CW - vomiting
Chapter 6
-Avi-
The next morning after my rather honest chat with Joyce and Sam, I actually try to stay a few extra minutes in their presence, even after having breakfast. Although I don’t quite trust Joyce to not just get fed up of me again soon, I might as well show them that I’m at least trying.
And then it’s time for me to go back to school, and I very carefully sit in Sam’s car. I got my driving license a while ago, but that was in England, and driving here in the US is a little different. I mean the whole bloody car is the other way round, so it’s taking me a little while to get used to that.
Very gingerly driving to school, I park in the car park and and let out a sigh of relief. I even remembered to drive on the correct side of the road, and only reached for the gearstick on my left side once before remembering that it’s actually on the right side now.
Trudging to my first lesson - Biology, at least - I flop down in the seat I was sitting in yesterday, and immediately rest my head in my arms. Someone sits next to me, and I open my eyes to see who the intruder is.
Chester smiles back at me.
Giving him a small smile, I turn my attention back to napping through the class. I might enjoy the sciences but that doesn’t mean I’m going to always actually do any work in the lessons. Even if my fingers itch to make notes as the teacher lectures us on osmosis.
Finally sitting in my seat properly, but still not actually making any notes or doing any work other than occasionally listening, I glance over at Chester. He’s scribbling something down about whatever the teacher just said, but he wrote it down the wrong way. I wasn’t even listening to the lesson, but I do know my facts on osmosis, based on how I’m repeating this year so I’ve literally already done all this, and in way more detail at that.
“That’s wrong. It’s the other way round - against the concentration gradient. It’s less concentrated to more concentrated,” I whisper, tapping my finger against the corner of Chester’s page. He looks up at me, raising his right eyebrow at me - the one with a piercing in. Chester must like piercings, he has quite a lot in his ears as well as the ones in his eyebrow, nose and lip.
Not like I can fault him. They suit him a lot. In fact, he seems to put a lot of effort into his appearance. The other guys I’ve seen at this school all look like they just throw on whatever clothes they grabbed off their floor, and couldn’t be asked to even brush their hair. But Chester looks nice, and his clothes make up an actual outfit which is colour-coordinated, and every piece of jewellery in his piercings adds to the look.
He catches me staring, and I quickly look away, going back to slouching down in my seat and not paying attention. Halfway through the class, the teacher springs a surprise quiz on us, and everyone groans. I’m in the bottom set of every subject for a reason - my grades are shit, so I’m at the bottom of the barrel with everyone else who can’t be asked to do the work, don’t understand what the teacher is saying, or like me, have no desire whatsoever to do anything other than just sit here and pass the time.
“This quiz will count towards your grades in the mark book, so make sure to put in your best effort,” the teacher reminds us, but I get the distinct impression that basically only Chester and I were listening. Everyone else is too busy groaning still.
The moment we’re given the OK to start on our tests, Chester already has his head down as he quickly works on the questions. Staring down at my own copy of the quiz, I let out a sigh. Most of the questions are multiple choice, or short 1 mark questions where you just have to write one word. I know the answers to all of them, but what’s the point in doing well on a stupid quiz? Who cares if it goes on our mark book…it’s not like any of this matters to me.
Nothing matters to me anymore.
For years, my motivation was my parents. I wanted to do well for them, make them proud. And they were so fucking proud of me.
But now they’re gone.
And I should’ve gone with them.
Standing up abruptly, I grab my blank test paper, scrunching it up in one hand and marching forwards to the teacher’s desk. “I’m not doing the test,” I mumble, slapping it down in front of the teacher and marching out of the room, trying to catch my breath.
I walk faster, breaking out into a run and panting hard as my lungs are unable to get enough oxygen to support the sprint. Finding the nearest toilets, I pull the door open and instantly empty the contents of my stomach into one of the toilets.
There goes my breakfast.
Not that it really tasted of anything - food is just sustenance to me, it doesn’t actually taste of anything anymore.
Pressing my head against the wall of the cubicle, I squeeze my eyes shut, trying not to cry. I need to stop thinking about my parents - it’s been three years and I should be over it by now. I can’t still be having panic attacks and vomiting over just the very thought of them.
The door of the toilets squeaks open, and I hurriedly lock the door of my cubicle. “Avi?” Chester’s voice sounds out softly, but I don’t make a sound. Chester’s footsteps come a little further into the room before stopping right outside my door.
“It’s ok if you don’t want to see me, or talk to me or anything really, but I’m here for you, ok? The biology teacher is really nice, and she always understands if anyone needs a breather from the lesson because of anxiety or anything. She was really worried about your panic attack.”
“I didn’t have a panic attack,” I instantly lie, ruining my idea of hiding in the toilets and pretending to be someone else.
“Ok well it kind of looked like one…but anyway, you should really talk to her if tests stress you out that much. You could try take them in another room or something - she’s really nice so she’ll be able to figure something out to help you,” Chester says quietly, but I shake my head fervently.
“Doesn’t matter. The test wasn't the problem, and anyway I don’t give a shit about- about any of this stuff at this stupid school. I can fail all my classes again, see if I fucking care,” I snap, and then regret it immediately.
“You know I really can’t tell if you’re a bit of a brat or if you desperately need therapy, but either way, I don’t appreciate being talked to like that,” Chester says, a frustrated edge in his voice.
Sighing, I rub a hand over my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sorry,” I say quietly, feeling sick again, but there’s nothing left in my stomach to lose, so I’m left trying to curb the desire to retch whilst Chester is outside the door listening to me.
It doesn’t work, and I retch loudly, feeling embarrassed and gross straight after.
“Are you ok in there?” Chester asks worriedly, and I hold my breath, before letting it out slowly, trying to reduce my nausea. It doesn’t really work.
“Yeah I’m just great. Can you go so I can vomit in peace?” I manage not to snap at him this time, at least.
“I’m not too sure I should leave you alone though…” Chester trails off, sounding increasingly worried. “I’m fine. I’ll just go sit in the nurse’s office for a bit,” I lie, planning on going and sitting in Sam’s car and waiting for the end of the school day to come so that I can drive back to Joyce and Sam’s place and pretend I had a good day at school.
“Ok, well I’ll go talk to the biology teacher, and then go to the nurse and see if there’s any of that anti-nausea stuff you can take,” Chester says, making me feel a little guilty for lying to him so much. We’ve only known each other for two days and I’ve already spun a whole web of lies between us.
When I finally stop feeling like I’m going to lose a lung through my mouth, I stumble all the way back out to the car park, locking myself in the car and letting out a groan.
Why does everything have to be so difficult the whole time? And why does it always seem to be my own damn fault?
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