“Was anyone else here though?” I rolled my eyes in exasperation at the constant repetition of the same questions “Sorry Steph, its orders and a highly serious matter.” I smiled weakly, my lips trembling; damn straight it was a serious matter.

After Mr Vincent gained control of the situation and settled down he instantly took charge calling the teachers on duty to block off the girls toilets and get everyone out and away. Than calling the cops he proceeded to call the front office ladies telling them that when two surly and annoying cops came through to let them through.

Meanwhile I was sitting on the bathroom floor with my head in my knees in a frozen stew.

It was just as he got off the phone and I was edging off to leave, thinking my business was done – planning for an escape to where I could finally let the bubbling fire burning my insides threatening to erupt and be let released in an utter mess – when he grabbed my shoulders slightly roughly “Hold up they’ll need to talk to you Steph.” His grip telling me he was in dead need for support and still highly frazzled and most likely not wanting to be alone in the girl’s toilets where one of his star pupils head laid nestled in a females sanitation bin. Then he pulled out his mobile again and called his wife telling his wife that he wouldn’t make it home for dinner and that if anyone called home – especially the press – to say nothing.

I understood why he was a principal after seeing him jump straight into action and orchestrating the show entirely, he took such swift control I honestly relate him to a president or a sergeant, the pressure on his shoulders. Everything was literally straining on him – I could see it – and after today he would have so much work and tasks to go about, treading carefully the entire time. Yet he took it on in stride and already he had straightened his spine, lifted his chin and with a look of utter determination he took this issue head on.

It was as we waited for the police to arrive – so we could both get out of this hell hole and to escape to a better world – that I watched Mr. Vincent pace up and down the length of the girl’s toilets. It was as my eyes followed his every move; watching as he furrowed his brow and his eyes glued to the ground as he paced in deep thought that I realized the full severity of this situation.

I had come across a crime scene and not just any crimes scene where a man at the local bank or supermarket was robbed. No, I had come across a murder scene. It wasn’t a murder scene though either where they had suffered a stroke, no it was a gory gruesome truth where a teenage girls head was found decapitated and disposed of in the sanitation bin. If maybe it had been a stranger’s head that I came across I would have taken this slightly easier, just a little bit even. But the fact that it was Georgie Walker, a girl that I knew, a girl I sat next to in Maths class when our controlling maths teacher in year eight and the very same girl that I was best friend at the age of ten and went to her best friend as a fairy and had bought her a Barbie doll. She was the girl I had seen on the weekend laughing against her car as her long time boy friend Ben leant over her as they flirted, it was adorable.

Yet she was the girl I had just found, her bleary white opaque eyes staring up at me, wide with a silent plea to save her or just to do something and I had failed her. She was the girl that had no body attached and if I looked close I could see the tear to her flesh and skin, ragged and cut sickly, blood trickling down her white paper skin.

The memory burnt right into my mind had me scrambling up from the bathroom’s cold floor and racing to another cubicle where I emptied my stomach, lurching over the toilet bowl with such ferocity.

That was how the police found me.

So by the third time of twenty questions – them being awfully the same and repetitive – you could say I was exhausted, stressed, peeved, and I felt dirty with especially the taste of vomit on my tongue having my stomach twist harshly. And lunch wasn’t even over.

“Look Carl,” I began trying to keep my voice controlled and polite when all I wanted to do was curl up in a ball and cry “I don’t look at who comes in or who is in here when I got to the toilet sorry, it isn’t exactly a need.”

He nodded “I know. It’s just we have to.” He said as if he himself was slightly over the questioning and preferring to do something else, nevertheless his tone was soothing and reassuring.

I looked up at Carl; compared to Chris he was friendlier which by looks, which was a shock since Carl was bigger and rounder. Carl played the good cop role, whereas Chris played the tough, blunt and abrupt police. Just like you saw in the movies. Taking closer note I noted the tired and weary eyes of Carl, yet I could almost hear the fear, sickened and questioning voices inside his head at this circumstances.

“Well all I can tell you was that I came in here, did my business” My cheeks turning red “Opened the lid and there she was. I got Sam to get Mr. Vincent for me and that’s that.” I said.

He raised his brow “Sam?”

