Her King

CW: Language, mentions of rape, drug use, suicide, panic attack

I made a sharp turn to the left, driving down the gravel path. I glanced at the envelope on the passenger seat and felt my chest tighten. My eyes wandered to the knife and package of edibles. Her words rang inside my head: "I learnt that certain things don't hurt when you're high. Makes sense saying allowed- I'm not sure if it's good I realized this." I remember she said it with a laugh. My grip tightened around the wheel- bringing me back to reality. I followed the gravel path all the way to the end, reaching the back bit of the camping ground. 

I got out of my truck closing the door. I walked to the other side and grabbed the shit, knife and note. I grabbed a random Dollar Tree bag that was buried underneath the various energy drinks, and shoved everything inside it. I slung it over my shoulder and slammed the door shut. I didn't bother closing the door, knowing I wouldn't return. 

Time was never a friend of mine, and today I decided to forget it all together. I moved through the forest for Gods know how long, before reaching the waterfall she adored. I inhale sharply falling to my knees. I heard the bag collapse to the ground, the water smacking down onto the rocks. I was there for quite awhile, I reckoned, as soon, the physical light no longer existed. And with that, I stood up, grabbing my bag. I kicked off my shoes, setting my bag at the edge of the pond. I sat there too.

Opening the package of the entire thing, and the tiny little wrapper- I popped the edible inside of my mouth. Again, time was nothing. I ended up taking another one, and soon enough I felt the skin around my eyes pulling outwards, as if I was having caffeine for the first time. My body flashed with cold, and then quickly with a hot. I laughed at this, and soon, I noticed a flower shape in the trees. I don't know how that of all things was funny- but it was.

I pulled my bag to my lap- and confused seeing an envelope, I opened it, deciding to read it.

There was this girl. She had long blonde hair, thick brown rectangle shaped glasses, and she always wore this blue purple hoodie. She always wore her backpack with one strap and clutched a book in her soft little hands. She was the textbook definition of being an introvert. Shy and reticent. Not at all open about her personal feelings or personal thoughts, even then her words were scarce, few and far in between. She traded her recesses time in elementary for times inside, buried and lost within a world that was not hers. 

Everything hit me at once, and as it did, that stupid weed made my body feel heavy. Yet I continued to fucking read what I wrote.

She had the cold calculating eyes one would expect from an elder who has seen far to much in their time. She spoke with sweet simple to the point words, not wishing to waste anyone's time. She was the ideal student in elementary, the pure one of the classroom. Her teachers would sit her next to the students who misbehaved, hoping her attitude and grades would rub off on them, even just a little. 

This idea truly became the norm for this girl, when she was in fifth grade. She and her peers were eleven, perhaps twelve if they were born earlier. Her teacher had sat her next to one of the more calm trouble makers of the classroom, testing the waters. All found this quite strange, and the teachers coworkers told him that this would not work. 

He told them to have patience, and within a month and a half.. The student the girl was told to sit besides calmed down. He would peek over her shoulder, reading what she was. He would smirk or do that small little half of a laugh. The teacher, while knew this would work, was surprised at how quickly it did such. 

A few weeks after that, he noticed the girl withdrew from her books every now and then. She slowly started replacing her infinite amounts of books, with small little doodles on the classwork of the day. The two of them, no longer just the girl, were the eyes of the storm, the calm of the classroom. And soon the boy would start asking questions, testing his own water. The girl would answer simply, as she always did, but she would be polite and return the question. She would give her opinion on said question, and return to what she was doing.

My hands tightened around the paper, remembering all to well what was going to happen. What was written. 

Before long, however, the boy was able to hold three to five minute conversations with the girl. He broke the classroom's image of her being cold and robotic. Eventually, he even made her laugh. Yes, it was that little huff of a laugh, but a laugh nonetheless. The teacher told his coworkers this, that his plan had another effect. The once infamous trouble maker drew the ideal student out of her shell. 

