Bullies like Me

by Lindy Zart

  Around the chatter that erupts from my outburst, I hear the voice of Mr. Walters trying to get the room back in order. I hear him call my name. I hear laughter as I walk from the room, and it isn’t until I’m out the front door of the school that I realize it’s mine. I’m skipping school for the first time ever on the last week of my junior year. I’m not sure why, but I find that hilarious.

  Twenty

  Nick

  THE LAST PERSON I EXPECT to see, or want to see, is the one I do when I enter the visitation room. Until Alexis came to see me, I denied all visits. After a while, it didn’t matter whether or not I wanted anyone to visit, because the requests eventually stopped. Even my mom and dad haven’t tried to see me for months. I wonder if they finally gave up on me. Do parents do that? Do they give up on their kids?

  Call it boredom, or curiosity, but when I was told someone was here to see me, I was almost excited. I knew it wouldn’t be Alexis. Part of me hoped, of course, as it always will. I think every time I go somewhere, or see someone, some small piece of anticipation will flare up inside me for a brown-haired, blue-eyed girl with a pretty smile.

  I knew it wasn’t Alexis who came to see me, but I never would have thought it would be Melanie Mathews.

  I squint against the brightness of the lights in the neutral-toned room. Circular tables with chairs take up space without any form of order. This would displease Eric Winchester, a boy with nonfunctional obsessive-compulsive disorder. He rarely leaves his room due to the pandemonium of implied chaos around this place. A crooked painting on the wall set him off a few days ago. I can’t even imagine the insanity of having everything out of my control, and desperately needing it to be.

  It’s uncomfortably warm in here, to the point where I wonder if I’ll have to consider getting some shorts in place of my pajama pants. Only if they’re gray, a voice that sounds like Alexis’ teases. Her smile flashes behind my eyelids, scorching in its clarity. And then I see her face the last time we spoke, and there is nothing friendly about it. The taste of acidity enters my mouth, and I focus on Melanie.

  Her eyes are bloodshot, and her brown hair seems lank around her shoulders. I look at her in her jeans and green shirt, and I see a faded out version of a girl who used to sparkle. Her physical appearance has changed, yes, but it’s more than that, like the sourness of her soul has encompassed her. She’s dull now. Good. She doesn’t deserve to glow.

  As I approach, she gets up from the chair she was sitting in when I entered, and tries to smile. I don’t return it.

  “I don’t know why I’m here,” Melanie says in a voice that sounds nothing like hers. It’s softer, and I don’t think I imagined the tremble. Where is the confidence, the disdain? Where is the Melanie I remember?

  “Then you should probably go.”

  For the pain she brought Alexis, I hate her.

  For the pain I brought Alexis, I hate myself.

  There seems to be a lot of hate going around these days.

  “I…stopped by your house.” Melanie’s throat moves as she swallows. She looks at her hands, and returns her attention to me. “Your mom told me you were here.”

  I can’t say I’m shocked to find out Melanie had no idea where I was the last year. Everything was either about her, or it wasn’t important. I want to ask her if she remembers Jackson. I want to ask her if his death mattered to her, because I know his life never did. She probably forgot about him. While I’ve been locked away in a mental rehabilitation center, unable to get past my role in Jackson’s suicide, she most likely hasn’t lost a single night of sleep over him.

  “You look so different,” she whispers, shifting her feet.

  “What do you want?” My voice is hard, and I have to fight to keep my jaw unlocked. The thought of our entwined past, our shared intimacy, even the faint memory of my lips on hers—it causes a shudder of repulsion to pass through me.

  Melanie blinks, looking around the room like she isn’t sure where she is. “I don’t know. I guess I just…wanted to see someone familiar. Someone from…before.”

  Alexis missed her last session with Dr. Larson. I know because I lingered near the waiting area, hoping for a chance to see her, maybe even talk to her. Dr. Larson caught me and informed me that Alexis is now doing her counseling somewhere other than Live. I told my aching heart that this is the way it has to be, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

  I called her. Multiple times. She didn’t answer. She didn’t call back.

