Unconscious

- Monday, March 4th -

---

'I don't know what made me think I could do this...I don't know...but...it's not as though I've never done this before. Quite the opposite, actually. I've done this more times than I can count nerves in my body, or cells in just a single drop of blood.'

The thoughts that laced my own brain didn't make any sense to me. All I knew was that my alarm was going off and if I didn't hurry and turn it off, I could wake everyone.

My phone showed me it was two-thirty in the morning through blinding numbers on an even brighter screen that I quickly shut off and shoved under my pillow.

Groggily, I forced myself to get out of bed and shove myself out of my sleep clothes and into something less comfortable before going out the door where every inch of me was instantly drenched.

Just like that. In the snap of a finger...Then out of the blue, like I was being chased, I was swept by an overwhelming need to move. To run. The usual thuds were drowned out by the splashes I made each time my feet hit the ground, pushing and propelling me forward while my head was dizzy with a subtle, nagging pain.

It only took a few seconds. Less than ten. And I wound up...here.

As I stared out ahead, my nearly numb hands clenched at my sides, trembling. Slightly.

In my mindless haste, I never grabbed a jacket.

Just a white long-sleeve shirt, blue jeans with a few patches and rips, and an old pair of ankle-height sneakers that were clinging on for dear life; the laces tugged so loose my shoes nearly fell off my feet a couple times on my way here. A place I've never been to before. A place I didn't know existed.

A shaky breath left my lips as I let out a sigh. My mind wasn't empty but it wasn't as frantic and unrestrained as it was before. Now that I've stopped moving and am just standing on a sidewalk after who knows how long, everything started to register. Piece by piece.

The sky was dark. No sun, not even the moon was visible from where I stood. But whether it was early morning or late evening, I didn't know. Time suddenly wound up completely irrelevant. Like I didn't even know it as a concept.

The air was cold, biting, almost.

My whole body shivered as though I were bare in the middle of a blizzard.

I guess, the fact that my clothes were soaked from the rain that only recently came to a stop- what was I doing...?

My legs were aching. Different to how my stomach did, no doubt eating itself to compensate for the fact that I can't remember either the last time I ate, or what it could've been.

The weirdest part was probably the fact that even though I was standing still, everything looked like it was moving. The ground looked like it was...bending? Stretching, as though my eyes were constantly but slowly warping the ground, making it feel as though I weren't actually conscious. It was similar to the way, when I close my eyes, I can see the faintest patterns. Red, green, yellow, turquoise - they look strange.

'Am I really in a dream...? No. I woke up. I remember. The alarm. I nearly had a heart attack trying to silence it...'

Maybe I'd try to convince myself with more conviction, if not for how gross I felt. Like I'd throw up any second. I don't think I ever felt this terrible, or this much at all, regardless of where I am. Dream, or not. I know what nausea feels like. But I haven't actually physically regurgitated in years. Right now? It feels...like the bile is already halfway up my throat. At the very back of my tongue.

However much time passes as I took in all this information, my brain clearly thought none of it mattered since it seemed to have decided to shut off again before my body practically pushed itself forward. And the sick feeling disappeared.

My legs felt like they'd bend and shatter at any second with each dragging step I took.

Ahead of me was just fog. Denser than I'd ever seen. The only other thing I could make out, albeit still very vaguely, was a dark path. As I couldn't even see where it ended - all I could see was maybe four or five steps ahead - it felt like the path went on forever.

I didn't really care for that. Not in the slightest. I was looking for a different kind of forever, and I was pretty sure I didn't need to travel all the way to the path's end to get to it. All I had to do, was take maybe ten more steps forward, then turn myself to my left and look down.

Almost automatically, or as if I were being controlled by someone else, I feel my heart jump in my chest as my body starts tipping and the solid path starts to gradually disappear from beneath my shoes. In the next blink of an eye, I feel weightless for about a second, before the sensation of falling wakes me up in a panic and I'm on the floor of my bedroom.

It takes all of three seconds before I'm rushing to get ready and basically launch myself out the door and to the bus stop which, if I had been a second later, I would've had to stand on the sidewalk while panting like a rabid dog, watching as the bright yellow vehicle disappeared around the corner.

A nagging feeling weighed heavy on my heart as I plopped down into an empty seat at the front, resting my head against the cold brown leather, thinking to myself how I almost wished I didn't make it....

