FicWad

They say that dedication takes a lifetime, I guess those people don’t know exactly what goes into a lifetime, or just how long, or even short, it can be.
My mother always thought that my taste in music, clothes, and boys was a phase, that my whole childhood was a phase, I guess she thought I was going through nothing but a phase. It was her way of making herself feel better about everything. I couldn’t even begin to tell you how wrong about me she was, or how wrong about me she usually is.
The only person who really understood me, or anything to do with me, was my best friend. Well, she used to be my best friend. We shared everything, we liked the same things and we both had a passion for music. You could even go so far as to say that we were obsessed with music. We could sum up a day, a feeling, a moment, anything with music. We used music to talk to each other when our words failed.
I say she was my best friend because it implies that she isn’t anymore. I wish she was, but she can’t be, at least not from where she is. She died two weeks, 3 days and 5 hours ago. I know that counting seems pathetic, but that is how long it has been since I saw her last, since I spoke to her. It had been that long since I had found out.
We were inseparable, we told each other everything. It wasn’t news to me that she suffered from depression, or that she used self harm as a way to deal with her problems. We both had our fair share of problems, but she had never talked to me about suicide before. Neither of us had ever been down that road, and as far as I knew, we weren’t going to. There didn’t seem to be any signs that things were that bad. She had left me a note, but so far I couldn’t read it, I didn’t have the guts to.
So far for me, living was hard without her. It was suddenly like I had lost a limb, a very important limb.
I hadn’t been to school since; I couldn’t face it without her. She was the only person that made it kind of bearable. Not many teenagers like school and I was definitely one of the majority there, except, I didn’t like school for the people, not the classes. In fact, I loved my classes.
The people at school were a different story; they were all people with money, or people who knew people with money. To get into the school you had to have some form of connections. We did, my uncle personally called the school to get me a position, he was also paying my tuition, much to the disdain of my mother. She didn’t object to it though, she knew it was better than any form of schooling she could provide for me.
My uncle was determined for me to go to this school, this snobbish school full of money, he wanted me to go there because it would be the best education I would ever get, and because it had a strong arts program, something he knew I loved. He also knew it was the best start to any life money could buy, or so everyone says.
My uncle was one of the few other people that understood me, or at the very least let me be myself and didn’t try to force me to be something I’m not. My mother was in no way impressed with anything I did, the way I dressed, the music I liked or the subjects I took. She didn’t want me to be an artist or a musician, no, that lifestyle wasn’t good enough, she wanted me to be a doctor, or a lawyer, something that would give me money and a status. Both of the things I didn’t want. She only wanted them for me so I could provide her with the lifestyle she was so willing to become accustomed to, an easy life where money was disposable and drugs were an easy find.
I would be quite content to go through life completely unnoticed, at this very moment I wanted to disappear off the face of the planet.
“Beth?” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door. I rolled over in my bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. “Bethany?”
The door opened, I didn’t look up to see who it was. I just wanted to be alone; it had been all I wanted since she died.
“Hey Kid” said the person sitting on the end of my bed, it was my uncle. I rarely got to see him because his business took him all over the world and kept him busy. He had no children, and I don’t think had any intention of having any, I guess that is why he paid so much attention to me. I was his legacy.
I didn’t bother replying, but I sat up to look at him. He was well dressed, a black suit, he probably came straight from a meeting. His hair was slightly dishevelled, like always. He had that ruggedly handsome thing down.
“I’m sorry about Elena” he said, his hand wiping the hair out of my face. Her name was like a punch to the stomach, all the air felt like it had been knocked from my body. I hadn’t spoken, or heard it in so long. It was painful to hear.
“I heard you’ve stopped going to school” he continued, breaking the silence that hung in the air. “I know it’s painful Beth, but you have to keep going. She may be gone but your life hasn’t and won’t stop.” I looked at him like he had grown an extra head. I opened my mouth to retaliate, but he cut me off. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and I’m sorry to have to be the one to put my foot down. I pay for your schooling, and it is my pleasure to do it, but I want you to go back. Your education is not something I want you to throw away. If you want to talk to someone about all this you know my number, and if you don’t want to talk to me I am happy to pay for you to see, talk to or be around people you do want to. Going back to school is a non negotiable, you’ve been away for long enough.”