  Alexis is gone, because of me, yes, but also because of this girl.

  And I am not that boy, the boy from before, that Melanie is hoping to see.

  “Do you hate me too? They all hate me.” Melanie hugs herself, her attention jumping from person to person. She looks at me with bleary eyes. “Am I a bad person, Nick?”

  “Do you care if you are?”

  Her forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know. I never used to.”

  Even as she admits to her uncaring nature, the fact that she can, is somehow redeeming, in a warped way.

  “Yes,” I tell her frankly. I remember her running her fingers down Jackson’s arm, winking at him, and then laughing about it with me and Jocelyn when she walked by him. I remember the pained look on his face, and how his shoulders slumped as our eyes met and he saw the grin on my face. “You’re a bad person.”

  Rapidly blinking her eyes, Melanie looks down.

  I take a deep breath. “But so am I. Or—I used to be. I’m trying to be better.”

  “I thought everyone wanted to be like me,” she whispers, locking her fingers and releasing them, over and over.

  I carefully study Melanie, noticing the shadows smudging the skin beneath her eyes, the nervous energy that makes it unable for her to stand still. Something about the way she’s acting warns me to be cautious.

  “What are you doing here, Melanie?” I ask in a quieter tone.

  Someone coughs and Melanie’s head whips around until she finds the girl in question. She stares at her with lowered eyebrows. “I’m not popular anymore.”

  I make a sound of disgust. “That’s why you’re here? Because you’re feeling sorry for yourself?”

  She looks from the girl with the rattling cough to me, her mouth pulled down.

  Shaking my head, I run fingers through my hair. “You do realize where you’re at, right?”

  Some kind of clearness, maybe a hint of empathy, pulses through her eyes. “What happened with you? Why are you here? Is it because of that boy who died last year?”

  Bitter laughter escapes around the tightness of my throat. “Do you even remember his name?”

  An annoyed look passes over her features. “Of course I do. I only have to see it every day at school.”

  “How terrible for you.”

  “You don’t belong here, with these…” Melanie cringes.

  “There you are,” I say softly, disdainfully. “I was beginning to wonder about you.”

  Melanie crosses her arms. “I was happy that you lost it after he died. You dated me long enough to have sex with me, and then you dumped me for Jocelyn. Seeing you miserable made me happy.” Her eyes flash.

  I dated Melanie long enough to see that I didn’t like her all that much, and the sex didn’t make me like her any more. “So, in your mind, it’s a good thing Jackson died, right? Because I broke up with you and dated your friend, and I deserved to lose my shit. Makes sense.” It makes absolutely no sense, and I don’t think I can stand to be around Melanie much longer. I might literally bash my head into the closest wall.

  “That’s not—I just liked seeing you unhappy, because I was unhappy. I didn’t say it was right.”

  Scorn coats my next words. “Nothing about you is right.”

  Melanie uncrosses her arms. “There’s a girl—Lexie Hennessy.”

  I stiffen, holding my breath. Hearing her name sends my brain and heart into shock, revives them, and kills me, all at once.

  “I’m here because…because I think maybe
she was here too. I thought you might know her.”

  She was here. She turned the gray of my reality to color. She gave me a teddy bear, and a book. I gave her my heart, and my untruths. Then I gave her the truths, and the world went back to gray.

  “What about her?” comes out rough. My heart pounds in my ears.

  Melanie watches as the coughing girl hugs her mom and dad, and they walk out of the room. “I couldn’t figure out why she hates me so much, until a couple days ago, when in English class—it doesn’t matter—but it finally clicked.”

  I wait.

  “I picked on her, at the start of the year. It wasn’t anything bad,” Melanie hurries to defend herself.

  “Right,” I say agreeably. “It was probably like how we picked on Jackson.”

  “Exactly.” She pauses, figuring out I’m being sarcastic. Her lips press together. “It wasn’t something to die over.”

