She sat with a hand to her throat. Never would she get the image of his face out of her mind, her mother's frantic voice in her screaming at her, the numb feeling she felt. And through all of it, she just stood there, barley breathing...
During the common flashbacks, the bathroom door slammed open. Her mother had been knocking on it for a while and she wondered when she would brake it down. Mildly wondered.
Celia looked tired, but alert. A right mess. Her brown hair was at all angles, wavy and fluffy. It was supposed to
be in a bobble, but most of it was stuck to her head and face in
greasy locks. Her shaking body was covered by a t-shirt 3 sizes
too big and a pair of yellow pyjamas bottoms.
Joan looked at her. Her bright green eyes, usually crinkled by her smile or laugh, now held an empty void. It made her look...soulless. There was no emotion, not anymore.
"Oh, Joan..." Celia took 3 steps toward her daughter, then collapsed crying. The tears were long overdue.
Joan just sat there and watched. Like a hawk watching its prey.
The bloody knife in Joan's hand dripped the crimson liquid that covered it, and which ran through her veins. The shower was still running, pouring water and stinging the newly made wounds, made only a second ago. On her chest, near her heart, were lines over lapping each other. Along her arms were little crosses. And there were lines all across her neck and one side of her face. All were gushing with blood as they were not surface wounds, but deep gashes which would stay imprinted in her skin forever.
But still, Joan felt nothing. No pain, no sadness, no depression...Just and empty nothingness.
And that is being truly alone.
One year on and the empty void where her heart should be is still
there, just as numb as the day she got it. She'd gotten so used
to the numbness that without it, she would probably go
In that one year, Celia had gotten into action. She'd gotten rid of any evidence of that night, sold the house and moved them to San Francisco.
Their new home was hidden in the forest, which was fine because that way no one can come to the house and ask them to buy anything. Walk out the front door and down a couple steps and there's a lake. Go in the other direction, and you come across a town.
The brook is where Joan was headed for now. She had a guitar in one hand, and a notebook and pen with the other. She was going to try finish off the song she started the night before, but just like in P.E, you have to warm up first. She played some Evanescence, then some Kelly Clarkson, not singing obviously.
After about 20 minutes, she had finished her song, rehearsed, edited and played again, and was now just relaxing, letting the sun beat on her back, hands in the grass she lay on, feet in the water. This was her favourite spot, in the whole world. It's the one place with no reminder of her previous life, no bad memories...
After an hour of just not thinking, she realised that she had to get going. Unfortunately, a building full of stressed out teachers and horny, idiotic teens held open arms to her, and her mother was pushing her into them.
As soon as she walked threw the door, Celia was on her case.
"Joan, get ready for school, Christ sake! You're going to be late."
Joan just looked at the shrill women who still thought she could control her life. She just stared, knowing it would push Celia over the edge.
"Say something! Please!" Her mother screamed. Joan was so used to this, she just kept on looking. She wasn't a talker anymore. Then again, she wasn't much of a person anymore. She never showed emotion, never felt anything, never talked...Like a mindless robot. Going through the motions of living, without actually being alive.
The kids at school actually called her Zombie, which suited perfectly.
Joan walked upstairs to her room to change out of her pyjamas.
It was a pretty basic set up. A desk, a chair, a bed, a window...the usual. It was so basic that even the walls were ordinary-plain white.
The only thing that made it hers was the instruments spread around the room. One sax, three guitars (one electric, two acoustic) an amp, a keyboard, a drum kit, and her massive, white grand piano.
She changed out of her black pyjamas and into something more suitable, more concealing. A turtle-neck, long sleeve jumper, black skinny jeans and black Vans. Her cloths represented her on the inside.
Joan looked in the mirror. She still looked the same as always with Piercing green eyes that you would notice from across any room with any number of people. Straight black hair tumbling down her back, reaching her thighs, long black fringe covering one side of her face, a few freckles on her nose which, under normal circumstances, would have been cute. But on Joan, the just looked...missed placed. The black-as-coal make-up that ran around her eyes did nothing to soften the green, did nothing to make it less noticeable. And as usual, she gave up trying.
When she got downstairs, she met with the usual site. Celia was sat at the kitchen table with a bottle of vodka in hand and head hanging.
This happened every day, welcoming Joan into her house of horrors, so she wasn't surprised.
Joan reached for her bike helmet, but Celia just grabbed her hand.
"Listen useless," she started. Her voice was raspy. "I have arranged for you to have counselling. I know you don't want to, but I don't care anymore. Anyway, the less I see of you, and the worse you feel, the better I'll feel." She laughed, removing her hand and taking a drink. "And if you don't go, you'll be sorry."
Joan left, knowing that she won't be seeing anybody.
She placed her helmet on her head and headed toward her motor bike, a Harley Dyna. It was her absolute everything, which was actually really ironic. How can someone who makes such little noise, love something which makes so much?
The Silent Zombie made her way to school thinking about how crap the day ahead of her was going to be.
But there was a surprise waiting for when she got there.
She parked up next to two cars. One she knew belonged to Randy Davidson. A shiny, red convertible, of course. His parents were both very successful lawyers, and even though they were separated, the still tried to out-do each other. His mum bought him this car, and his dad bought him a jet.
But the car on Joan's right was completely unknown to her. It was a 4x4, silver. The very care that Joan was saving to buy. Of course she loved her Harley, but she also need a car for the future and since she could place her bike in the back, there was no down side.
She studied the vehicle for another minute or two, then went into her first period English class, 3rd floor of main block.
Main block was a big block with seven floors, which held almost all the subjects.
Ground floor was for Gym, 1st for Drama, 2nd for science, 3rd for English, 4th for Maths, 5th for Languages, 6th for Art and 7th for R.E. The other block across, island block, held everything else.
When Joan reached English, there was someone sitting in her seat.
He had Viking blonde hair with electric blue eyes, broad and even sitting down, you could tell he was tall. A new guy. He wore slightly faded jeans, black converse which looked like they had been walked to Hell and back, and a Guns and Roses t-shirt, Joan's favourite band.
He was hot.
And definitely not Joan's type.
She walked up to her seat and stared at him. He was too busy doodling and listening to his iPod to notice her watching him sketch.
She had a giant shiver crawl across her skin as soon as she recognized what he was drawing. Or rather, who he was drawing.
What she saw underneath his hand and pencil, was a black and white version of herself.