“It’s not the same without her” I said softly.

“It never will be, but sitting here in your room is not going to change anything and it sure as hell is not going to bring her back” he replied. “Do you think she would want you to be living like this without her?”

“That’s not a fair question to ask” I muttered.

“But I asked it. Think about it Beth. I want to hear that you are back in school at the very least. I might not be around very often, but I do know what is going on” he replied. “I’ve got to go I have a plane to Italy to get on, but I wanted to come and see you before I left. I needed to make sure that you weren’t going insane and that you were still at least breathing.”

“Thanks” I whispered.

“Someone has to look out for you” he smiled, his hand resting on my shoulder. “I’ll be back in a few weeks; I’ll make sure to track you down.”

“Okay” I nodded. As quickly as he came he was gone, leaving behind the faint smell of his cologne.
As much as I didn’t really want to admit it, he was right. I was wasting my time here. Sure, I was sad and upset, but life did go on, as painful as a life seemed without her. She’d kill me if she knew I was wallowing in my own self pity.
I rolled back over in my bed and closed my eyes, welcoming the darkness, letting it engulf me.
Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide,
No escape from reality.
I played songs over and over in my head, trying to pretend that this wasn’t my life, this wasn’t happening to me. One day I would wake up, one day I’d walk away.
People would think that I lived a charmed life, I had a seemingly loving family, I went to a rich school, I had an uncle that was willing to foot any bills. My life wasn’t the fairytale people believed it to be.
I was a social outcast because in a school full of rich kids I was a middle class art student, I had an alternative taste in music, my best friend was dead and on top of that my family was nothing near perfect. In fact, my mother and I barely ever spoke, mainly because when we did we argued. She wanted me to be something I wasn’t and refused to acknowledge me for what I wanted to be. I guess that is why my uncle and I were so close, he was both the father and mother I wished I had.
My father was a whole other topic in himself, a dead beat drug addict who skipped out and re-appeared when he needed something, always claiming that he was trying to change. My mother, being the glutton for punishment always accepted him.
I guess it really was lucky that I was an only child. It meant that no one else had to suffer through this hell.
When I was younger I used to wish that my uncle would come and whisk me away, take me to all the exotic places he visited, I wished that he would adopt me. As I grew up I grew out of this fantasy.
Spend all your time waiting
For that second chance
For a break that would make it okay
There’s always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it’s hard at the end of the day
With my eyes closed I reached under my pillow and pulled out a worn envelope. It was her letter to me, the last words she wanted me to have, from her. It was worn because I had spent many nights running my hands over it, wanting to open it, but being too scared.
In the darkness I ran my hands over the worn edges, feeling them curve under my fingers. I wanted to read it, but the fear of what she wanted to say kept me from opening it. The fear of what she said and what she didn’t say the sadness of her being dead, the reality that she was gone, gone and never coming back.
Reading it would make it final, reading it would make it real. I didn’t want it to be real. I so desperately wanted this all to be a dream; I wanted to wake up tomorrow and find her in my room, flipping through my CD’s like always, or she’d be on the floor in the corner, her head stuck in a book because she couldn’t sleep. No matter how much I wanted it, life would never go back to what it used to be.
I let the darkness claim me, letting my mind wander as sleep took me over.

**

Dressing for school consisted of throwing on whatever clothing I could find first. On many occasions I had been tempted to wear my pyjamas to school, but knew that it would put me on even worse terms with the teachers. Sometimes I wondered if the only reason they tolerated me was because of my uncle and his huge fat wallet.
School would seem like a safe place for many teenagers, for me, the only place in the whole building that felt safe was the art room. The rest of the school felt like a prison, which I guess would only feel worse without her by my side.
I had decided that if I felt like it was getting too much I would just go home, but in order to try to make my uncle happy, I would go and at least try to continue my education. He at the very least deserved me to try for him.
Walking through the familiar doors didn’t at all feel the same. The halls felt empty and my stomach was in knots. I had never felt this way in my life, in a school full of thousands of students I felt so very alone. Life without her was never going to be easy.

