The Rose Drawing
Chapter 1
By: Lost In Me
Jayden’s POV…
With one final kick, they were done with me, for that day anyway. They sneered at my bruised. Shivering form and walked away towards the door, ever so often they would turn around and make catcalls, freak, loser, the usual.
Finally they reached the locker door and walked out, but not before shouting one last obscenity, slut. With a last bang of the door, the locker room was filled with silence, and the unmistakable feeling of pain in the atmosphere.
I don’t remember how long I laid there on the cold tiles, just watching my blood seep though the cracks and flow around me, creating a puddle of dark red. I thought about how unfair life was, how I didn’t deserve to be treated that way, how I just wanted to die and get away from the hellhole.
I must have blacked out because the next thing I remember was waking up in a white, brightly light room only to be told that the school janitor had found me.
The nurses and doctors questioned me constantly but I gave them the same, untrue, answer, that I had slipped on water and banged my head on one of the benches.
I could tell they didn’t believe me but I didn’t care.
If I told the truth I’d just get it worse from Brad and his band of followers.
I guess I should start from the beginning now shouldn’t I? My name’s Jayden, well, Jace to my friends, the one’s I had before I moved at least. At the school I go to now I’m just known as Freak, Loser or my favorite, Slut. Which I’m not, I’m still very much a virgin and I plan to stay that way for a long time. But we’re going off the subject.
I have straight, shoulder length hair, dyed black with a few bright purple streaks here and there.
I’m not what you’d call normal. Hell, I don’t even know what that word means, but I do know that I’m not, normal I mean.
That’s probably why Brad and his ‘posse’ have it in for me. Apparently, it’s a big deal that I like to wear black and that I have 3 piercings on each ear, I honestly don’t know why anybody really cares, I’m just an average human, trying to survive on Earth.
So I dress differently, I’m comfortable in bondage ants and band tees that doesn’t make me a bad person, or a ‘freak’ as my peers so kindly put it.
I moved here, to Los Angeles, California a few months ago from my small town in North Carolina.
My dad’s job has been forever moving us from state to state for the past 16 years of my life. I’d always made new friends fairly quickly once they looked past my intimidating exterior. This was the first town I had moved to that didn’t like my presence, and they made it obvious.
The next morning, after arguing with the nurses, I checked myself out of the hospital and hobbled over to the nearby bus stop since my arms and legs were still pretty badly bruised.
I boarded the bus and sat down; ignoring the stares I got from horrified strangers. I could feel the intensity of their eyes penetrating through the back of my head.
Luckily, my house wasn’t too far. Hopping off the bus, I spied a group of jocks across the street messing around. My heart beat wildly; I hastily pulled my sunglasses out of my pocket and put them on, then put the hood of my sweater over my head. I walked quickly, my eyes on the ground.
This was my routine, if I ever saw anyone particularly threatening I’d try to get away unnoticed.
I exhaled the breath I never knew I was holding when I reached my house. The once pretty home now looked lifeless and empty.
The white paint was peeling and a few shutters were lopsided. The tree in the front yard had died and even the grass had turned from a vibrant green to a sickly shade of dirty brown.
“Home sweet home,” I muttered to myself, smirking at my own little joke. Sighing, I walked up the porch steps and entered my house.
I flipped on the light and walked into the kitchen, pausing, I noticed a piece of paper stuck to the fridge door with my name written on it.
Plucking it off the fridge, I opened it and read my mom’s neat cursive writing,
‘Jayden, your father and I have gone to a nearby city to discuss some business with clients. We should be back in around a week or two, there’s money on the counter if you need it and you know our cell number for emergencies.’
Great, my parents had left me home alone, again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m used to it by now. If I’m lucky I get to see my parents every once a month. To be honest, I kinda preferred being alone.
I crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and threw it away. Leaving the fifty dollar bill on the counter, I made my way upstairs into my room. I turned on my stereo and lay down on my bed.
Looking up at my poster-adorned ceiling, I silently wondered what it would like to be happy.
Happiness, something I hadn’t felt in along time. I shifted around on my bed and found myself staring out the window. The atmosphere seemed so peaceful, the clouds hung overhead like giant cotton puffs and everything seemed so calm, so relaxed, something I had constantly wished for in life.
I got up off my bed and made my way to my desk. Pulling my sketchbook out of my drawer, I picked up a piece of charcoal and sat down on my bed. Moving my arm in swift motions, I began drawing.
I didn’t stop until I finished. Laying down the charcoal, I lifted the sketchbook and gazed over my drawing. I had drawn a black rose, its stem broken, it’s leaved wilted and its petals clung together lifelessly.
In some ways the drawing represented me, my life. The bitter emptiness of my soul, the useless wishing of a better life. It was now that I released I was truly alone in this world.