---

"There's only so much time left in the year now. I think it's great that you want to get your license. Just practice every day, even for only half an hour, with your dad and you'll be ready to ace that test in no time! Then, you could start to look for a job. You'll have the most time, so you could even work two. Double your paycheck, save up, get a car, splurge on the Fourth of July, all that great stuff, yeah?" I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, nodding.

Ms. Boyet was my school counselor.

From what I've heard, she's the most...how should I say...simple, counselor to talk to.

She still talks like she's walking on eggshells sometimes, but for whatever reason, more people are comfortable talking with her. I get where they're coming from, I think, but I hardly ever said anything to her that wasn't a quiet "okay", like right now. That didn't mean we didn't know anything about each other...we've known each other a fair amount of time by now.

She gave a small, tight-lipped smile before scooching forward in her office chair, hands loosely folded on the desk as she looked at me. I kept my eyes on my hands though, my left thumb scratching at the skin of my right wrist. I don't know what to do. It feels like everything makes my skin all dry and irritated...

"Do you have any plans for what you may do after school?" She asked, her voice so delicate it made me feel like I was a glass vase. Fragile, but inanimate and therefore, not needing to feel offended. Actually, it's more of her tone rather than her voice. Her voice is somewhat scratchy, like she's been yelling for hours nonstop the night before. But she still manages to control her sound. Makes herself sound as gentle as possible.

But maybe that was what made it so easy, and the fact she didn't say, "What's your plan before you go to college?"

I shrugged in response, still scratching my wrist with my thumb. "I'm not sure..."

"Well, no matter what you choose, it should be a choice of your own. We've gotten to know each other over these last three-almost four years pretty well, right? I know you're capable of pushing through and rising to the top. I'm proud of you for attending school, but you're not gonna be in school forever. If you find something, hold onto it. You're a brilliant artist! I mean, Mrs. Ambert keeps telling me how much she wanted to keep your paintings every time she changes the artworks in the displays outside."

I stopped scratching and shot my eyes up to meet hers.

"Like she said, you have a very successful career on your hands if you pursue art. Truly." She paused, "Whatever you do, go full speed ahead into it. When you struggle, when you get hit with inspiration, just let it happen. When you find out what you've set your sights on, send me an email. I'll send you balloons and a cake! Oh wait no-Tiramisu! And crème brûlée of course, that's obvious." I let out a short breath out my nose, as though scoffing but really, it was just a voiceless chuckle to show I was listening. That I appreciated her words. I was just tired, that's all...maybe I was scoffing a little.

She didn't seem to notice my doubt though. Instead, she really did just take it as a sort of laugh.

She had a more relaxed smile as she added, "One last thing, nothing about what we talked about today, but Mr. Cortez is currently on paternity leave for the next three months. So, you have a substitute teacher, Mr. Winoc, I believe was his name. Of course, your class will have your regularly scheduled teacher just before the end of the year in June. He wanted to be there for the last month." She snorts at the last bit, saying something about how he's sentimental.

I furrowed my brows, feeling them coming closer together as I processed her words.

Ms. Boyet must have taken notice of whatever expression I had on my face since she cleared her throat, "I know you aren't sure if you're going to stay or drop out, but it's just so you know. In advance."

My expression faded back to blank at her words.

Dropping out..

She knew I liked to know things in advance. Almost to a deranged degree.

When I first told her that two years ago, I worded it that exact way.

She did her best to assure me I didn't need to be so harsh on myself, but it never really changed anything.

I'm not sure I've changed my thoughts on that either. But anyway, I never made a solid decision. Dropping out was something I was desperate to do at the beginning of the year. I was losing it. Well, more than usual...

It was all I could think about. Day in, and day out. Of course, I never went through with anything. Ms. Boyet would passively throw in comments about how I was doing good, even when I was on the verge of failing every subject. She would encourage me from the sidelines, but that's not what kept me from leaving. I don't know what is.

'Forget it.'

Without any more words, we both just gave each other a look of understanding before she broke off the eye contact to write me a slip so I didn't have to explain why I was fifteen minutes late to first period. To the new teacher no less.

Then again, it's my senior year and if seniors have taught me anything in the past, it's that they practically do whatever they want. No questions asked. This year, it's only gotten worse.

But it's not like I haven't contributed to that.

What's weirder, actually, is the increase of the younger grades being...I get that my grade's experiencing senioritis more than ever now that we're actually seniors. But even though we were skipping and whatever when we were just freshman, it's nothing to whatever the underclassmen right now are on...but that's not important.

I thanked Ms. Boyet and left her office, dragging the strap of my bag on my shoulder and leaving the upstairs office to head to class. Begrudgingly....