*

The mere thought of being away on a school based trip was not something that at all appealed to me. The fact that it would indeed be a camping trip didn’t give it any more credit. I could think of nothing worse than forcefully being made to bond with my fellow classmates while performing mindless exercises.
“Sir you know that no matter how many so called bonding year level retreats will not make me any more or less popular than I already am. You and I both know that my attendance would be an utter waste of time. I should think spending that time more wisely, like here in school, catching up on the work that I missed, would be a more productive and satisfactory use of my time” I reasoned with my co-ordinator. He was a middle aged, slightly overweight, balding Catholic Priest, it would seem that no matter how unpopular the Catholic church seemed to get, Priests did, in fact, still exist.
“Bethany, you’ve tried this a thousand times. Year level retreats are a compulsory part of the school curriculum, and you must attend them unless it is physically or emotionally unreasonable for you to do so” he sighed sitting himself in his old leather chair.

“But sir, it is unreasonable for me to attend” I protested.

“I’m afraid that being unpopular is not a valid reason Bethany” he replied pulling his reading glasses onto his the end of his nose. “I know that this will not be a pleasant activity for you, and therefore me, but I am afraid you must attend. I can’t bend the rules for you.”

“I think it is cruel for you to make me go” I sighed.

“Bethany you think that everything I do to you is cruel” he replied. “I won’t hear another argument about this, you are attending this retreat. I know the few friends you do have will be more than happy to see you there, and it will mean that when the end of the year comes, as it swiftly tends to do, I can pass you without any hesitations.”
I knew he would play the graduation card, when he had nothing left it was the card he played. It always worked too; graduation was my only way out of this hell hole. I would never be expelled, my uncle gave the school too much money, and he was too powerful for anyone on the board to even think about messing with me.

“I’m not playing any of those stupid games” I huffed.

“Now that was a battle I was hoping to leave up to someone else, but, I will not force you to participate in every activity. I will make you do whatever I see fit, but you will be excused from activities which I know will not suit you” he replied knowingly. It was as if we had somewhat reached a compromise, only he was the one that got everything he wanted and I got to keep my life vest so I didn’t drown.
I turned and walked out of his office, stopping to pick up my bag. The student reception room was fairly empty; people only came here when they were in trouble, or if they were in need of seeing the counsellor for any reason. It was a rather uncool place to be seen, and for this very reason it was a place I found myself very often.

“You forgot something” came a voice from behind me, I spun in my spot, had I moved any faster I think I would have suffered whiplash. I was surprised that someone else was close enough to me that I could hear them, when I had entered the room there seemed to only be one other person in the far corner.
The source of the startling noise was a boy, a boy I knew of rather well. He picked up my I-Pod, so carelessly left discarded on the seat. I held out my hand to accept the object we both knew belonged to me. He turned it over in his hands to see what music I was listening to, at least that is what I assumed he was doing seeing as there could be no other possible explanation.
“Debussy?” he asked me.

“Clair de Lune” I nodded, taking the device from his hands having given up on waiting for him to return it to me. “It’s my favourite” I added, my eyes seemed to be fixed to the floor.

“I didn’t take you for the classical type” he said with a knowing smirk on his face.

“Tristan?” the voice of the secretary interrupted us. “The father will see you now.”

“That’s funny” I snapped, sarcasm dripping from each word, my defences snapping into action. “I didn’t take you for the religious type.” I put my headphones in my ears and walked away from him without as much as a backward glance. He was one of the reasons I so very much hated this school.
Tristan Huntsberger, as if the name itself were not enough, his family’s money and his choice in friends made it even more impossible to like him. If my life were a teenage drama he would play the popular rich kid who has everything and whose friends made my life a living hell. As if he wasn’t annoying enough, he just so happened to be brilliant at everything, a straight A student, a star athlete and a given to get into any Ivy League college of his choice. I’m guessing his father had already hand picked his college, I’m sure he was so much as accepted, they had probably even picked out a dorm room for him.
My meeting with the Father had gone quicker than I expected, so I found myself with some extra time on my hands. Classes were still going, which meant that no matter where I went it was sure to be quiet.
Whenever I found myself with ‘free time’ I usually went to one of three places, the art room, the music school, or the roof. The art room and music school were places I went when I needed to study, vent, or just get out whatever emotion it was that was eating me alive, the roof was where I went if I needed to think. These days I spend most of my time on the roof, ironically though, trying not to think.
Whenever anyone needed to find me, or anyone that I would let find me, they knew to look in these places. As of late I had been a bit distant from the few friends I had. They seemed to understand though. They let me be, they had other each other and their own things to deal with.
The thing about this school that gets to me the most is its beauty, for something that can be so horrible it sure is beautiful. The old stone buildings, oak trees, paved paths, green grass, stained glass windows; it was something from a fairytale.
Our spot on the roof overlooked the main oval of the school, surrounded by tall oak trees with the administration building looming in the back ground. From up there you could see almost everything, but no one could really see you.

