• Chapter One: It began with bad dreams...

    The dream made her sick again. For the past two years, trying to repress it from her mind, it came back in a nightmarish form. Ugly, grotesque images that made her want to puke. She just did. In the girl's bathroom. Behind the stall, she could hear the two girls giggle obnoxiously about her.

    "She's so gross." One of them said.

    "Like her braids," The other mentioned, "I think she's got lunch on them."

    She almost did. However her reflexes were on her side today. It happened after she woke up from falling asleep in 6th hour Bio. For the third time. It was almost the end of seventh hour. By now the class would be reviewing what they learned in class or doing homework. The teacher caught her but did not punish her with a life-changing lecture or an I'll-screw-your-record-with-detention threat; a pass to the guidance counselor and a concerned comment. She was a little grateful yet annoyed; she had wished the teacher would let her be instead. Another reason was that she did not want to leave the classroom with the students going "Ohh!"

    Bang!

    Went her door. More disgusting laughter. They thought it was funny to bang on her door. The noise did scare her but not enough to make her gasp.

    (What do they want?) She wondered, getting really irritated with them. She waited until they finally got bored of harassing her. She wiped her mouth with toilet paper as well as her hands - they were still trembling. When she got up, she felt a little queasy. She wobbled out of the stall, towards the sink. Turned on the faucet to warm and splashed water on her face. (Come on. You have to go through this.) She told herself, rinsing her face a few times. (Who said I wanted to?)

    She lifted her head up towards the mirror and stared at her braids in the partly cracked glass. Hopeless. Many times she had tried a different style, but each look she tried did not suit her. Her light ash brown hair would frizz and become stringier afterwards, so she would braid them and let those badly woven weaves dangle on her shoulders. She glared at her eyebrows. (At least they didn't call me "Bushy Brows" again. Or "Rubberneck." wink

    The bell rang from outside the hallway, Sasha looked at her reflection one more time. She found one thing she loved about it; her stale green eyes - the pair she inherited from her father. The rest, she despises.

    (Better get up there before more people come.) She dried her face with a paper towel and left the bathroom. She hurried to the office while bodies of students flooded the old halls of Bay Port. She wanted to make it first so she wouldn't have to bump into anyone or have them stare at her as she walked among them. She fast-walked down three halls, through the entrance hall, past the trophy case, and up the stairs to the right. Her next obstacle was to pass the secretary. She nervously crept up to the desk and waited until the lady noticed her. "Can I help you?"

    "Uh...I-I..."She started, then hurried through her pocket to take out the note. "I was sent up here to see the guidance counselor..."

    The old lady took her pass and smiled professionally. "Miss Hollister will be with you in a few minutes. In the meantime, you are more than welcome to wait for her in her office."

    Sasha nodded a thank you and walked around the woman to get inside. She took a seat in front of the desk, dropped her binder and textbook on her lap, and carefully sat back. The second bell rang for students to go to eighth hour. She could hear their voices fade in the hallways while she leaned farther back into the dark peach cushion. Sasha wanted to keep slouching but had to sit up straight; she did not want to make a bad impression. (I know that woman is watching.) She glanced from the corner of her eye; she could see the secretary peek her head in and withdraw it quickly as if she has not done so. (I can see you!) Sasha wanted to shout at her, curling her fingers to both her palms. Checking on me like I'm going to burn the school. (As if I can do that.) She mumbled aloud and her nails began to rub on the skin of her palms. The old secretary finally stopped peeking at her when a student came in. Sasha could finally lean backwards in her chair, stretch her legs, and relax her shoulders. ( I think it is because she knows what I've done...well it is her job...) She sighed solemnly while lifting and dropping her feet upon the blue carpet. Next, she slid her toe in and out from the afternoon sunlight coming from the window next to her. Her thoughts prevented her from playing with her feet. (Everybody knows what I've done...)

    Her eyes tried to close. (I want to sleep.) Her head tilted to the side but she fought the urge to rest. (I can't...he might...come...back....) Two years and not one good night sleep. Her nights consisted of rolling and thrashing in her bed, waking up in sweat and covers thrown about. Bags would appear under her eyes. She could feel her nerves shake and her stomach in knots. Some nights were filled with bad dreams and some were dreamless. She preferred the dreamless ones to the nightmares. They made her scream. Twisted images; sickening, sweet smells; uncomfortable; painful. They were so frightening; almost like they were trying to come to life. (I think...I've gone mad... )Sasha knew it was dangerous to admit that, but how else could he explain it?( My dreams are hallucinations...)