The girl's teacher decided to sit her besides the other trouble makers. And just like the first one, they eventually all went down a level: if they were known for their suspension, they instead got lunch detention. If they got lunch detention, they simply lost their recess. Her teacher decided it was time for the students to finally have a say in their seating chart, as most of the troubles caused by such, were finally gone with the girl's help. 

All four of the children who misbehaved had asked to sit, if not by, at least near the girl. Her unusual surprise was clear- and was shared amongst the class. I remember one of our classmates making an impolite comment. The tension in that room was always present when the "King Trouble Maker" was present- but when that classmate called that girl such, he was fuming. He stood up so quickly, lunging across the desks. He started punching that kid immediately. The girl panicked and tried to do her best to make him stop. 

Was I crying?

The "King" did end up stopping, hearing her pleas. The peer of ours who made the comment merely said something worse, and all those that girl was assigned to sit next to stood up to defend her. This was went on for years. Her quietly reading her books, assigned to sit next to the trouble makers.. They crowned her queen, always having her back when people called her fat, a nerd, even the d word- and me? I just stood in the fucking shadows, watching it all happen. 

I shouldn't miss her.

In our freshman year though, I decided that would all change. I wouldn't hide in the shadows. And while our time was short, I would not forget it for the world. I saw her during lunch one day, I found it neat we had the same lunch. I sat next to her. Her subjects weren't there. She was quiet, but after three weeks of me doing this.. Sitting next to her- she spoke with me. To me. I remember being so happy.

  I fell in love with a queen.

We became friends. I was called her "King", as a joke.. Second quarter of sophomore year, it wasn't a joke anymore. Her little gang of "trouble makers" accepted my role in her little kingdom. There where sixteen of us who would fight for her, but I'm sure I was the only one who would die for her.

I hunched over. She fucking took advantage of me.. "That fucking bitch!" I cry.

Our junior year, her little army was at twenty three, a majority knew her from the very beginning. I knew at least five of them liked her. I had to be so possessive, not that she cared- I think she liked it, to make sure they knew she was mine. 

I felt like vomiting.

Our senior year she and I were picked to be the Queen and King of Homecoming, Prom… And of our court. We were so good together. But then that fucking bastard talked to her. That one dickhead from fifth grade. He destroyed her, at first mentally and emotionally but then physically. He raped her. He broke my Queen.She broke.

When we got out of high school, she started taking shit. She cut. She starved herself. He broke her! And I couldn't do shit. It's my fault she's dead. I'm so sorry Carie, John. I'm so sorry I couldn't protect your little girl. I failed her, my Queen.

   All Queens must fall..

  And so must their Kings.

I let out a scream, quickly turning around, slamming the pages onto the ground. With a fluidity I never thought possible, I grabbed my knife from the bag and unrolled my sleeves. Instead of pressing it down, and slowly dragging it across, keeping the pressure- I jammed it down with such anger and yanked it across. I inhaled sharply, feeling the tears rush down. I jammed the knife down on my wrist again, and again, feeling my breath being heavy. It truly was like a breath of fresh air. 

It was so relaxing- calming. Freeing. 

I looked at the pack of shit and took three more before continuing my final actions. I continued till I my wrist was sore and torn. There was so much blood, and yet, with such calm, I set the knife onto the pages, ensuring they would not blow away in the wind. I didn't care so much about the bag or the weed, so with that complete, I threw all my weight to my left, knocking me down into the pool of water. I pushed against the ledge, propelling me through the water. I laughed. I choked, water entering my lungs.

Instinctively, I clawed to the surface and everything hit me at once. "Fucking shit!" I screamed, feeling my wrist burn with the water surrounding it. I felt the tears on my face, and while I never knew what acid felt like- my tears felt like they were made of it. And while it was night the stars were bright, and I could see every single tree, looming over me. Shaming me. They knew. They fucking knew. They know. "They fucking know!!" I screamed yanking my hands through my hair. 

"Why is my chest burning?!"

"Why can't I breathe?!" 

"Why aren't you here?!"

And so I must fall.