*

If there was anything more that I hated in the world than school, it was a school based trip. It wasn’t enough that my life was reduced to being ridiculed by rich teenagers everyday at school, confined by the classroom walls, no, they had to make me attend these stupid camps and retreats where it was made more apparent that I was an outsider.
These stupid events always made it easy for people to point out exactly how few friends I had, or exactly how different I was. It also made it hard to get away; hard to get time to myself, because every second had to be documented by someone going by the guise of “supervisor”.
Today was my lucky day, the ‘group’ of students and teachers were going off for a day of hiking and rock climbing. None of the teachers here were stupid enough to even think that I would participate, let alone co-operate. They had given me the luxury of being able to stay at the camp and pursue other recreational activities. I guess they figured I deserved a ‘treat’ seeing as I had been behaving myself. Sure, I wasn’t enjoying myself, but I wasn’t being difficult either, I at least was partaking in the majority of stupid activities and pretending that I was happy and carefree.
I can’t lie, I did manage to have a few minutes of fun with Lilly and Martha, the only other friends I had in the entire world. We did the usual school girl camp things, roasted marshmallows, took pictures, stayed up all night, and got dirty. Today I didn’t really want to partake in the camp cheer, I needed a break.
I watched as they walked off into the distance, climbing onto the small bus that would shuttle them to the beginning of their stupid hike. Martha and Lilly waved to me once before disappearing into the bus, smiling and talking happily with each other. At least they had each other.
“I guess you’re stuck with me for the day then” he shrugged as the bus drove away, taking our classmates on what was sure to be a ‘fun filled adventure’. I couldn’t really see his face, the sun was blinding me, but I didn’t really care to know who it was. I just wanted to be alone.

“I think you’re stuck with yourself” I replied, “I’m doing my art assignment.” I was doing something for art, but it wasn’t really an assignment, it was more of an extra task from the art teacher. She was one of those few people that knew me well, and she knew that I wouldn’t be participating in the rock climbing, the bush walking or any of the mundane activities provided, so she set me her own task. I was to draw three landscapes, and then two animals, the tricky part was that they all had to be part of an interconnecting story. For example, I could draw the campsite, the lake, and the mountains, a butterfly and a possum. The possum would routinely steal food from the campsite and drink from the lake, the tree it called home was on the mountain and the butterfly was its best friend, well something to that effect anyway.

“Is the idea of spending the day with me really that horrible?” he asked, a small smile thick in his voice.

“Yes” I replied. “It really is.”

“Why?” he pressed, the smile a little more prominent. He seemed to be getting a kick out of this torment. “You barely even know me.” I turned to look at him, only to have my stomach drop and my temper flair.

“Because we have absolutely nothing in common, you hang out with assholes, you enjoy sports and I don’t like you or any person like you” I replied picking up my bag.

“You don’t know me” he repeated taking the bag off me, a chuckle coating his comment.

“What’s there to know?” I asked. “You play sports, you’re a straight A student, you’re father is a top notch lawyer, you’re an only child, you’re mother is a full-time stay at home mum, you have a dog you take for a run every night, you’ve applied for all of the ivy league colleges, Harvard first because it is where your dad went, and you don’t date because it ‘get’s in the way of your sport’. Was that an accurate guess?”

“Leave out the dating and the dog part and you’re halfway” he smiled at me. “I don’t have a dog because my mother is allergic, my mother is actually a writer, my dad went to Yale, and I have an older sister.”