  My hands tighten into fists, and the veins in my neck go rigid. She says it haughtily, dismissively, and I’d give anything to be able to shove her little peanut brain into Alexis’, to force her to watch, and experience, and endure everything Alexis has. I did that a lot when I first came here. I’d imagine I was Jackson, and I went through every incident that involved me or my friends, but I went through them as him. It was so much worse that way.

  “Lexie overdosed on pills,” Melanie says. “I remember the guidance counselor talking to us about suicide after she did it.”

  Nothing about bullying, of course. Why would anyone want to talk about that? Enid’s school has its priorities disorganized, that’s clear.

  “I didn’t recognize her when she came back. She looked different, and she acted different. She went out of her way to pick on me.”

  “How dare she treat you how you treated her.”

  Her eyes darken. “Shut up, Nick. Two wrongs don’t make a right.”

  “No, they make a circle.” My eyebrows lift. “What goes around comes around.”

  Sighing, Melanie taps her foot. “She didn’t come back to school until a month ago. I know she was sent to some mental place. Was she here? Do you know Lexie Hennessy?”

  “No,” I tell her. Because Lexie wasn’t here. Alexis was. Strong, not vindictive. Hopeful, not bitter. They are completely dissimilar people.

  “I’m worried.” Melanie shrinks in size. “She made the last month of school horrible for me, and I’m worried this isn’t over yet.”

  “Why do you think that?” I ask slowly, my eyes trained on her.

  “Because she left me alone the last few days of school.”

  My body shuts down at her words, and I stare at Melanie. I think of what day it is, and what this day always means for Melanie Mathews. Why would this year be any different? Alexis isn’t done yet, I know that. I don’t know if she ever will be, if she lets this consume her. If she does what I think she might. And if she kills all her light in the process, what’s left? A girl living in the dark.

  “Do you still do your silly parties the following Saturday after school is out?”

  Melanie’s eyes narrow. “They’re not silly.”

  “Answer me. Do you?”

  “Yes. It’s tonight. Why?” She steps closer. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” I avoid her eyes, glad that she can’t hear the thunderous beat of my heart. “Go home, Melanie.”

  “You know something,” she accuses.

  I finally meet her gaze. “Go home.”

  “Thanks for being completely unhelpful.”

  “I’m not trying to help you,” I tell her coolly.

  “You’re a jerk.” Melanie glares at me and turns to leave. Her steps are wobbly, quick—unsure of where she should go, but knowing she should leave here. This place may be full of weirdos and freaks, but at least we’re all real.

  SPRINTING DOWN THE HALL IS a good way to get yelled at, and I do by the red-haired woman who sits at the front desk, but I keep going. Luckily for me, Dr. Larson is in her office when I reach it. I slam the door behind me and stand still as I try to catch my breath. She turns in her chair to face me.

  “Nick?” Questions shift across her dark eyes.

  “I want to be released. Today. Now.”

  She folds her hands in her lap. “We both know you are under no obligation to stay.”

  “Right.” My voice cracks around that single word. I am not a patient here; I just pretend to be. Because that’s all I’ve done since I found Jackson Hodgson dead in his bed: pretend.

  “Do you feel well enough to leave?”

  My smile feels as sick as my stomach. “I was never supposed to be here, remember?”

  “Humor me.” Dr. Larson brushes hair behind an ear. “Do you feel well enough to leave?”

  Sighing, I fall into the chair and clasp my head between my hands. “Yes, Aunt Miranda, I feel well enough to leave.” I let my hands fall and face Dr. Larson. “You know this isn’t about me.”

  “I know it’s about the girl.”

  “And the boy.”

  “Yes. And the boy. Always the boy,” she says gently.

  “I have to help Alexis.” I force open my fisted hands. “I have to save her from herself.”

  She tilts her head, looking at me in a way that reminds me of how she used to watch me as a small boy when I didn’t get my way and would throw a fit. “Why?”

  Frustrated, I jump to my feet. “Because no one saved me, because no one saved the boy.”

  “And the boy died.” Dr. Larson pauses. “You’re talking about Jackson, but you’re also talking about you. You were destructive to others, and you were self-destructive. You wanted someone to stop you, because you couldn’t stop yourself. No one did. And you couldn’t stop, not until it was too late, not until a boy’s life was forfeit. The shame of that haunts you.”

