It's hot outside. That sticky, uncomfortable kind of hot where the bottom of your thighs cling to the car seat and when you try to peel them away, a faint wave of pain dances up your spine. The kind of hot where you can feel the beads of sweat inching down your back, threatening the skin beneath the band of your jeans. The kind of hot where you just want to grab a bucket of freezing water and dump it over your head. It's a comfortless feeling, a feeling that makes me reach forward and grab the air conditioner knob and turn it all the way to the right. The air gingerly charms my face at first, until it starts to whip my hair around and I have to turn it back down so I can see the stretch of road in front of me. Heat bounces off of the concrete and the sun is faint in the distance, but its rays aren't nearly as subtle. They are rough and rude and coarse, beating down on me relentlessly through the windshield. I move a hand away from the steering wheel to breeze it through my hair, locks of blonde falling, framing around my face. They are slick with moisture, and so is the back of my neck. That sticky and uncomfortable feeling. My eyes leave the road in front of me and look to the air conditioner, and I can feel my hand tense. I want so badly to turn that knob again, let that cool air hit my face. So I do. And when I look back up to the road, I see I've swerved off to the right a little. Concentration was lost. Hope is already gone. The last thing I need right now is an accident when another accident is the exact reason why I'm running away from Degrassi in the first place.
Who knew that the girls' washroom can be so comforting. The back of the stall is cool against my back and I let my feet stretch to the other end, crossing over each other, toes curling contently. The lights seem to flicker at all of the right times. Flashes of illumination beating down on me, telling me I'm not worth it. Telling me that I'll never be worth it. All of this serves as just a reminder, though, because I can't remember the last time when I felt like anything. It's like I'm this empty, soulless void with enough glitz and glam to fool even the most cunning of eye. Harboring a vacant and naive heart waiting impatiently for something to come and fill it up. Because the only thing there right now is this coarse bitterness towards the world, towards love, towards boys, and towards everything in between. Once you're hurt, it's hard for you to ever trust again. It's hard for you to ever believe that something good will come out of this game called life. Because it played you time and time before, left you on the sidelines wondering when it would sub you. And then it never did. It left you there, and you had to fend for yourself.
I can't believe that I thought he wanted me for me. It's like this unspeakable rule for guys: get a good roll in the sack with a girl, and you're the man. You're suddenly the epitome of everything slick, and you might as well wear a shirt that says 'Yeah, I hit that.' That's exactly what he did with me. Used me and dumped me. Like I was some doll on some string, his fingers playing with me until he tired of doing so. Like I was some plastic action toy for kids, the excitement in his eyes slowly dying out once he found a more interesting toy to fool around with. I know I shouldn't have let him do that to me. No one does that to Paige Michalchuk, but he found a way in through the walls that I bound so tight. I can picture his smirk now. The shit-eating smirk that tells you he is up to no good. Why didn't I see it before? It's not like I'm blind or anything. I was just blinded by love, and the fact that I might have been loved in return.
Suddenly the girls' washroom doesn't seem so comforting anymore. I close my eyes, trying to block out all of the thoughts assaulting me. It doesn't work. The black of my eyelids overwhelm me. Reminding me there's a hole the size of Texas where my heart used to be. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I wander, I drift into nothing, and I have the sudden urge to lean over the toilet and throw up. So I do. I lift the toilet seat and it spills out of my mouth, like all of the I love you's we shared. After I'm done, I wipe my mouth clean with the back of my hand.
I want to escape from this. I want to forget that any of this ever happened. I want to lose myself, and I want to erase everything that I already am. But where the hell would I go? It's not like there is anywhere in Canada interesting enough to escape to. And it'd be too easy to find me, anyway. I need to go somewhere that no one would expect me to go. Briefly, I contemplate the idea of the states, and New York, and California, and Florida. But there's no way that I could pull that off. Screams of misery and torment echo through my head. I can't let them out. Maybe if I drove out to the coast one day, and screamed all of my pain and frustration out. But with that would go my soul, because if I do, everything would escape me. My heart and my soul and everything that I am, and when they found me lying like a lifeless husk on the sand the next morning, I would drift away, up to the Heavens, where everything would be okay.
I need to get out of here. It's not like I can stay here all day, anyway. Someone was bound to find me, and then I would have to explain myself. I would have to explain how my life came crashing down a few days ago, and I'd have to explain that I don't even know who I am anymore. Scrambling up, my knees feel weak and I want to fall back down to the ground, but I stand strong. Like I should have before, but I didn't know any better. And I don't think I'll ever know any better. My hands desperately work at the lock on the stall and it takes me a few moments before I can finally shove the door open. I can't feel my feet as I stagger towards the sinks, and my breath hitches so far up my throat when I see a pair of eyes looking at me strangely through the reflection of the mirror.