“How wonderful” I replied, sarcasm dripping from each word. I wasn’t actually fishing for his life story; I more just wanted him to go away. “I hate to interrupt the bonding and getting to know each other. Can I please have my bag back? I have things to do.”

“Well, Beth, I can’t give it to you because that would mean that you wouldn’t take me where ever you were going, and I so desperately want to come.” His smile was faultless. “Besides, I’d prefer to be verbally barraged by you all day then sit here alone and bored, or worse.”

“That might make more sense in theory” I said attempting to grab my bag off him, “but in practise it might not go so well.”

“Why is that?” he asked, his confident smile returning.

“Because on what planet is it exactly that we would get along?” I asked. “Since when has someone like you ever wanted to ‘hang out’ with someone like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, now even more amused than before. “There is no law that stipulates who can hang out with who”.

“Oh spare me the questions, and don’t make me point out the differences between us, you know exactly what they are” I replied, my eyes narrowing at him.

“What if I don’t care about all of that?” he asked. “What if I was the cliché popular high school kid, completely at a loss to who he really is and looking for a real friend?”

“Then I would say that you’re lying. What do you expect? We spend the day together, have deep and meaningful conversations and then tomorrow pretend it never happened?” I asked. “I seriously think you should stop pretending that the world is perfect and that I am about to let you screw me over.”

“What makes you think I am out to get you?” he asked me sincerely confused.

“Because what else could you possibly want from me?” I asked, abandoning my bag and beginning to walk away. “What else is it that I could possibly offer you? It’s not like I am someone you would usually hang out with. I am not even someone who could possibly begin to fullfill any of your little fantasies. So really, there is nothing else that it could be.”

“What does it matter if you are or aren’t?” he asked. “You barely even know me, so you don’t know who I’d usually even associate with?”

“What is it that you want from me?” I asked him again, completely tired of playing his games.
“Do you want me to say that the life you lead is fine, it’s okay, I give you my approval. I get it; you just want to use me to make your life seem better. Or you want to hear out all my little pathetic stories so you can laugh about it with your friends?”

“What makes you think I am that type of person?” he asked me, falling into step beside me, my bag firmly secured on his shoulder. “I promise you Beth, I am not out to get you. I simply just want a friend, especially today.”
I didn’t bother replying, I had no words for him. My mind was about to explode from the obscurity of this entire situation and the warning sirens that were going along with it. Instead of putting my foot down and making him leave, I just let it be. I ignored everything going on in my head and just let it all be. I starting taking note of what was around us as we walked, looking for something that would come close to what I felt like drawing, even something to take pictures of to draw later, it didn’t matter. I just needed something to be distracted by.
“So why aren’t you going rock climbing today?” he asked, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen over us.

“Do I look like I’d want to be rock climbing with a bunch of people who hate me?” I asked him in return. “Someone might get a brilliant idea and cut the cord or something.”

“No one would do that” he replied, “besides, I doubt people actually hate you”.

“Why aren’t you partaking in the group festivities today?” I asked him, jumping from the topic of me. “After all, you are the sporting type, or so you pretend.”

“I have to rest my shoulder, doctor’s orders” he replied. “So that means no real ‘challenging’ physical activity.”

“How unfortunate” I replied in mock sympathy.

“So you don’t like sport” he laughed. “I get it.”

“No, sport does not like me” I replied. “Co-ordination does not like me.” I stopped dead in my tracks and turned to face him.

“What?” he asked me after a few moments of silence.

“Can I have my bag?” I asked him in return. “I want my camera.”

“You’re ridiculous” he laughed.

“Get used to it” I snapped, snatching the bag out of his outstretched hand. “You’re the one who wants to ‘spend the day with me’” I mumbled, digging in my bag for my camera.
We spent the rest of the day walking around taking random pictures, and drawing. He managed to get his hands on some of my art supplies to pretend to draw things. He even managed to steal my camera for some of the day. I started out being protective over everything, but it didn’t matter in the end, if it kept him busy and not talking then I managed to make myself okay with it.