  “Yes,” I whisper hoarsely, tears filling my eyes. I attempt a smile, but I feel the twist in it. “You’re not supposed to analyze your own relatives, Aunt Miranda.”

  “You shouldn’t have stepped into my office then.” She smiles, tenderness lightening her eyes, and points out, “Lexie didn’t die.”

  “She almost did.”

  “But she didn’t.”

  “I’m going.”

  She shrugs. “Go. I’ll do whatever paperwork is required. Have you talked to your parents?”

  “No,” I admit.

  My aunt sighs. “I’ll talk to them. Give me two minutes, and I can drive you home.”

  “Thanks,” I say around a swollen throat. I pause by the door with my back to her. “Jackson died because of me.”

  “No, Nick. He died because some souls are too kind for this world.”

  “I hate who I was.” I look at my aunt, hoping she’ll understand. “I had to kill that person. I had to kill that boy to become this Nick. That’s why I shut down. I couldn’t be that person anymore.”

  “I know. But don’t you think it’s time to stop feeling bad about being you, even the part of you, you don’t like?”

  My eyes sear into my aunt’s. She took one look at me after Jackson died, and she knew I was broken. She knew I wouldn’t survive if I stayed in that house of silence, if I stayed who I was. She brought me here when I asked for help; to hide, to change, to grieve. “It only matters what Alexis sees.”

  A soft smile tips her mouth, and the resemblance to my mom, her older sister, is striking. “Does she see you? I mean, really see you?”

  “I think so.” My voice is choked. “But some of what she saw was too much.”

  “The bullying?” she guesses.

  I lower my eyes.

  “Give her time.”

  I shake my head, my shoulders inflexible. “I can’t. She’s going to do something bad. I feel it. I have to stop her.” Even now, panic crushes my chest, tells me to hurry.

  “You’re not responsible for the actions of others.” Dr. Larson gets to her feet, crossing the room. She touches my shoulder. “Just like Jackson, and Lexie. Everyone makes their own choice
s. Remember that, Nick.”

  I know, logically, her words are true, but it doesn’t make me believe them.

  Twenty-one

  Alexis

  I AM THE SCHOOL PARIAH.

  People sidestep me as I make my way down the white-walled corridor lined with lockers, afraid they’ll catch the shunning defect if they touch me, or even make eye contact, for that matter. There were a few friendly kids my first days here, but as soon as it was determined I was not interesting enough, the smiles turned to vacant eyes, like I’m not really here. I am invisible, a translucent entity.

  No one sees me unless it is to make fun of me. This cloak of my current truth is heavy and doesn’t fit, yet it is how I am seen by others. I feel like an interloper in my own skin and the real me is suffocating, struggling to exist beneath the misconceptions. She is losing—I am losing.

  And I can’t help but think: what’s this life for?

  I park my car out of sight from passing traffic. The air is damp, and smells of rain. I walk through the small patch of woods that separate the cabin from the road, the memory of another girl, another life, another me, guiding me. She didn’t understand how kids could be terrible to others, but I get it now. It’s a lack of humanity. Maybe some are born without it. Maybe some, like me, have it stripped from them. I’ve been turned into one of them, and guilt has no place here.

  My steps are purposeful, my eyes straight ahead.

  The moon guides me, marking the path to the cabin on Murphy’s Lake, and anticipation thrums through me. I had to lose myself to get to where I now am. I had to have my old life stolen from me to be able to live this new one. I’m tougher. I swear, even the bugs are afraid to bother me.

  The reality of knowing who Nick really is, and what he’s done, helps. I’m cold with the knowledge. Cold everywhere. But the pain—the pain won’t go away, and it pulsates in time with my heartbeat, no matter how much I try to not feel it. And I miss him, more than I thought I could miss anyone. I stiffen my shoulders, redirecting my attention to what’s before me. Each step gets easier. Each second brings me closer.