    Her hands clenched on to the chair arms, pulling herself up in the seat again so she wouldn't fall off. When Sasha was about to shut her eyes again, her peace and quiet was interrupted by the guidance counselor who closed the door.

    "Good morning. Or should I say good afternoon?" Miss Hollister said, pretending to be funny when really she wasn't. The woman looked like she had just graduated from college; a new teacher whom the school district had hired for her age - close enough to influence the younger generation. She had lots of pins under her sandy blonde bun, a few strands of hair hanging from the side of her lens, and wore double pierced earrings. Hoops were on her lower earlobe, and little onyx crescent moons on her upper ear. Another crescent moon for a necklace, dangling down from her auburn cardigan.

    (You're mocking me, that's what you're doing.) Sasha thought, fully awake and passively angry. She straightened up while Hollister walked behind her desk, took the note out, and placed it on top for her to see.

    "Sasha Rabeneck was caught sleeping for the third time in class," She read aloud, "Please find out why." Crumbled up the paper; threw it in her trash bin. She turned around to her filing cabinet. "Do you know why you are falling asleep in class?" She asked, looking through the alphabet.

    Sasha slowly shook her head no. (Because of my nightmares.)

    "Ah, here it is." She pulled out Sasha's folder from the "R" section, looking through her record to seek out reasons why. "It says here you have no health problems," She pointed out, sounding blasé, "Is there any you wish to mention? Or are you recently medicated?"

    Shakes "no" twice.

    "Are you self-medicated?"

    "No" three times.

    Hollister sighed another "ah-mm" and flips farther through the pages. She mumbled aloud "Behavior issues" then "unwilling to cooperate," and scuffled in agreement. She put the folder down and leaned forward, hands folded. "You ran away from school a lot when you were seven, correct?"

    Sasha hesitantly, half-way nodded "yes." This interested Hollister. "Why?"

    (I was chased away. People in my class hated me. They still hate me.) Sasha started scratching her knees; thin red lines appeared on her skin. She bit the inside of her lower lip until she tasted blood.

    "Well?" Hollister's clear glossy fingernails were tapping impatiently on her desk.

    The girl became deadly silent; she latched her sight onto her own worn, penny loafers. (You're like Megan.) She thought, feeling intimidated. (I don't want to be here.)

    "Look," She heard the chair creak as the woman swung one leg over the other, "I'm trying to help. If this is a way of getting attention, it's not going to work."

    (But I didn't ask for help. I was sent up here to fulfill someone's assumption.)

    "Whatever it is, I promise what you have to say won't leave this room." She prompted.

    (That's a lie. You'll blab about it later in a staff room and call me crazy.)

    "And we have the whole hour to talk."

    (I've been quiet my whole life. Does anyone want to truly listen?)

    "It--It doesn't have about you getting caught in class sleeping. You can talk about something else."

    (What do I have to say to you?)

    "Talk about anything you like! You can talk about your family, your friends--"

    "Can I go?" Sasha asked suddenly. Her question completely threw Hollister off guard, she kept trying to finish what she was about to say. It muted her. Confusion. Greatly offended. Hollister had to gather some composure; it was obvious that she wanted to yell. Instead, she took a long and deep breath.

    "So," She exhaled, "What for?"

    (You said I can talk about anything. And I want to go.)

    Slapped her hands to the desk in frustration, "But, as I said before we have--"

    "It is for homework..." Sasha interrupted her again with a half lie. "I...want to get it done...before I forget."

    The excuse convinced her. She went to her drawer and put a pass on her desk; she wrote down her name and date. "Alright, we'll start over," She said scribbling, "I recommend that you go visit your doctor about your "disruptive" sleeping patterns. And I would like to have your parent/guardian to come as well; I want to hear about you from their story."

    She finished writing and left her seat to hand the papers to Sasha. "I hope next time, you will speak."

    Sasha stuffed it in her pocket and left with her things in hand. She heard Hollister tell her to have a good afternoon, but Sasha ignored it. She knew the adult didn't mean it. In the school office again, the old lady was lecturing two boys who were sent up for fighting during P.E. One was holding an ice pack to his right eye. His lip and nose were bleeding and his gym clothes were dusty. The other sitting next to him was bending forward to the edge of the chair with his bruised knuckles resting on his knees. He would not hide the split on his cheek. "Andy Wold, are you listening?" The woman asked, noticing that she had been wasting her breath. Andy rolled his eyes in the opposite direction, where he caught Sasha walking by. She came close. He lifted his leg to block her way. He smiled, showing his yellow teeth and holes. Sasha dared not to look at his oily, acne-covered face. She remembered it too well.

