Chapter One of A Little About Lina

This is book is by far not complete; please post reviews! Also, PLEASE read the book notes.

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Chapter One

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sliding into her seat, she begins to shuffle her books around on her desk.  in the corner of her mind, she hears another student ask mr. perez if they are going to get their tests back today, but she is too preoccupied with moving to remember the answer.  suddenly, a thin stapled packet with an untidy scrawl flew onto her desk.  as usual, the grade is facing down.  taking a deep breath and turning it over, she quickly shields her score before anyone can see.  then she looks.  written in dark red pen, scratched across the top of the page are written the words “good job!”  accompanied by the numbers “82.5”.  those numbers seem to glare at her she realizes that she can do better this isn’t good enough and neither was the 76 before that.  none of them are good enough, she isn’t good enough.  she understands now.  there will be more scratches than those on her test, more blood red than just the ink of the pen, more pain than what she feels in her heart, more satisfaction than any grade could give her. she knows what to do.  quickly and efficiently, she is out of that class and into the bathroom stall with a little black bag in her hand.  sweet, sweet emotion.  calmly, she opens this bag containing her precious lifelines, withdrawing the pencil lead container.  sitting down, rolling up the left sleeve, removing the gleaming strip of  thin metal, and taking a deep breath, she lifts one arm and begins with quick, sharp movements controlled by her steady hand.  “one” she whispers, wincing, “two.  three.  four.  five”.  as intense pain courses up and down her arm, she digs through her bag for her trusty alcohol swabs.  wiping away the remaining blood, she tapes down a gauze pad.  it was time to get back to class.

 

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Maia asked to see me after class that day.  By then, I was completely fine, maybe even happy.   I guess I was just glad I wasn’t in pain while she was talking to me.  Glad it wasn’t while I was freaking out.  She wanted me to tell her.  She doesn’t want to know, I thought to myself.  No matter how much I denied that anything was wrong, she insisted.  All I could think was I can’t believe she had the nerve to say that! She doesn’t even know me!  She also seemed to sense that because the next thing out of her mouth was “I know I’m not that close with you, but I’m always here if you want to talk”.  She smiled at me in this strange, demeaning way as if she thought I needed help.  I couldn’t keep the defensive thoughts from my mind.  I don’t need help! I just have a different way of looking at things and dealing with them, that’s all!  My brain began to chide me Lina, you know that if you don’t get help, ‘she’ will never stop chasing after you.  But something pricked in my stomach " this sickening realization that I would be classified as a freak, that I would never be the same again and that they would try to take away my only comfort leaving me with nothing.  They’ll try to change me and squeeze me into a box.  And that feeling won.

 

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she has been talking with her friends for the past ten minutes, but she couldn’t tell you what they had been talking about if her life depended on it.  no matter how good she gets at disguising her pain and her life, she can never completely succeed.  they know something’s wrong.  they don’t know anywhere near the extent of it, but they can tell.  she is oblivious.  she just plays along with the merriment and laughing, not knowing that they, also, are playing along in an attempt to figure out what’s wrong.  all she can think is how much pain must i go through until the end? how often do I have to pretend?  they don’t even notice, they don’t even care.  as long as i’m here to make them laugh, it’s okay with them.  nothing matters anymore.  the bell rings and she heads across the hall to her next class where the first thing out of her mouth is a slightly monotone ‘may i go to the bathroom?’.   it has set back in.

 

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By the time I reached lunch, I was fairly normal again " as normal as a person like me could ever be.  I was all over the joking " hanging out, and loving every minute of it.  But in the back of my head there was still this nagging feeling " what if the blood leaks through?  I had done about twenty so far today, and while they weren’t very deep that was still quite a bit of blood.  Pushing the thought from my mind was difficult, but my friends helped me along.  They were glad to see me back into it and encouraged me to keep up the laughter and joy.  By the time we go back to class, I know I’ll never ever do that again.

 

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so she thought.  her next class was her hardest of all, but that didn’t mean she was always miserable in it.  sometimes it was pleasant, like when mr kurtis joked with her, when the class was kind in general.   but sometimes she just didn't.  and today was one of those days.  nothing could have made her detest herself more than all the people around her asking complicated questions when she couldn’t even figure out the basics.  ‘mr kurtis?’ she asked, quiet as a mouse, ‘may i go to the restroom?’  everything inside of her screamed at the top of its lungs, you can't do this, lina! you promised yourself! but she didn't care.  i’ve let myself down before, she retorted, i’m used to it.

