You Saved Me Once Book 1

I was a freshman. We are supposed to be young, innocent, and youthful. I was none of those things, anymore. During the holiday break freshmen year, I did something. It's another secret. Because of that secret I'm now cold, blue, and sick.

It's been two months, since the funeral. I feel worse than before, everything sucks. I feel like I'm pushing myself too much. I was too sick that day, I should've stayed home.

Food is minimal now, it's been this way for a while. After the fu-neral, I could only eat one thing, pizza. I should've eaten more. My habit started to make me look different. I wore heavy clothes now, warm clothes. Many layers.

I force myself to move, if I stayed still too long the secrets would flutter inside. I tried to make it through the day, gym was the first class.

Everyone just got back from winter break. Everyone is sluggish, wet, and cold. Our gym shoes are pressed with wet snow, we dry them on the gym mats, we fail. Our slippery sneakers squeak against the polished gym floor. Everything smelt cold, and wet.

I came in late. I was crying in the bathroom.

Class has already started, but it felt like it stopped once I walked in.

The volume lowered, the balls stopped bouncing, the sneaker squeaks, reduced. Everything was low, as if they were watching me. They were. I could hear them whispering.

No matter how hard I avoided attention, even though I need-ed it. I needed so much attention, but I never asked for it, yet it always found me. Everyone noticed my habit, everyone knew about the Rich-ard's. Everyone knew about the Bartley's.

I try to hide the care I felt. I tried to mute the whispers, the talk. I didn't want to cry again.

My wet sneakers squeak each time I walk. They are dripping with the melted snow water I failed to dry on the mats.

The volume increases again. Everyone starts taking laps around the gym.

I join in, even though my fluttering stomach is pulsing. It's too warm. I keep swallowing the saliva that keeps coming up. I lick my teeth, as my heart races. I should stop running, but I don't. That's the last thing I remember.

I fainted in gym class freshmen year. Most thought I was act-ing out, because of the death in my family. Most thought it was for at-tention. I nod to the lies, and the rumors, even though they weren't true. It's better than the truth.

The truth is another secret.

I slam my locker. The memories make me feel sick again.

I stare at my boots, they squeak against the wet floor.

I walk the halls feeling paranoid. Sometimes a certain smell, or sound can take me back to freshmen year.

High school just isn't for me.

Everything in class is a blur, except photography. It's my red room for an hour. No teacher, no classmates in photography. Just a dim, red buzzing light, my camera, my photos, and my thoughts. The red room makes me feel nostalgic, I think about the past too much in here, I cry a lot. That's what I do today.

The bell ringing was enough to break me from my crying spell. School was over for seniors.

I reach my locker before Rochelle calls my name. I pretend to ignore her. I hide my head in my locker, looking for tissue to wipe my salty face.

She's not alone. Jeff's with her.

I refuse to make eye contact with either of them, I'm too worried they'd know I was crying.

When I cry, someone can easily trigger me with three words "what is wrong?"

"Not today Rochelle." I say.

I walk to the bathroom, hoping they would not follow, but they do. Thankfully, I wiped my face enough. Enough for me to not feel insecure for crying.

Jeff smiles at me, puts his arm around me. His arms are warm, he's warm.

Jeff wasn't some stranger that needed introducing. I've seen him around, and I knew his name. He was a senior like us, and an athlete. He was Rochelle's ex.

Jeff looked like a person who'd attend an ivy league school. He seemed too perfect for this school, he was better, but didn't rub it in. He's dewy, and pale, like a vampire. His hair is long enough for a pony-tail, yet he lets it hang loose.

He's quiet for the most part and has lots of friends. He talks to a lot of girls, and hangs out with stoners, which includes Jake. He looked quite young though. People say that about me. Through it all, Jeff looked sad. People also say that about me too.

I knew him well, through my eyes. I didn't know him. Did he know me? Did he know my history? Did he know the rumors? Did he know the truth? Is he judging me, like I'm judging him? He stares at me for a while, he smiles. He doesn't stop.

I push Jeff's arm off of me and go into the girl's bathroom. Ro-chelle follows me.

I stand at a sink, running my cold hands under warm water. The stalls are empty.

"I gave him your number." She says.

"Why would you do that Rochelle?" I ask.

I turn off the water, the rusty handle squeaks, loud. I wait for the water to go down the drain.

"Don't judge." She says. I bite my lip with guilt.

"He's your ex! I'm fucking judging." I mumble to myself.

"It was middle school." She murmurs.

Memories from some of the worst years for both Rochelle and I. The more we stay silent and reminisce on the past, the darker the mood was getting.

I knew Rochelle since pre-school, and we were always close, but when middle school hit, she changed. We both changed.

Seventh grade, she started off young, she was probably the first seventh grader in our school, to start exploring sex, or pretending to. Her and Jeff were a couple, back then.

She got this way for many reasons. When the summer hit, some-thing happened.

She started dating, not just middle school but high schoolers.

There was this one high schooler, he liked her for her "rumors".

They started to be a thing, then at a high school party, he got her drunk, and made her do things. His friends joined in too.

I'm one of the only people she's told.

Since then, she's never been the same. It hit her hard for 2 years. She numbed the pain by sleeping around.

Then over the summer of sophomore year she knocked on my door, and we started talking again.

Still, to this day I find it sad that half of the guys in our grade, has been with my best friend. Half of them lost their virginity in middle school to her. I feel bad for Rochelle. She let her coping turn into a hab-it too. "No, it's too weird. Jeff was with you." I say.

I'm lying, it's not weird because of that. I grab a paper towel to feed the silence.

"Alex, I knew you were crying." She says. I squeeze the paper towel.

"There's someone who thinks you're pretty fucking cool. Honestly, I couldn't agree with him more. I think you should give him a shot, he's really great." She says.

"Why don't you two go to my party together!?" She insists.

"No." I laugh.

"It'll be fun." She says.

"Yeah, having sex is so much fun. Highly-doubt he just wants to hold hands all night." I mock.

"I know you're a virgin Alex." She says.

"Why does that matter?!" I ask.

The butterflies that have been silent for months come back. I squeeze the wet paper towel in my hand for comfort. I can't look at Ro-chelle anymore.

Someone comes into the bathroom.

"I'll see you tonight." I say.

I leave the bathroom and walk home.

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