I suddenly felt as small as an ant “Oh yeah, Sam Harris. I called out for someone to get help for me. She didn’t see anything though.” I said kicking myself mentally for forgetting that one little thing “Sorry.” I murmured sheepishly, in a small voice as my cheeks flamed guiltily.

“It’s okay Steph. Just try to remember alright, that’s all we ask.” He murmured reassuringly whilst pressing for information, anything to solve this absurd case “Here’s my card, call if anything comes to mind, but for now we are done. You can head off, I think your parents are waiting up at the front office for you ready to take you home, Mr. Vincent got the ladies to call them for you.” Instantly my heart sang out in gratitude towards Mr Vincent; all I wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed and be alone.

Taking the business card I nodded numbly, my head so heavy I thought at any moment it would roll off. Pushing myself – with a lot of needed force – off the wall I trudged heavily and with vulnerability towards the door. It was as soon as I moved that I realized how dead and limp my body truly was and how wrong it felt my body all heavy and limp, each step – with only my toe touching the cold ground – I could practically feel my weight and body tremble under the strain, at any moment threatening to give out.I felt sick. My eyes were unfocused and blurry my head heavy and throbbing as my body felt like pins and needles and just the slightest movement made me feel as if I’d collapse as my heart and blood beat heavily in my ears. My body began to shake and tremble and sweat beaded along my brow as my head spun, I felt dizzy my stomach lurching greater than ever before, my skin of chalk.

Gasping I took another step out the door and I could feel people’s eyes on me, I knew there would be a crowd out the front; the cops couldn’t sneak nor hide with such a huge thing as this. They could only hold the crowd back so much, through blurry eyes I could see the yellow tape blocking the entrance, the students only held back by such a dingy item. The strip held them back from the toilets entrance by over at least ten meters as the teachers and such tried to usher them to class as the lunch bell signaled. Yet it didn’t stop them from ogling at me, staring with wide eyes as I could hear the toe curling thrum of their hushed whispers.

“Steph?” a distant voice asked as my head jerked around in search, gasping at the movement I put my hand against the wall for support, my body quaking with a pent up of emotions as I leant against it heavily “Steph?” they asked again their voice more closer and also their body as I could feel their body heat, the heat thawing at my frozen skin.

My heart fluttered towards the one stranger who offered me their weight and strength, offering me comfort as they sounded literally worried of my wellbeing, rather than all those others that just watched and whispered, doing nothing.

They reached out towards me, a masculine intruding in on my dazed and blurry sigh “I just need another minute.” I gasped to no one in particular. Dazed and shaking I wiped at my eyes to find them wet; tears. I had to get out o here; pushing up off the wall I took one measly step.

My foot crumbled and collapsed out from beneath me, darkness crept over me but before it fully engulfed me I saw Gavin Bickim starring down at me with wide eyes.

Ƹ̵Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Slowly my hand came shakily up to my head touching it; it felt cold, ice cold, and fragile like dust, like at any second I’d crumble under my own weightless touch.

As if electrocuted I instantly swung up for where I laid with a heavily thumping heart.

“Woo woo.” A voice soothed “Easy bub.”

I looked around groggily “Dad?” I croaked finding him finally in my blurred and hazy vision.

He smiled “Hey kiddo how’s it?” he asked, his usual laid back and breezy self.

I winced as I reached for my throbbing head “Oh sweetie!” mum cried rushing to my side her hands going everywhere frantic as to what to do “Tell me where it hurts?”

I groaned “More like tell me where my dignity is.” I muttered as I remembered what had just happened.

Dad chuckled as my mum frowned “That’s not funny. It’s absolutely fine, you were shocked and who wouldn’t. Seeing something so horrendous….” She trailed off her voice shaking in utter horror.

I cringed; they knew; who else by now knew?

“How long was I out?” I mumbled rubbing my strained eyes with my fists, my eyes watering under strain.

“Not long. We were already on our way when you collapsed; Vincent called and told us to come. Smart man that Vincent.” Dad said trailing off.

Mum sighed “Mr Vincent dear.” Mum turned to face me “He was calling him Vincent to his face before. He didn’t get the hint when I gestured to his name tag.” She said smiling at him lovingly as she rolled her eyes making me laugh weakly before choking on it.