I stopped at the door to class C233. A classroom I'd walked by and to countless times during my time at Baynewood. A classroom at the end of the C wing, on the left side of the building, right next to the top of the left-side staircase. Baynewood isn't all that bad. Sometimes I hate it here more than I've ever hated a place before in my life. Others, it's just a building. And not a supremely ugly, mental-asylum-unsettling one. If I didn't always think about leaving, maybe I'd appreciate it more.

It looked like one of those fancy grand libraries. Lots of brown wood, lots of large wide windows, framed artworks on the walls from current and former students...it's a lot better than my middle school. It's a castle in comparison to my elementary school. But I've seen that both of them have gotten a few upgrades since I left. In fact, Pip's told me all about it. The vending machines, the extension they added to make the building bigger. The better playgrounds, the field that finally isn't just a giant pit of dirt but covered neatly in new turf.

By the time he goes to my old middle school, he's gonna tell me how they add a whole other gym and the cafeteria doesn't just serve half-frozen pizza and hard brócoli.

I sighed, getting rid of my distracting thoughts before giving myself a not-so-reassuring "pep talk" then finally letting myself in.

It wasn't very shocking half of the room didn't look up from their phones or lift their heads off their desks. By courtesy of Mr. Cortez, we have a phone chart, but I'm guessing no one told the teacher that. Why would they. I'd join them in about five seconds anyway.

Still, I looked to the front of the room and noticed who I assumed to be Mr. Winoc. The high school substitute teacher who did not look like a high school substitute teacher. Not in a bad way, though. He gave me a friendly smile and walked over to me, me doing the same, and we met in the middle where I gave him the small sheet of paper my counselor gave me.

"Trouble?" He joked, without even sparing a glance at the writing, his voice almost sounding unreal.

I awkwardly smiled in return, simply shaking my head, "Not exactly."

His smile grew a slight bit before he gestured for me to take a seat so he could continue his introductions no doubt. I walked over to an empty seat next to Kimber who looked at me with shimmering stars in her eyes.

I let out a breath through my nose as I sat down, letting her take my hand in her much warmer ones while never taking my eyes off Mr. Winoc.

Even though he didn't look like he fit in at this school, he looked like he fit Baynewood.

If he were a color palette, it'd consist of mainly browns, like the building.

His hair was brown, sitting perfectly imperfect on his head in silky swoops and subtle curls with a few pieces falling down in front of his forehead but blocked from his eyes by the gold-framed glasses he frequently pushed back up his nose bridge.

Very warm colors, essentially.

He looked like how I imagine a mug of hot chocolate or cup of French tea to look as a person. Or a refined but cozy combination of the two. He looked like he and the building came from the same place. But he didn't look like he belonged here, because of the people in it. Baynewood may look nicer in some ways, but it says nothing about the people that go here. It's hard to really...explain.

Maybe part of it was because majority of people at Baynewood dressed quite casually, lazily actually, but the way Mr. Winoc in particular dressed, stood out to me.

Of all the numerous teachers in the building, there were three main individuals notorious for their wardrobe:

One: Mr. Paul, who, for the last ten years, dressed as Santa every day for the week before winter break, but otherwise is known for his massive collection of fun socks and hats.

Two: Miss Failywin, who wore intricately designed blouses and long flowing pleated skirts. Her popularity focusing mainly on her Victorian-styled heels and hairstyles. Very Gibson Girl-esque, is how people think of her.

Lastly, Mrs. Maddison who showed up either in whatever she slept in, bed-hair and all, or as though she had a very fancy dinner banquet or something after school. It was always either/or, never in between, and no one knew which one it'd be next. Yet somehow, she pulled off both in a way no one else ever could due to her ability to not care how she looked. She carried herself the same confident way regardless. They all did.

But Mr. Winoc still stuck out, and in a way that was different to them.

Mr. Winoc wore a long-sleeve pecan-colored button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the black and gold watch he wore on his left wrist, with the actual clock on the inside instead of out, or on top, I guess.

He had black dress pants or slacks, I don't know the difference, with the very distinct ironed fold at the front, forming a line that ran down the middle of each leg, before stopping at a pair of shiny black leather loafers.

He was dressed...normally.

Just like everyone else.

Even the infamous three, they're also dressed normally. I couldn't put my finger on it.

By the time the bell rung, it was only then that I could snap out of my daze.

At some point, I gave up trying to find the reason for whatever I was trying to find out and instead, fell into a daydream, even though nothing in mind appeared.

'Maybe I should just leave...'