*

“So how was the camp?” asked my art teacher. She was slightly eccentric, a complete oddball and nothing like any other teacher I had ever had in the past. She was everything that this school was not, and everything that I loved. She was one of my good friends, not a best friend like two teenagers, more of a good mentor and friend whenever I needed someone to talk to. She was like the female version of my uncle, only he wore suits for a living and she destroyed them. I guess in many ways she was like the mother I never had.

“It was horrible” I replied slumping into my chair.

“Oh come on, forced physical activity and conformity. What’s there not to love?” she laughed to herself.
“Just think my dear, soon you and your talent will be out of these school halls and living a life” she added, placing paint covered hands on my face. It felt like something a grandmother would do, but I chose not to comment on her breach of my personal space. “And you won’t have to worry about any of these silly graduating class rituals.”

“It can’t come quick enough” I mumbled to myself.

“You know people would kill to have their high school years back right?” she asked, moving back to the front of the room where the class lesson plan was written. It was written in vain, we probably wouldn’t follow it.

“They need to be committed” I replied pulling out my books. As if on cue the bell rang, and a small number of students started to file into the room.
I also pulled out my i-Pod; this was the one class where I could get away with being anti social and playing music as I worked. I was never told off and never asked to put it away. It was deemed part of my creative process.
Art was, of course, my favourite class, and it showed. It was the class I put all my effort into, followed closely by English. The school demanded that I take both a maths and science subject, it was to ‘even out’ my timetable and college choices. Like I could care about what college I went to. The only other person in my family to have gone to college was my uncle, and he went to a community college and turned out better than anyone I know that went to an ‘Ivy League’ college. I probably didn’t have a hope of getting into one anyway. Of course I am sure because of my uncle’s influence any decision made by them could be swayed, much like my high-school acceptance was.
I figure as long as I can make a living off my camera, and some of my art work, I’ll be fine.
Maybe I was being completely delusional, thinking that I could do what so many other artists fail to do, but I had to at least try it. I was not going to live off someone else’s money for the entirety of my life. The charity handouts would stop the day I turned 18, I was determined for them to stop, with or without my uncle’s approval.

“Today I want you to continue working on your final projects, remember they have to be submitted on time at the end of the semester, and they have to consist of at least four separate pieces, connected by one common theme...” I drowned out her voice. I had heard this at least once a week. I knew what my art project was, I knew the guidelines and I knew when it was due. My problem was I didn’t know what to choose as a theme. I was struggling to make everything in my head into a concept.
I still had time though, the end of the semester was not too far away, but my project was still completely do-able. It wasn’t like I wasted my time in this class either; I did plenty of work, from sketches to paintings. I just hadn’t thought of a way of pulling it together yet.
I decided today was the day I developed my photo’s from camp. I needed the pictures of the landscape and the pictures to give to Martha. The girl was an all out nerd; her timetable was packed the seams with math and science subjects. To make sure she gave herself time to be creative she was a full on scrapbook freak. She demanded pictures and keepsakes from everything we did, it was crazy. She collected movie ticket stubs, ribbons, pictures, anything that had any remnant of the event attached to it. I figured to save the nagging I would just develope them today, it wouldn’t take too long, and I would be alone in the dark room.
The development process was like a second nature to me these days. I knew the chemical process for everything off the top of my head, there was no need to read instructions, I had it memorized.
First we developed the film in the developer solution, then the stop bath, then the fixer. Simple, easy, and all the notes and instructions around the dark room would make you think that it was fool proof. If I ever got in trouble I had Louisa, my art teacher, there to help me.
She had insisted that we call her Louisa from the very first lesson I ever had with her. I guess being called ‘Professor’ made her feel old or something. Calling her by her first name felt more personal anyway.
All up I had three rolls of film from the camp. They didn’t take too long to develope, while one was in the developer I would examine the first roll I developed, picking and choosing the pictures I would print, checking those that were out of focus and making notes.
By the end of the lesson I had developed plenty of pictures for Martha, leaving them to dry while I continued on in other classes. At least I had the comfort of the ritual of school to numb me from everything else that was going on around me.



A/N-So that is chapter one of a story I have been working on for a while. I had posted the beginnings of it once, but I don't think many people read it. Comments and reviews are welcome.
Chapter two will hopefully be coming very soon. I'm only just starting to write again, so here's hoping! :)
-xo