Geography class, located in the R corridor, is always awkward at the start. Since my form is so close, I’m always the first (I vehemently despise doing the so-called laps around the school). Today is no exception.

I slowly creak the door open and find the teacher, Mr Walker, sitting at his desk in the far corner, looking like he just suffered a messy divorce at his laptop.

“Amaya, come in,” he says, recognising me without looking up.

“Good morning, sir.” If I act all good with no one here, I should be able to charm my way from a stern talking to. Slipping into my seat in the farthest possible corner from his desk, I wait.

And wait.

And wait.

It gives me time to think.

Stop it.

I need to forget.

I need to-

“Oi, ginger.” I hear a voice call from strangely close.

Snapping out from my trance, I can see Meharab lumbering over me, another student executive, but one who actually messes around with me.

“Shut the fuck up, tulla.” The disrespect, I’m not even a proper ginger. Being the only brown-haired person in the year is a bit jarring to some.

He sits next to me, and I swear to god I can hear the fucking chair creak under his weight.

“So, have you started preparing for mocks?”, he asks.

“Nah, I don’t revise and I usually get passing marks.”

“You’re not gonna revise, at all?”

I look at him dead in the eyes.

“No.”

On cue, half the class decides to walk in all at once. I swear they organise this shit to mess with Mr Walker. Bit too well organised for Hattersways students, if I’m honest.

“Some fucking twit threw a stink bomb in the corridors. Again.” says Humera, while taking a seat on the table of idiots. “If I catch them doing that shit again I ain’t gonna be letting them go without the packets shoved into their fucking ass.”

“Bit violent for some smell?” replies Maaz, also taking his seat.

“Nah, perfectly justified.” Ariq adds, while getting seated. Why the fuck are they all sitting down in order of talking?

“See, he gets me! I’m tired of them making me breathe through my mouth whenever they please,” says Humera.

“If we could kill people we didn’t like, life would be easier.” interjects Zackariya, filling in the final empty seat on the table.

“I don't think the response is appropriate for the crime,” I say. These people are genuinely insane… But that's why I’m friends with them!

“Guys. We could always just use chloroform to slowly incapacitate the person, then tie them up and hang them on the signs on the M1.” Meharab decides to say.

Fucking mental, I tell you.

I let them continue arguing about the most appropriate punishment for the perpetrator, and look around the classroom.

There’s a gaggle of girls in the corner, obviously “hiding” a phone. The shitty drama that goes on is mind-numbingly dull.

“How do Zainab’s lot know then, too?”

“Maliha told them, practically everyone knows now.”

“Didn’t Maliha tell you everyone knows in science?”

“If the times match up, then it wasn’t Maliha.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Alright, maybe I get caught up sometimes. Usually, it's boring shit though, like someone walking out of class because they were on their period, or someone being seen hanging out with a boy slightly more often than usual.

Then, on the table next to us, a group of boys are arguing about the latest Premier League drama.

“You’re tapped bruv, Arsenal is shit. Nottm smoked them.”

“Shut up, at least I don't support Chelsea. 4-1 are you dumb?”

I’m suddenly glad that I don’t watch the league.

“Lutons gonna get promoted watch.”

“No it isn’t, they’re too shit.”

“Pepple is a cracked forward obviously they are.”

I don’t even know what they’re talking about anymore.

There’s a knocking at the door, but in the chaos, Mr Walker doesn’t hear shit.

Ah well, I guess I’ll do it myself.

Pushing myself off my seat, I walk over and open the door, to find the safeguarding lead, Ms Maryam, standing there.

Well, fuck.

“Amaya, how convenient!” she exclaims. “Someone is here to see you over in G1.”

G1 is never fucking good. Never.

As I walk out the classroom, I can hear people commenting on my departure.

“Bust a few laps while you’re at it!”

“She’s busting something, but not a few laps.”

Twats.

I keep walking with a sense of dread in my stomach, the empty corridors seemingly wider than before. I’ll be fine, right? They can’t do anything to me. They won’t make me go back. Will they?

No.

I won't let them.

Not again.

I follow Ms Maryam all the way around the school to G1. The safeguarding room. My knees feel weak, my vision blurry.

There has to be a way out of this.

As I force myself in, the woody smell of the room floods into my nose. We walk past the meeting table into a private, soundproof room. She slowly opens the door, only for the face I never wanted to see again, right there.

“Hi, Aya! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” she says, too fucking cheerfully. The lanyard on her chest confirms what I want least. CAMHs.

“Y-yeah.” I barely choke out. If I could be consumed by the earth, now would be a great time. My chest tightens as I sit on the black sofa.

“I don’t want to waste too much of your time, so I’ll get to the point.” She leans in closer. “Has everything been alright since what happened last year?”

“Yep, 100%.” I manage to blurt out in the most stable voice I can project.

“That's good. You’re doing surprisingly well for, well, what happened.”

What happened.

What happened?

Everything is black.

I’m fucking tired.

I can’t get up. I’m telling myself, “Get the fuck up, you have work to do, don’t be a useless slag for another day.” It doesn’t help. I can’t get up. I won’t. The dirty shirts and underwear on my bed stick to my arms as I roll around. Get up. Get up. Get up. It tastes bitter, repeating those words. Why do I bother? What's the point of this? Why do I try? I don’t know. I should be dead. Gone. Erased. Into the abyss that people call the afterlife.

Fuck it.

The thoughts of the past rush back into my head. Thoughts of school. Thoughts of me. Thoughts of them.

GET THE FUCK OUT GET THE FUCK OUT GET THE FUCK OUT GET THE FUCK OUT GET THE FUCK OUT GET THE FUCK OUT GET THE FUCK OUT

I’m out of my bed. My legs feel heavy. If only. If only I could fall into an eternal slumber. I’d gladly get up and take that push. If only.

The fuck am I saying? I won’t take the push. I don’t have the guts. Even in the end, I’m still weak. Weak. Weak.

I can barely stand going downstairs. The stench is overpowering, the tower of unwashed plates and bowls intimidating me. Maybe I shouldn’t be shirtless and in boxers. All I can see is the imperfections in me. No one would like me, I was delusional hoping before. Now I’ve lost hope, what do I have?

Nothing.

I have nothing. I am nothing. I’m shivering. It’s cold. So fucking cold. I- It’s hard to fucking move. The ache in my chest grows with every fucking thought I have. Maybe. Maybe. I don’t even know what I’m doing. The knife rack is right there. If only I could suck it up. Take the push. End this. End it.

The white scars line my forearm already. Yet here I am, adding to the collection. Blood. It’s my blood. The fake marble counter is already stained, and here I am adding to the damn mess. My very fucking essence is leaking onto it. But the rush. That damn fucking rush. It’s a break from that tiredness. The pain. The thoughts. The words.

Everything.

My phone vibrates.

“AYA WHERE ARE YOU?”

“YOU MISSED 8 EXAMS”

Fucking Aleezeh. She doesn’t care about me. I don’t know why I talk to her, always on about her anime men. Insanity. Not as if I’m saner, though. She always goes on about wanting to “kill herself”. The gravity of those words hurt. She doesn’t need to know. No one needs to know. Keep them away. In the dark.

Clueless.