 

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No one understands me, is all I could think that day, not even me.  I was so happy a few hours ago.  Why can’t I ever stay that way?  And why can’t I become like everyone else?  Why can’t I do well in school?  Why can’t I be myself?  Why is this what I have to be?  “I just proved my own point,” I whispered to myself as I sat down to do my homework, “life is just too confusing.  The only steady thing is my schoolwork, and even that is slipping.  Okay, Lina, concentrate”  But I couldn’t push it from my mind, not this time, not when nothing was there to stop me.  School just wasn’t compelling enough.

 

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suddenly, she gets up and paces around the room, trying to get it off her mind.  she thinks to herself, focus on anything, just not this.  but none of it works.  digging through her purse to reach that welcoming black bag, she pauses then looks inside.  the blades are gone.  they’re gone.  what if someone figured out what it was?  what if someone realized it was hers?  what if someone discovered her?  light perspiration condenses on her forehead.  breathe in, breathe out.  repeating that over and over again, commanding herself to obey it.  breathe in, breathe out.  calming herself with her voice.  by now, hunger is ravaging her mind.  shaking, she cracks open the door and quickly returns with three fresh razor blades, brand new and just as gleaming as before.  they are perfect.  she takes advantage of the time she has.  “one” "

 

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I had trouble waking up the next morning just getting out of bed itself was a huge feat.  Not only was I tired, cranky, and depressed, but I was also in pain and having trouble standing due to the twenty-seven deep slashes across the tops of my thighs.  I couldn’t help but get frustrated with my inability to control my urges and stay with it, which I knew just made it more likely to happen again, but I didn’t care.  I was angry.  Very angry.  And at no one but myself.

 

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by the time she arrived at school, she was already not quite herself.  it was over taking her, this habit she had.  nothing could stop her.  she, or rather it, was out of control.  she already had the pouch out as she walked out of the homeroom doors, not caring that the whole world could see.  frantically, she locked the stall door and pulled out the new listerine strips box with her lifelines.  the slices began to come, one by one, quick and fast, and she kept going until she heard a gasp from right above her.  startled, she looked up and saw Ashlyn hanging there from the next stall.  She quickly crawled through and whispered hoarsely, “Stop right now or I’ll tell Mr. Mac!”  Ashlyn sat down beside her, helping to bandage her arm.  I can’t go on like this I thought to myself.  “Ashlyn,” she whispers, watching her care for my wounds.  She looks me in the eyes and said to me, “I’m not letting you go back to class like this”.  My eyes pleaded right back, but she wouldn’t budge.  “Either I’m taking you to the nurse or, if you get better, I’ll sit here and talk with you for a while and then we can decide what to do”  ‘she’ looked at the intruder in disbelief, but deep down, I knew what to do.  I needed to get help to get control of the voice in my head. “I’ll talk,” I said, suppressing the squirm in my stomach.

 

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It was the first time I hade ever told anyone about this and I was scared.  Terrified, actually. 

“Well…”  I began, not really knowing where to start when Ashlyn cut in.

“I suppose these are yours,” she asked, or rather stated, pulling out my pencil lead case.  I nodded.  She looked from me to my arm several times.  And then it happened.

“Why?”

Looking down, I nodded and slowly began to piece my thoughts together.  “I’m just…so…depressed…all the time…and there are times when I’m just…not really…there...I mean, I’m so…not myself…and I get really…hyper and…well, insane…and I’m just…off the wall, but still so depressed…and everybody’s all ‘why can’t you be normal’…its like something takes over my body and I just plead with it to stop ruining my life but it goes on anyway…I can’t keep my grades up…I can’t control myself…and my friends don’t even care…and the blood…it just…it makes it seem to go away…for those few fleeting seconds…but then it all comes back…at such a force that I just want the blood back…more and more of it…the pain distracts me…and I love it…yet I hate it…and I can’t…I can’t stop”.  There.  I said it.  I can’t stop.  For the first time, that thought came into my head.  And I admitted it. 

She had been nodding and looking down this whole time, with varied degrees of enthusiasm at each point I made, occasionally muttering an acknowledgement of understanding.  After some time, she looked at me and said, “You know I’m going to make you stop, right?”  I just stared blankly at her.  “I can’t let you go on hurting yourself like that,” she began, “I care too about you much.  You’re struggling and I can tell”.  Pausing, she looked at me, but I wouldn’t meet her gaze, “I don’t mean to make you mad; I just want to help you get through this.  You are a beautiful, caring, talented young woman and I see that in you, even if your friends don’t.  Come on, you know you want to stop, you know you have to.  You know it’s best.”  I just stared at her.  Was she honestly telling me she thought I was going to believe all of that was true about me?