“Well it’s confusing.” Dad said defensively “Having a first name as a last name.” he said shaking his head “School days must have haunted him; all that teasing.” He shuddered dramatically as he shook his head sadly.

Mum rolled her eyes again as I watched on amused “Sure so dreadful that he returned to school to relive it all.” She said sarcastically making me smile more.

Dad chuckled before turning to me “Ready kiddo?” as he gestured to the door. I finally looked around; we were in one of the two sick bays in the front office.

How did I even get here?

So slowly and awkwardly I got off of the bed and followed my parents out the door as I stretched with a yawn, stretching my stiff limbs. Outside in the office it seemed normal; like any other day which made me feel even more anxious as I frowned; was I the only one in an utter mess? Looking closer I could see the deep worried lines creased into the front office ladies skin, their eyes taught in worry as they bustled around each with a phone in their hands and paperwork. They looked so frazzled and lost, as if they had no idea what to do. It made sense though, a murder here at our school, Emming High School?

Greedily, their worry appeased me, knowing I wasn’t alone.

Mum grabbed my hand and squeezed it reassuringly “I’ll clear this up. You go with dad to the car.” And with that she edged over to the front desk.

Dad moved at a quick pace as I tagged along side. Reaching the door I was unable ignore the differences not only in the frigid mood but also from what I could hear. Phones were ringing, cops talking to other cops or other people in low and serious murmurs. And distantly I heard the most pain breaking thing possible; Georgie’s parents crying, and her mother’s opened wailings.

Dad hearing it too quickly opened the door and urgently he gestured me out the door as others recognizing me stopped and stared openly as I kept my head down. Stepping through we were hit by a calm and soothing gush of wind; instantly making my body relax as we made our way to the car. The school was dead still and silent, everything look dreary and if anything morbid, I gathered all the students were sent home or back to classes acting as if nothing had happened.

I wish I had that luxury.

It was as I stepped out of the school gates I knew I’d never look the same at my high school, nor would I ever be able to feel what every student deserved to feel in the refinements of their school.

Safe.

Ƹ̵Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

The trip home was tense, mum acted like any other day; talking about work or some family friend, trying to act as if all was fine and alright, trying to be controlled. Yet it was obvious she was worried; her quick glances in the review mirror were enough of a hint.

Yet who could blame them? Their daughter found the head of a student from her year cut off and bloody with the words ‘GP+CC’ etched on her forehead with blood. Oh and then I collapsed.

I know it was disgusting and all but fainting? I realized in that moment that I had lost my persona as the nobody, tomorrow would be a new day and I’d be the centre of attention, and I’d be the school’s wimp.

“Sweetie?” mum asked tentatively as we sat for dinner making me look up from my barely touched meal – I wasn’t hungry, especially for meat. “Mrs Truly said that counseling will be offered tomorrow all day and all week even. Mr Vincent recommends it for everyone, especially, well…..you.” she suggested gently, cautiously and yet with a small glimmer of a shove; obviously wanting me to comply.

I instantly tensed just by the name of our front office lady let alone for everything else she had just said. I knew this moment was coming and yet at the same time I wanted and prayed for it to never come.

Maybe that’s why I had gone through all since the car trip normally as if nothing was wrong, as if I was okay. I had forced myself to not run for my room and be embraced by darkness. No, instead I forced myself to sit in the lounge room with my dad as he watched the news and he spoke to me pleasantly. Though I did cave to his offer as he opened his arms wide for me to curl into his side as we watched the news together – something I used to do on a daily basis after I’d finish school. I even helped mum in the kitchen like every other night, her peace offering being allowing me to choose the radio station. Overall I had kept far from my room and kept to my norms and tried to keep that strong, neutral façade.

After all that was the only reason why I was eating dinner at this moment.

“Oh. Okay.”

Dad instantly understood from my distance and my tone that this wasn’t a topic I was willing to discuss let alone going to think about. Mum on the other hand… “Well are you going to go?”

I prodded at the potato on my plate “Well….no.” I said slowly and cautiously not to bug her or make her more worried “I mean counseling; they make you re-live the memory. And I don’t need to, I need to forget. After all, I'm perfectly fine, I'll be fine mum.” I tried reassuring her whilst keeping a firm argument. Mums eyes narrowed though she didn’t say anything; she knew it had come to a crisp end and I knew if it wasn’t for the fact that I found a dead girl, she’d be still all over the issue. “If it gets any worse than I’ll go, I’m not bad, like in a terrible state. Just shocked.” I said in attempt to make her happier, even adding in a small tight smile and a shrug.

