Nibble part 1

Preface

I don't think I could really remember that whole night even if I wanted to. I had pushed the memories back so far in my mind, it was almost as if the night had never happened. But every once in a while, I would think back to what happened before.

The yelling got louder. I turned my iPod up to full volume, but it didn't help. It didn't droan it out. Harrison paced the room back and forth, pulling on his hair and blinking quickly. I closed my eyes and pulled the blankets up farther over me, pushing my earphones into my ears to block out the noise. To block out the fighting. And I didn't stop myself when I started nibbling on my fingernails. I didn't stop myself when I pulled back layers of skin with my teeth from the tips of my fingers. Not even when it started bleeding. But then, as my biting and nibbling became more frantic, I yelped out in pain as I ripped the skin of my index finger all the way down to the second joint in my finger. I remember Harrison pulling me out of bed, screaming for mom and dad. I remember all the blood. And the sirens. But after that, it's all a blur. All I remember after that is hands- swatting at me. Swatting my hands away from my mouth over and over and over. Trying to stop the nibbling.

Chapter 1

The first few days after the end of summer always came as a shock to me. I became so used to sleeping for as long as possible in the morning and falling asleep extremely late at night. I remember when the yelling first started, I would go to bed really early, hoping to escape the screams in my sleep. But, of course, it was impossible to find sleep over the noise. The insomnia probably built up gradually over all the nights that I would stay up watching movies on my lap top with the headphones blaring the actors' voices into my ears. But honestly, I can hardly remember the last time I went to sleep at a normal time. When Harrison graduated, I decided my headphones weren't good enough, and I would slip out of the house and go sit in the 24-hour department store down the street. I would walk to the furniture section and seek out my favorite couch, planting myself on it and pulling out a book or my notepad and selecting the album "Across the Universe" on my iPod, listening to the Beatles song adaptions over and over all through the night. I usually left at about four AM, slipping out of the exit without making eye contact with the sleepy cash register lady. When I got home, the house was dark and silent, and I would slip back into my room, pull the covers over my head, and finally find sleep.

I walked into the school on that first day of my senior year telling myself: this is it. My last year here. After this, I can leave. I can form a normal sleeping schedule. Or, at least, a normal sleeping schedule for a college student. Anything had to be better than my current hours. I was wearing my favorite jeans, a short white top, and a huge black jacket that I was pretty much never seen without. I saw Lindsay down the hall, waiting in line to pick up her schedule and locker slip, and I immediately felt myself cooling down, loosening. This wasn't home, this was school. No one would yell here. Not like that. I now once again had eight hours a day of being here, instead of home. I walked toward Lindsay, taking in her first-day-of-school outfit: she had cut her hair again, which seems like it should be a big deal, but you don't know how often Lindsay cuts her hair. She had a little blonde bob now, and she was taking advantage of the still-warm weather by wearing tiny jean shorts, platform sandals, and a red tank top, bangles slipping down her arm as she pulled down her top. I smiled and kept moving through the crowd, when suddenly I slammed into something. Or someone. I looked up and saw Nick Angel, wearing his usual all-black get-up to contrast with his white hair that lapped at his shoulders. What a freak. "Sorry," I muttered, moving around him. "No problem," he replied, even quieter than me in his scratchy, deep voice. He sounded like a smoker, though he didn't really seem like the type. He maneuvered past me and I glanced back, watching him make his way quickly through the crowd of students, ducking his head. No wonder he had slammed into me. I felt like going up to him and saying, "Hey, you know, if you don't want to attract attention to yourself, maybe you should cut your hair and stop dying it white." I rolled my eyes and finally caught up to Lindsay, who automatically pulled me into the line with her, rambling about some boy she had met over the summer. Safe. I was safe again. I smiled as Lindsay and I stepped up to the table, telling the assistant librarian our id numbers and receiving our new schedules and lockers. "Ready for the best freaking year of your entire high school career?" Lindsay asked me with a smile as we walked up to our first class, which we coincidentally had together. I smiled widely and nodded, and we walked into the classroom, beginning our senior year.

© 2010