“Listen…Lina…I realize I don’t know exactly what you mean, but I’m pretty darn close, Lina, I have stuff too.  And you know what?  I think I get what you’re saying.  And there really isn’t a way to explain it, but I think you did well,” she paused, making sure I hadn’t tuned out yet, “I’m not sure what I should do now, Lina.  You’ve said you can’t stop, but that’s not true”

I stared at her in disbelief.  I had known she wouldn’t understand.

“What I mean is this,” she quickly explained, “I know you can stop, but I also believe you when you say you feel like you can’t.  The truth is you can, but you need help to do it.  I’m not at all saying I think you’re screwed up or a freak of nature.  I’m saying that you need to depend on others a little more and realize that asking for help isn’t being weak; it’s being strong enough to know everyone has their own weaknesses.  We all need to help each other, and we all need to learn to ask for help.  You have an addiction, Lina.  Pain, it’s an addiction.  But like any other addiction, it can be overcome with help, patience, and, most importantly, the desire to change”.

Everything she said brought about hope, yet it also brought about disbelief and arguments within me " that I’ve never overcome an addiction before and yet so many people have, that I didn’t need help and yet I admitted I couldn’t stop, that if I stopped I’d have nothing as a comforter and yet if I didn’t, I don’t know where I’d end up.  In the end, I came up with no answers and had no conclusions.  And yet I felt confident " maybe Ashlyn was right.  Maybe I could do this.  Maybe I did need help.  But something kept nagging at me; is this really what you want?  To never be able to fulfill that yearning?  I shoved the thought aside.

“So what now?”  was all I could muster up to say.

“Well, I need to know first off that you’ll go with my plan through and through, otherwise I’m taking you to the nurse right now, okay?”

And then it came " the hardest sentence I’ve ever had to say:

“I’ll do it.”

 

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You know, I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t think it would be this hard.  I promised.  I have to go through with this.  I have to.  No one can add that third step but me.  No one can get this train of changes started but me.  These changes are for the better.  At least, that’s what I told myself.

The first step of her plan was completed; I had given her everything: the black bag, the alcohol swabs, the band aids, the pencil lead container and the Listerine strips container.  Which meant all of it was gone. All of it.  I gave her my phone number as well, and she gave me hers.  But that wasn’t all I gave her " I gave her my promise.  She had said I could call her whenever I needed to and I should expect a call from her every night.  But that didn’t really click until I heard the phone ringing on my dresser.  Quickly jumping up to look at the screen, I remembered our little agreement.  Taking a deep breath, I opened the phone.

“Hello?”  My voice was quiet and almost cracked, but she heard me anyway.

“Hi, this is Ashlyn, I was calling for Lina.”  It was almost a statement and a question the way she said it.  Timid as a mouse, I responded: “this is she?”

“Listen, Lina…” she began, but then stopped.  After a minute, I got up the courage to talk and responded with a feeble “What?”

“I’ve been thinking about this…Lina, I’m going to give you five days to tell someone about this.  I can talk to them with you if you like, but if you don’t do it before those five days are up, I’m going to have to tell for you.  As much as I want to help, I am not qualified enough to help you to the extent that would be best.  So here’s the deal, I will always be there for you, and right now, the way I need to do that is by making you do this.  I hope you still trust me, Lina, because I care.  I really do”

My mind was still stuck on her first sentence.  I couldn’t even comprehend this.  I had five days.  Five days.  Five days more of living my own life.  Suddenly I couldn’t help it.  I just broke down sobbing hysterically.

“Lina, Lina what’s wrong?  Lina, listen, I know this is hard for you, I swear, but please don’t be upset.  Lina"”

“this….is…why…-…I never....wanted…to…tellanybody…-…-…because…now…I…can’t…even…have…my…own…-…life…-…-…,”

“Lina, Lina, listen, you’re going to be okay, I promise.  You are amazing, you don’t deserve this, you are so filled with wonder and yet so human.  If you want, I can suggest a few people for you to talk to.  Because I can promise you that they won’t judge you.  They…” she continued trying to calm me, but I was off in my own world.