She smiled; mission accomplished.

The topic soon became too detailed and boring – as they began to talk about work – that I just pretended to listen; both mum and dad worked at the hospital; mum a receptionist and dad a doctor. Surprisingly for dad he didn’t have much long hours and shifts at the hospital. I mean it was Emming; a small rural town of NSW in Australia, population 4000 surviving only due to its agriculture. Nevertheless our town had a demand for doctors and such with only four, thus making dad struggle at times to fit his time around work, mum too at times.

Yet they made it work, for their sole daughter.

I have lived here my whole life and I’ve copped, it’s just slightly degrading when people ask about ‘McDonalds’ and you say “Oh, nah we don’t have them sort of stores here.” I mean we may be lacking the known shops but our local shops are just as trippy and cute and it’s not like we’re hillbillies; I mean we have heard of them shops and been to them, the next town over has all of it. So we are so not country hicks; I mean I don’t even own overalls! Nevertheless we still get looks full of pity, disgust and utter horror.

Mum and dad sat talking and I didn’t leave as I knew they were watching me. Mum was easy to read, her brow furrowed in conversation and every now and then she’d give me quick glances looking at me and looking swiftly away. If I met her green eyes she’d use her lame excuses such as asking for the salt – even though she’d asked over ten times. Or just by how she’d fiddle with that one loose strand of hair that had fallen out of her dead straight black hair that was up in a pony tail did I know she was nervous and anxious, jittering about in her seat. Mum was naturally understanding, sweet, caring and a person that naturally worries; her working at the hospital and coping with such a job even though she was naturally an anxious and overly motherly person still ‘till this day surprised and awed me.

Dad on the other hand was harder to read, I’ve always thought it was because of being a doctor as they have to always keep a shielded type face, like a wall to keep the patients and their families a little less worried and stressed and also having to follow confidentiality laws. He hides it well, like even if he has doubts about something or is anxious he appears relaxed and confident. So a doctor thing, right? But living with him for seventeen years do make some things clearer. For example as he sat in conversation next to mum and across from me he looked relaxed and peaceful, he joked like his usual self. But the slight nervous signs were clear like him pulling his hands through his short dirty brown hair or how he’d look at me during conversation his grey eyes slightly flickered with the slight hint of worry, earnest even, than he’d glaze them over hiding his true feelings behind those cool grey eyes.

Being any only child earned me more so protective and anxious parents, I was their little treasure. My mother had been told she’d never have children and one day at such a young of seventeen she found herself surprisingly pregnant. Dad and Mum were told earnestly at such a young age they couldn’t raise a baby especially with dad going to university to earn a degree to become a doctor. Yet my parents shoved them aside, gave birth to me nine months later but not before getting married and here I am. I was their little treasure, so they couldn’t help but be protective and affectionate more so than others and I didn’t matter because I knew no better and it earned me a close relationship with my family.

I didn’t mind though, they had a right to worry I mean even I was worrying about myself. I didn’t know how I felt, except shocked. I suppose once it sets in I’ll know how I feel, but how should I feel? Upset? Revolted? Angry? I didn’t know, I felt so robotic and numb and I think that’s what scared me more. How was I meant to deal with things when I didn’t know how I felt to deal? I just hoped my parents and others respected the space that I wanted and when I wanted it because all I needed or craved in that moment was to burry myself deep into my sheets and maybe even cry my eyes out.

Yet right now I couldn’t go to sleep because I was onslaught by a heavy throng of question such as; who would do something so morbid? Who was that messed up? And why Georgie? I wondered how much ground the cops had made.

The only thing I knew that night as I crept into my bed and cried my eyes out was that those eyes of Georgie’s full of fear and shock all glazed over and empty will haunt me ‘til the day I die.

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I'm so sorry that this is a day late; I was away from my computer all day. I thought we'd be home in time to write, I was wrong; I wasn't home 'till 11PM and by than I wasn't going to start typing. So here it is; enjoy and I hope you like! :)

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