Counting Down with You(107)
That’s how I spend the next two periods. Sitting in the nurse’s office trying to stave off an anxiety attack while she asks if she should call my parents.
It means I miss English class. My phone is buzzing in my pocket, but I ignore it. I don’t have an answer for anyone right now.
I leave the nurse’s office during lunch, mostly because if I stay any longer, I’m afraid the nurse really will call home, and that’s the last thing I want.
For lunch, I sit on my own again, finding an abandoned stairway. I stare out a window and wait.
I wait for something to spark to life in my mind—some solution that can fix all this and get rid of the horrible pain infecting my heart.
Nothing comes.
Instead, after ten minutes of simply sitting there, I reach into my backpack and grab my journal, flipping through the pages for something to grasp on to.
if a whisper is all I have left of you
then I will never make a noise
I will live in silence
if it means your voice will sing in my ears
I turn the page.
never did I know a heart can ache
for a soul it cannot see
yet when an arrow slices me open
blood pours from my veins in the form of you
I turn the page.
the world swore to me
you would always return
this is the promise that echoes
in the abyss of my head
when I cannot find relief
It’s funny in retrospect. All these poems are a product of watching too many TV shows and reading too many books, sympathizing with characters to the point that they inspired words from me. Only recently was I able to put my own story on the page. But none of those poems fit right now.
I reach for a pen and force myself to think past the ringing in my ears, the heartbeat thudding too hard in my chest. My hands shake as I write in messy loops of cursive.
I’m drowning out of water, I’m burning out of fire
I was young and I was bold, I am different, I am cold
my heart no longer beats in tune to the universe
kept under lock and key, every step is a luxury
the ghost of my future haunts me at every turn
I miss the stars that used to live in my eyes
no longer do I dance under the moon
my knuckles are bruised and bloody from fighting
from surviving a battle I was destined to lose
a knife dangles over my head, on the precipice
I am h u n g r y
but I am scared of wanting ever again
—death is desire, k.m.a.
Desire certainly feels like death. Why would anyone want anything if it means risking this feeling when it doesn’t work out?
I don’t have the answer.
When the bell rings again, I contemplate just sitting here and letting what happens happen. But again, the fear of my parents being called spurs me into action, and I head for APUSH with my shoulders slumped.
I’m almost there when I see a familiar figure across the hallway. My eyes lock with Ace’s, and his expression breaks with relief. “Karina, there you are. I’ve been looking for—”
No, no, no.
I can’t do this.
I can’t look Ace in the eye and tell him I tried and it wasn’t enough. I can’t do it.
I can’t relive that moment again.
“I’m sorry.” I look away, hurrying inside my classroom, where he can’t follow.
“Karina!” Ace calls after me. I can’t see his face, but he sounds distraught.
I swallow roughly but don’t look back. I don’t have the strength to face him. I don’t have the strength to face anyone.
Even after everything, I still want to be with Ace. That’s the one thing I’m certain of. But I can’t right now. I need time to sew up the gaping wound in my chest, to find a way to grapple with the future I’ve lost.
By the time Italian rolls around, I have no choice but to see Cora and Nandini.
They’re waiting for me outside the classroom. As soon as I see them, my hearts starts racing impossibly fast. I don’t want to explain. I don’t want to do anything.
“Karina,” Nandini says, reaching for me and pulling me into her arms. I comply, mostly because I don’t want to make an even bigger scene. “What’s going on?”
I shake my head and take a shaky breath, my nose buried in her neck. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. “Please don’t make me talk about it.”
“Was it—was it Ace?” Cora asks in concern, wrapping her arms around both of us, maneuvering us into a three-way hug. “Do I have to kill him? He seemed worried but that doesn’t mean anything. I can sharpen my knives within the hour.”
I wish I could smile. I wish I had the energy.
“It was my parents,” I say, and that’s as much of an explanation as I’m willing to offer. “I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”
“Oh, sweetie,” Cora says and hugs me even tighter.
The bell rings and we huddle through the door, pulling apart. They’re both watching me in worry, and I love them for it, even if I’m not in the headspace to react properly.
“If you need anything, we’re here,” Nandini says in a hushed voice, squeezing my hand. “Anything at all. We love you.”
“Anything,” Cora agrees, squeezing my other hand.
I nod and look away. “Thank you.”
Class passes by in a blur. Nandini and Cora keep shooting me looks—I can feel them—but I don’t look back. I can’t.