"Paige?" she whispers, and I hate the way she seems so calm about everything. No, I'm not Paige. I'm this blank piece of human, not knowing what the hell I'm doing. But I don't tell her that, because I don't know the answers to the questions I know she'll ask. Always was an inquisitive one. When I don't answer, she takes the initiative to keep talking, stops reglossing her lips. I wish she'd shut up. "What's wrong?"
I remember we were driving in your car
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" I repeat myself, my voice laced with craze and anger and bewilderment and I want to run out of that bathroom. But something in her eyes keeps me planted where I stand. It's almost as if she cares, and I have to take a step back because I've never seen that look before. "Are you kidding me? Everything is wrong, Emma. Maybe you haven't noticed. Spinner dumped me. Dean raped me. Hazel can't even talk to me anymore without mentioning how amazing Jimmy is. My life is a fucking mess and you're asking me what's wrong? Well, there you go. That's what's wrong. Everything."
Emma looks suprised, and I feel bad. She probably didn't know I would blow a casket over a simple question. I immediately try to cover up for my anger, but she dismisses it with a wave of her hand. "It's okay, Paige," she replies. "We all have to get it out sometimes."
I feel more connected with her than I ever have before. Like a door just opened, or something. "Yeah," I say, short and simple. I don't want to divulge much more, because I can already feel that heavy lump in my throat dissolving and regenerating with every minute passing by. I have the sudden urge to throw up again. And I probably would have, if it wasn't for Emma stepping up and wrapping her arms around me in a hug. Her embrace is warm and caring, and I let my forehead drop to her shoulder as I cry. Sobs rack violently through my body and Emma holds me, whispering soft nothings into my ear, telling me that everything is going to be okay. But everything is already so messed up. I want to tell her that, to pull away from her and scream that nothing will ever be okay. I have a feeling that won't help.
Your arm felt nice wrapped around my shoulder
I had a feeling that I belonged
And I had feeling I could be someone
"Look, Paige," she says, her gentle hand running over my hair, flattening it. I lift myself from her shoulder and her shirt is damp from my tears. She smiles, despite this. "You can't dwell on Dean forever. And Spinner? Paige, Spinner is a moron if he doesn't realize how incredible you really are. He doesn't deserve you."
I can tell she means well with her words, but they make me feel worse. "How can I not dwell on Dean? He took away my innocence, Emma. He took away everything, he took away me." Salty tears continute to spill down my cheeks and onto Emma's shirt, but she doesn't seem to mind. Her arms only tighten around me and hold me against her chest. I wish I could stay like this forever. I wish I could feel like this forever, feel as if I'm secure and safe and there will always be someone there for me. Sure, there's Hazel. There's Terri, Jimmy, and there used to be Spinner. So-called friends. People who sat with me and ate lunch with me and shared their later gossip, people who came close to breaking my shell. But failed in the end. I needed someone to be my rock, and right now, Emma is the closest thing I have to being solid.
"Because if you do, you'll end up like this all of the time. Crying your eyes out on my new shirt. You know, this cost thirty bucks."
I laugh, thankful for her humor. I look up and see that tantalizing smile dancing across her lips, and I can't help but manage a small smile myself. It's true, smiles are contagious. Especially Emma Nelson smiles. Her arms slip away from me and I remove myself from her, taking a step back. It's funny how I started screaming at her and now I'm more open, more free. Like she had the key to what I was hiding away. I feel my smile widening more as I lift my hand to my face, dabbing away the stray tears with my thumb.
You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so you can fly away
You have to make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way
"God, I feel so stupid. I'm sorry about putting all of this on your shoulders, Em. I guess I just needed someone to talk to."
She nodded, seemingly understanding. "I know, Paige. I know. Don't apologize."
I nod slightly, and step up to the sinks. My face looks different in the mirror. Red, moist. Disheveled. I bend over the sink and splash cold water onto my face, and I can feel Emma's eyes on me. She's wondering if I'll be okay. I reach foward and grab a paper towel, drying my face. When I throw it away, I see Emma smiling at me again.
"Come on, Paige. Let's get out of this washroom." Her voice lowered to a whisper. "Heather Sinclaire just walked in, so I have a feeling that it's going to start to stink."
And with that, we walked out of the girls' washroom together. Friendship formed, bond tightly seamed, and an escape from the gas of Heather Sinclaire.
I'm not sure where I'm going and I'm not sure what I'm going to do when I get there. The only thing I'm sure about is Emma Nelson, sitting in my passenger seat, sound asleep.
A/N: I woke up with this idea this morning, so if seems a little off, that's why. Read and review, please. I love reviews, and ultimately that's what keeps the story going. So tell me if you dig it so far.