Finally, I came to terms with what was really going on and that there was nothing I could do to change it.  I knew there was no way I could tell someone; I didn’t think I would be able to let myself even if I wanted to.  But then again, I couldn’t let Ashlyn tell either because then they would think I didn’t want to change, and they would send me away.  But did I want to change?  And wouldn’t they send me away anyway?  I couldn’t let them send me away, I just couldn’t.  I wasn’t about to associate myself with all those freaks and screw-ups.  I wasn’t about to let anybody have any reason to suspect anything of me.  What if someone found out?  I would be labeled in with those nutcases.  And how would all the teachers treat me?  I’d just be one of them.

“Lina, are you still there?” 

“Yeah,” I jolted back into reality.

“You feeling any better?”

“A little,” I lied.

“Alright, well I’m going to let you think about this.  I know today has probably been a really stressful and tiring day, so get some rest.  I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Alright,”

“Bye, Lina.  Call me if you need me,”

“Bye,”

Click.

 

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“Lina!”

“What?!”

“Get down here! I’m going to leave without you!”

I couldn’t stand this anymore.  She just pushed me and pushed me until I snapped.  And lately, I’d been snapping hard.  Following my routine, I checked my bag to be sure I had my black pouch and it all came rushing back.  The conversation, the blood, the tears, the promise, the deal.  I stood in shock for a few seconds trying to catch my breath, but the screaming of my mother drove it all out of my mind.  Running by the closet where I got all my supplies, I paused, playing a mental tug of war game with myself.

“LINA!” She was angry.  Really angry.  There was nothing I could ever do to appease her; she always wanted more from me.  She was the wrecking ball crashing through one part of my life at a time, always venturing closer and closer to the core of my existence and I just couldn’t find the control panel.

My heart imploded when I reached that car.  It took every ounce of strength I possessed not to let her see all the pain she was causing me.  I couldn’t decide if it would give her anguish or satisfaction, but either way I wasn’t going to give in.  Yes, I had to be strong in front of her, but more importantly, I had to be strong in front of Patrick.  The thought of him knowing how terrible I was, and how much pain I was in was unbearable.  He loved me and looked up to me more than your average younger brother and since I was so much older than him, he wasn’t afraid to admit it.  If he knew, I don’t think he would find a reason in life anymore.  He was only eleven; he had so much to live for.  I couldn’t do this to him.

Eventually, I just stopped listening and brooded within myself about everything she had been saying " how I didn’t care about other people, how I couldn’t go on dismissing her time like it was nothing, how I couldn’t stop, how I couldn’t control anything.

How was I going to get through this day without those blades?

 

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Break time was usually my chill period.  When I stopped having to face my scholastic failures and only had to face my friends.  But not today, not now.  Today I was spending it hijacking x-acto knives from the art room.  I couldn’t comprehend why I had ever thought it was even humanly possible to go without this.  This was what I lived for.  This was my drug, my passion, my coping mechanism.  I had given up on trying to separate it from myself; it was mine and I hadn’t given up on it.  I wanted it back.  There was no escaping it, no getting around it.  I was addicted and I didn’t care.  I couldn’t imagine life without it.

 

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“Yes, Lina?”  It was Mr. Jenkins.

“May I go to the restroom, please?”  He looked at me with this look as if to say ‘you better not do what I think you’re going to do’.

“Yes, be quick,”

I hurriedly dashed down the hallway, burst through the door, and scrambled into the stall.  Leaning against the wall I began, whispering as I went along.

“One for going back to this.  Two for  telling Ashlyn the truth.  Three for agreeing to her plan.  Four for thinking I could ever live without it.  Five for disappointing mom.  Six for not being there for Patrick.  Seven for avoiding your friends.  Eight " ” Someone walked in.

Author's Note

Please see the book note.

Reviews

[Rachel U.]

Firstly, wow. You're one of the first authors who has really captured the essence of this. So many write about it as if they have some sort of degree in psychological studies, and "get it wrong" every time. This by itself is actually a pretty substantial piece of work, well-qualifying to be a short story.
Originally, the switching persons was driving me mad, but the irritating effect began to go away as I went further and further into the story. I look forward to seeing where this is going to go in your next chapters.
*Btw, you have random little quotation marks littered throughout this. Sometimes the Cafe does this if you copy-pasted it in.
Good work. :)

[Comatose]

Wow...this is such a touching story....well done, I really want to hear the ending.