    "Hey there, Rubberneck." He said, calling her by a familiar name.

    (Andy used to be friends with him before he moved....Like him, he teased me too. Rotten boy.)

    "Is that necessary, Andy?" The adult exclaimed.

    "Yes, it is." He replied, being a smart-alec. The room then was filled with screams and a holler. Sasha climbed over his leg and fled out the door.

    (He should have moved away too.) She thought, hurrying down the stairs. She speed-walked through one hall but had to stop. The Driver's Ed teacher was patrolling for "ditchers" or late students. Sasha took out her pass, in case he came her way. She continued on to her study hall with no trouble. (What difference would that make? I mean, if everyone in my grade moved away, I would have the upper-classmen looking down on me constantly. But they treat me like that right now.)

    She came to study hall. Gave the pass to the teacher who had been glaring at her ever since she came into the room. She sat in the nearest desk at the window, where she could feel the afternoon sun upon her. Sunlight warmed her goose-bumped skin, changing the color to bright yellow. She could smell the burning of fallen October leaves blowing from the window, along with the last warm air from summer reminding her that it would return next year. Outside where she could see the teacher's parking lot, the grass was trying to let go of it's green and rest until winter. Sasha thought it was ironic. (I guess I am not the only one who is having sleeping troubles.) She missed the days where she could fall asleep without worrying about whether or not the nightmares would come. Study hall used to be nap time for her. Now it became her time to doodle or read. Bio homework was impossible to do. She slept almost through class, then spent the last twenty minutes at Hollister's office. She remembered the start but didn't bother to look for the section in her textbook.( I wish I brought Jane Eyre.) She thought as she sat coloring the heart-shaped leaves attached to curvy vines. (That would be more entertaining than drawing.)

    She drew a huge misshapen heart at the end of the vine. (Mom would draw much better than I could. I could barely make a stick figure well. She could draw what she wanted; created scenes no one has ever seen. ) She rested her heavy head next to her picture, while remembering the walks she used to take with her mother. (Mom used to take me on rainy days or on cloudy days, bringing her camera and taking pictures of gloomy or murky areas. When we got home she painted what she captured on her easel, recreating them into a live and breathtaking setting you can only find in a dream...) Her fingers let go of her pencil. (I wish I was there right now...in one of her paintings.) With her mom gone, there were no more paintings to create. What was left were the ones stored in the back of her Aunt's Organic and Oddities Shop; paint crumbling and covered in dust like the originals: dead, unattractive scenes that are not worth capturing. They were meant to be stuffed and repressed in memories until they no longer existed. (I can't continue...) She smeared her hand over the picture and brought her arms up, burying her head within her evergreen sleeves. (I don't know how.)

    Then she felt something graze her wrist; something soft under her palm too. Sasha lifted her head. A small black vine wrapped around her sleeve and formed large petals beneath her fingers. Her doodle was coming to life. In alarm she tried to rip the vine off of her, but as she pulled, the vine came with her still attached. She released the flower. It rapidly grew over her head. Its glossy black petals along with its vines bloomed wildly to the ceiling, opening into a monstrous flower. A Venus fly trap; it smiled hungrily at her and drool was dripping from its splinter-like teeth. Sasha wanted to scream, but the fear in her throat would not allow it. The deadly plants sprung at her neck and shoulder. She thought blood had splattered on her cheeks, but she could tell from the smell it wasn't blood. The small spots were cold, wet, and black. Her whole left side was covered in this shiny, thick goo.

    (Paint?) She tried to wipe it off, but it was plastered to her skin. She felt more hit her eyebrows. Above her, blackness was bleeding through the ceiling tiles. Sasha flinched in horror, realizing the oily stuff was going to flood the room. Forgetting the vine wrapped around her wrist, the force pulled her closer to a bushel. Leaves exploded. More black paint glued to her upper body. The force caused Sasha to stumble from her chair. She did not fall to the floor but rather into a dark pool. Her hands frantically reached for something to grab on to. However, all the furniture was sinking too. The stickiness on her arms slowed her swimming to the door; pulling her down and making it hard to breathe. The fumes were making her choke, her strength was draining, and eventually she gave up. As she sank slowly with only her head was sticking out, there were dark heels standing next to her; belonging to the very person she longed to see.

