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The Phone Beeped |
| Written by Jessica McGaha | |
| Friday, 06 June 2008 | |
The Phone Beeped She slammed her fist into her bedroom wall. Nothing happened to the wall. Her knuckles were turning red. How come she couldn't hit the wall hard enough to put a hole in it or to make her knuckles bleed? She sighed. Tears were gathering in her eyes. She was happy her parents were out of the house. She looked back at her cell phone and knew it was a mistake. She became angry again as she read the words. "Why won't you talk to me?" the messenger had asked. She blindly threw her phone and it hit the other wall. It clattered to the ground noisily and she knew it didn't break. Tears steamed down her face and her cheeks began to feel wet and sticky. Then, her phone made that dreadful beep that always summoned her to answer it. She walked cautiously to where it had landed. It was face up and seemed to be laughing at her. The screen showed one new text from Timothy. He infuriated her by what he said but she had to know what he said. She picked up the phone and pushed the ‘read' button. Through her fuzzy vision she read slowly. "Talk to me Kristen. Please," he had sent. She looked up. She had talked to him. She talked to him at school. She answered every time he asked her a question. How was she not talking to him? How dare he think her life revolved around him? She threw the phone on her bed and fell back to the wall. The phone beeped. She looked at it. The light shone brightly in the dim room. It was a light at the end of her tunnel. The light that some say is Heaven, or something happy, while others say its death, and a false happiness. The light from that phone was her death. The words that were on that text were things she didn't want to read. She clumsily went to her bathroom and opened the mirror. Behind it was the medicines. She took the aspirin out and tried to take off the lid. It wasn't coming off and she became frustrated. She hit the mirror with her fist and it shattered around her. Falling piece by piece, silently, to the ground. She watched her contorted reflection pass her and knew that each piece that fell was her own self-falling. When the last piece fell she heard it through her delusion and looked down. Then she looked up at the other half of the mirror. Her eyes were swollen red and her blue eyes seemed to be the color black. Her shoulder length hair was in a sloppy ponytail and most of her hair laid about her face. She could see the sticky streaks her tears had left. She felt nausea and knew what she was about to do wouldn't help. She opened the bottle of aspirin and poured half of it in her hand. She filled a glass with water and went back to her room. Only then did she notice the blood on her hand. She let it bleed. Her dog, Kali, was lying on her bed dreaming a dream only a dog could dream. There were three new texts on her phone. She placed her water and pills on her desk. "Why do you do this? I try to talk to you and you won't talk back," the first text read. "I love you Kristen. Please, come back to me," the second said. "I'm sorry I'm a jerk. I was at your house yesterday, you didn't know, but I wanted so badly to see you and then I did. You let your dog out. You don't understand..." as she finished reading that text, another appeared. "How much you mean to me. I love you. I really do," it finished. She couldn't breath. He was stalking her. He wasn't letting go. She had broken up with him three months ago. He wouldn't let go and all she wanted was for him to leave her alone. He wouldn't get the hint and he frightened her. "I HATE YOU! I Hate You! I hate you!" she cried. Kali had jumped and looked at her master. She began to cry again. He made her feel horrible; like it was her fault he couldn't stop loving her. The worst part was that she believed him. She took the pills and swallowed them along with five prescribed pills that she didn't remember what they were for. Then she went to her kitchen. All she wanted to do was forget. Forget the pain that this boy, and only this boy, could cause. She pulled out a knife. One of the big ones they used for cutting vegetables and then returned to her room. Her dog, recently upset because she was awakened, was now somewhere else. Her phone beeped. This time there would be no answer. Her back hit the wall and she slid down it; the pills we starting to give some odd effect. She took the knife across her wrist and cringed. She let out all the breath she had inhaled. The line was crooked and the blood was slowly coming through. It wasn't her fault if it was his fault. He never talked to her. He ignored her at school when she tried to talk to him. Then he had the nerve to say she didn't talk? She sliced her wrist again and didn't feel much this time. Was it the pills or was she just not caring? It was silent in the house. She felt sick. If she stood she was dizzy. If she sat down she was dizzy. If she lay down she was dizzy and if she breathed she was dizzy. The world seemed to spin around her. Colors of every ugly hew past by. She noticed certain objects in her room but couldn't stare at them long, they seemed to grow. Timothy had sent her a text saying how she was so selfish and she laughed. The world really did revolve around her now. Her parents were asleep in their bed across the hall. They didn't notice anything but the shattered mirror. She told them she closed it to hard. They believed her without doubt. She lay in her bed feeling too sick to sleep. She let this boy she hated make her do something she couldn't yet comprehend. Then she began to quietly cry. She cried for what she had done, the pills and the cutting. She cried for her aching hand. She cried for the sickness in the pit of her stomach. She cried because she had to go to school tomorrow and act like it was all fine. She cried because her parents had not suspected anything. She cried because she was tired and alone. She cried because of all those text that were sent. Mostly she cried because she couldn't stop herself from crying.
The five-minute bell rang and she jumped. She didn't want to be at school but there was no way of skipping out on it. She was a model student. She walked down the hallway, pushing past people who were too loud and deserved to be punched for being stupid and standing in the middle of the hallway so people couldn't past. "Kristen," her name rang. She cursed at the person in front of her who didn't walk fast enough for her to escape. She closed her eyes and turned to open them to Timothy. His hair looked like he hadn't slept and his clothes looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a week. He looked tired and she didn't care. It was his fault she was sick and tired herself. "What do you want?" she asked harshly. "Why won't you talk to me?" he wondered. "What do you call this? Sign language?" she replied. She hated him and wished he would vanish. "What's wrong? Why do you talk to everyone but me? Are we friends still? You know I love you and I never want to see you harmed?" he said. She was mad. The tardy bell rang and the hallway became empty of the last few rebellious kids who never arrived anywhere on time. Tears began to sting her eyes. She was sick and didn't want to deal with him. "Nothing's wrong with me, Timothy. Why must you ask so many questions? The only problem I have is you. Why can't you take the hint? I don't want to see you or talk to you. I don't want to hear how you love me. I don't want you stalking me. I don't care if you love me. I care if you leave me alone!" she shouted. He stared at her with his mouth opened. A teacher came out of his classroom. "Is everything alright?" he asked. She was about to cry. "No, we're not friends. We're not anything. When I see you I'll walk by you like you're nothing. Do you understand that?" she wondered calmly. "What happened to your hand? When have you ever worn a long sleeve shirt?" Timothy asked. "Are you deaf?" she queried in disbelief. Had he ever listened to her? She was visibly shaking. The teacher walked closer to them. She stared at Timothy. He was staring at her, waiting for an answer. She sighed. "If you never want to see me harmed, you won't ask that question again," she said softly and walked into the classroom the teacher had come out of. She wiped the tears from her eyes and sat down in her seat. Then, her cell phone vibrated. She looked at the name. "Timothy," it read.
Copyright 2008 Jessica McGaha |
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