One Foot In The Grave - Part Two

Every day is exactly the same.1

I know that it sounds kind of cliché to put it that way, but it’s the unholy truth. Every class gives basically the same lecture, and anyone with an average IQ and a library card could get through high school. It was fun toying with the new kid for a while; to be honest, he was lucky that Maegan and I were the first ones to pop his cherry, seeing as a lot of the other kids can be a lot crueler. Our ways of torture are much more refined. It’s all mind games, nothing too special, and nothing that could get us in trouble. I’ve already been knocked down a level; I need to keep my nose clean for a while.2

I know this sounds weird, but even after so long, some mornings I’ll wake up and think that I’m still at home. It never lasts long though. You can only tell yourself that the loud shriek of the bell for count is your alarm clock for a certain amount of time. But still, I’ll find myself reaching over to hit the snooze button every once in a while.3

To be honest, I sympathized with the poor kid. I know how hard it is to assimilate to the same droning routine day after day after day. But you get used to it fast. You don’t really have much of a choice. It seems like the more repetitive the routine, the harder it is to wrap your head around. Especially for people like us. We’re here because we lack certain things in our routine; we’re here because we need structure and to work on our behavior… correct it, if you will. 4

It kind of annoys me though. I mean, I’m not trying to be cocky or anything, but it’s hard to have respect for a group of people who you know you are smarter than. Take that bitch Brewer for example; I looked up her files, my IQ is higher than hers. And yeah, I know, your IQ doesn’t mean shit, but come on… we get tested for it for a reason. It says something about us, about what we might grow up to be like and what we have the potential to do. 5

Any psychologist would tell you that I was destined for either prison or the whacko basket from the second I left the birth canal.6

You would think that directly after shooting someone you’d be shaken, or upset or something… I wasn’t. I was more calm and docile than I’d ever been in my life. It quieted something inside of me. I remember EXACTLY how I looked that night after I’d pulled that trigger for the third time. My body was cold, but my face, where most of his blood had hit, it was scorching hot, like someone had held live matches to it. After that, I walked into the bathroom, stripped off my clothes, put the gun on the counter, and, listening to my mother screaming and telling the operator what was going on, turned the shower on as hot as it would go.7

My hair was in a pony tail. It was high up, and if I concentrate hard enough, I can still imagine the pull of the smaller hairs on my head being yanked from my scalp. The water stained pink on the bottom of the tub, moving around my feet and dribbling down the drain soundlessly over the pounding of the water on my head. 8

I stood underneath the water, not washing myself, just standing underneath the water and feeling the heat pummel my skin, turning it red, drying it out and making it peel. It took a solid two hours for the hot water to run out, and I spent every drop of it, just standing there. I kept my eyes closed, feeling the blood wash off of my skin, all of the dirt that seemed to have accumulated there over the years seeping through my pores in a slow and grungy sludge. 9

By the time I’d gotten out of the shower, the ambulance had taken my father to the hospital, stopped the bleeding, gotten him somewhat stable and had tucked him away safely in the Intensive Care Unit.10

The police were waiting outside the bathroom door. They let me get dressed, read me my rights, and took me away in the squad car. 11

“Tegan?” I jumped and looked over; Maegan was waving her hand in front of my face. When I looked over at her, her eyebrows were furrowed in irritation.12

“Yeah? Sorry… tripping down memory lane,” I muttered and ran a hand through my hair, wishing they would give me a scrunchy to pull it up with. 13

The corner of Maegan’s lips twitched and a grin opened up across her face, “Nothing… you just did this weird… you were a million miles away.”14

I shrugged, stretching my arms out in front of me. “I pretty much was. I’m not gonna lie.”15

“So what do you think of the new guy?”16

Again, I shrugged, “He’s new. There’s nothing else to say. He’s shacked up with Conor and we’ll be seeing him every day until either he or we get out. That’s about it.”17

Maegan was quiet for a moment before taking in a fast breath, “Girly, did they change your medication?”18

I snorted and then laughed, “No, they didn’t change my medication. I’m just cranky because they don’t know how to turn up the fucking HEAT!”19

The guard closest to me shot me a warning look and I crossed my arms tightly, setting my jaw. “Count to ten, McFarland.” 20

Rolling my eyes, I slouched back, letting out a small sighed, curling up into myself in a vain attempt to conserve body heat. “How was individual?”21

Maegan snorted, “Well, she asked me how the SSRIs were working, I lied, we talked a little bit more and then she sent me off. When’s your next appointment?” I asked her what time it was. “Almost five.” 22

“Then tomorrow morning, after anger management, I think.” I shrugged, “I never keep track, someone always has to come and get me. I don’t really care enough about it to make sure I’m on time or anything.”23

I glanced over, seeing Conor staring at us again, but didn’t say anything. I just dug my nails a little deeper into my skin and let my eyes close, making sure to breathe deeply through my nose and out through my mouth. “I would literally kill for a cigarette, a shot of vodka, and a nice, warm bath right now.”24