    (Mom?!) She thought in disbelief. Her mother had died two years ago. The woman standing over her had her gentle oval face, her deepest brown, curly hair that reached to her waist, and the clothes she had been buried in: a dark, green-copper, off-the-shoulder, tiered dress. Almost the same as her eyes.

    "Hello, Sasha." She said, waving at her with a beautiful smile. "How is my baby girl?" She held out her hand.

    Sasha swam to take it, but when her hand took her mom's, it slipped from her fingertips. "Oh," she brought her stained fingertips to her eye level, "That's right....I'm...."

    "Mom, no!" Sasha cried out, struggling to keep her head up. "You are not--You are not--" She could not bear the expression on her mother's face; heartbroken. "Don't say it! Don't think of it!"

    "But hon," Her mother showed her the stains, "It is there, on my dress, on my skin, even inside I am painted black." She suddenly started gagging and spewed out paint. "I...I have to go." She said, covering the smudges around her mouth. "Time for me...to go outside." She placed her hands on her daughter's cheeks and looked dead into her eyes. "You should too."

    In one quick moment, her mother popped like the bushel. More of the color Sasha hated blasted into her face, finally drowning her. She fought to swim to the surface, to call out her mother. Too thick. Too ambiguous. She was being swallowed and she could not get out.

    "MOM, PLEASE HELP ME!" Her voice boomed.

    And very quickly, the final school bell returned her to reality.

    "Sasha?" Her study hall teacher was standing over her, with a few students staying behind to snoop. "Sasha Rabeneck?"

    She abruptly lifted her head, waking up in sweat. "Huh?"

    "While you were asleep," He explained, not sounding too pleased, "Your mumbling kept disturbing your classmates from studying." The classmates giggled.

    (I fell asleep?) Sasha looked back at her doodle. The heart flower had a line accidentally crossed when she had let go of her pencil. (I fell asleep?!) She grew white and felt her very nerves shake. Her fight to stay awake had failed. She'd had a nightmare again, and this time it was not about him. Tears uncontrollably watered. Her chapped lips were trembling to whimper. (I can't believe it! I dreamed of mom in that way?)

    "You're lucky that school hour is over," He continued, "Otherwise, I would have given you detention or...maybe I should explain this to your parents."

    He was about to place his hand on her shoulder, but at the same time a voice louder than her own screamed, "GET OFF OF ME!"

    Sasha flew from her seat, breaking away from the people crowding her. She spilled out to the hallway and tore through it while thousand of stares followed her along; aggressive shouts echoing behind her. (Stop trying to help me. No one cares. All they want to do is laugh at me, like they have always done.) It was as if she could feel their snooty faces crinkle up with cruel amusement pinching her. Their sharp cackles hounded her; trying to poison her with their snickering. She slammed her hands to her ears, shutting out the noise while she ran with her head down and the loose strands of hair barely covering her tear-drenched face. Her nails dug into her scalp, hoping that scratching the noise in her head would stop it. (Shutup-shutup-shutup--SHUT UP!) She did not go after her things in her locker. Instead she ran to find a nearby exit, and that was the school's entrance. The doors had jocks standing around it, observing any living thing that passed like watchful guard dogs. Sasha did not hesitate to run by them. One whistled at her, pretending he was interested in her. A few of his friends joined. They whistle at her and yelled, "What's up?" ending the question with "cutie" or "sexy" as she ran farther outside. In the front school yard, people who stayed to talk or who were waiting for the buses to come, gathered in small groups. They were too distracted in conversation to pay attention to Sasha running. She didn't pay attention either. Her main objective was to cross the walkway and go to the tall, old, iron gate with rusty letters spelling out "Bay Port."

    (I hate this place.) She thought over and over, feet stomping one board after another. (I hate every bit of it.) A weight what seemed on her shoulder was heavy. An aching weight. She had to stop at the end of the walkway to relieve her pain by standing up straight. Almost there. A few more steps until she was safe. (It scares me...)

    "Excuse me!!!"

    A black haired boy, riding a green bike was coming at her. Sasha attempted to get out of the way, but her foot slipped forward. She fell flat onto the pavement, a shoe almost off, and concrete scraping at her knees. He was still coming. She did not have much time. At the last minute, she curled up, ducking her head to the cold ground.