a little while later saying she'd be back with my dinner.
It was then that my tears flooded down my face. I wanted my mother right then. I missed her already. I was mad that she left me alone, like she promised me she wouldn't. But most of all I felt guilty for living while she had died.
About a week later I learned that I wasn't the only one who thought it was my fault for her death.
Yes, my father made sure he told me every day how it was entirely my fault.
And I believed him.
A small chill went down my spine as I try to take in a steady breath. The only time any emotion ever comes over me is when I think of my mother. Well any other emotion besides pain. Though in a way that isn't true, because sadness is pain.
Before I realized what had happened my hand was in my pant's pockets clutching the razor within my palm. I could feel the warmth of my blood roll down my fingers, as I pulled it out not too carefully. Looking at the razor in my palm I nearly sighed at the sight. There it sat just like it normally did. You could tell that it was cleaned before this 'accident' because you could still see the shining metal poking through the crimson life.
Moving the razor so that it was held by my reddened fingertips I put it up in front of my face before I brought it back down to my already scarred arm. The wave of pain went up my arm nearly to my shoulder. I loved the feeling.
I did this a couple times as I watched the warm liquid run down my arms.
Then with a small sigh I pulled out my bandana I had in my pocket out so I could wipe the blood off my arms and the razor. The copper scent of my blood wafted through my nose making my eyes close as I brought the rough fabric to the wounds I inflicted.
After I wiped off most of the blood I stuffed the bandana back into my pocket so I could clean it later.
Glancing up I saw that the sun was coming up over the horizon. I knew that today was in fact a school day. Figuring that I had nothing else better to do, I got up to make my way there.
Stepping outside I let a scowl appear on my face as I thought of the people that went to Adams Central. Most were stuck-up fuckers who look down on anyone who didn't wear the latest 'trend', (which the last I heard was looking like a fucking whore).
Walking slowly down the streets that I knew as well as the back of my hand, I came in front of the school. It was two stories high and had hallways labeled by letters ranging from A to J. There were only hallways A-D upstairs though. All and all it had a large student body and had an 85% graduation rate... This, in my opinion, was pretty good. I also knew that I was a part of the other 15%. Who would have guessed that?
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes as the Group of Whore's (more commonly known as the 'popular group'), pointed at me with disgusted looks. I was use to this reaction as they were use to the usual hello from me that consisted of me giving them the finger.
One thing about my reputation at school that I still don't understand is that I am the class lesbian. Not that I think it's bad to be gay or les, I'm just not that way. Well, honestly I don't know what I am, considering that the last time I ever even like someone was way back in the seventh grade. And he turned out to be a major prick. But then again aren't all guys?
Though that guy fro yesterday, I must admit, was cool enough. Hell he was probably gay, seeing as how that's how it seemed to work lately. A guy was either a prick or gay.
Okay, so that sounded just a tad bit... closed minded, but then again that's only if you didn't live here in Hell-hole City... other wise known as Bracken, New York.
Walking straight into my first class I let my eyes wander for a seat that was empty, preferably in the very back. As my eyes swept the room I listened to the other people coming in. That's when my eyes fell on a familiar pair or eyes. They were a warm dark brown and they were framed by equally dark brown hair that reached almost to his elbows.
It was the guy from yesterday. And by the look upon his face, he remembered me too.
Oh Joy, more small talk.
Glancing around the rest of the room I also noted that the only available seat in the back was right behind him. So, with a sigh of slight irritation, I made my way to the seat.
I sat down silently and let myself stare off into space, figuring that he would see that I didn't want to chat.
"So you do go to school," He said turning to look at me.
Looking at him I stopped breathing for a moment. It was the first time I ever saw him smile. Even more shocking was that it was directed right at me. Weird.
"Yeah," I said after I blinked and looked away.
"What happened?"
I looked at him now knowing what he meant. Then I followed to where his eyes were directed. My hand, I could see, was still dirtied with the now dried blood. I shrugged, not willing to say what had happened. It was none of his business anyways.
"You have to know, I mean there is a lot of dried blood there," He said as he tried to catch my eye.
I shrugged again; his questioning was really getting on my last nerve. I mean who in the hell did he think he was, giving me the fucking third degree?
I then sent him a glare that most would read and think that it just wasn't worth it and that I was just some psychopathic bitch.
"Okay, I get it. So can I just know your name then?"
I was half tempted to turn and look around to make sure that he was, in deed, talking to me.
"Sakura," I heard myself say in my usually cold tone.
"Cherry blossom?"
Cocking my right eyebrow, I was surprised. He was the first person to know what my name truly meant. Most people didn't know it since it was in face, Japanese.
"Yeah, my mom always wanted to take me and travel to Japan," I said with a small smirk.
"Cool," he said, still smiling at me, "I'm Xavier."
Xavier. Definitely seemed fitting for him.
"Quiet down class, we will begin," the teacher said as he walked into the room and then he said in a cynical tone, "Ahh, Miss Rayne, it's nice to see that you've 'graced' us with your presence."
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