FOUR YEARS LATER: 

Carla Mason:

The incessant beeping of my alarm clock rouses me from my slumber. My lids are heavy with sleep and I resist the urge to smack my blaring alarm clock with a hammer. It is seven am on an unpleasant Monday morning. The smell of brewing coffee from the kitchen pulls me towards itself, like a zombie craving for brains.

I pad out of my room, still clad in my pajamas. Normally, I wouldn't mind a busy, bustling Monday. In fact, I quite enjoy staying preoccupied with my work. It keeps all my poisoning thoughts at bay. But a Monday which marks as the beginning of college isn't a day I quite look forward to. College equals meeting new people, socializing, starting friendships, none of which I want to do. My past experiences have taught me enough.

Mama smiles as soon as she catches the sight of my disheveled self. "Didn't sleep well last night?" she asks as I pull out a chair for myself.

I shake my head at her. Even though it has been two years since Mama has sobered, it always pleasantly surprises me to see her making breakfast in the kitchen every morning, to watch her as she leaves the house for her job, to catch her chatting away with her friends like normal mothers do. I think it stems from the fear that is still rooted in me—that one day I will wake up to find that I have lost her too, much like everybody I once loved and cared for.

"Is it because of college? I know you have been anxious, honey, but if I am being honest, I am kind of glad you are out of that environment in school. Think of college as an opportunity, a chance to make things right, start new friendships. It is a brand new start, Carla," she says as she puts a plate of a French toast and a steaming cup of coffee in front of me. The aroma tickles my nose.

"I think it is far too early for that, Mama," I reply, sipping out of the chipped mug. The burning liquid sears the roof of my mouth like it always does. She moves to sit next to me, taking my hand in hers. "Carla, darling, it's been three years. You ought to let go, to forget and to move on. There is no other way forward."

I am tempted to remind her that you can't forget something as fundamental about your existence such as your entire past, but I keep my mouth shut. The past is to be learnt from, not forgotten. And as sad it has been for me, it has taught me important lessons that I would gladly skip learning again. Once was enough.

Never again.

****

Franklin High's corridors are hustling and bustling with students. Surrounding me is the monotone chatter of a thousand students filling into college. I haven't even moved a few paces from the entrance gate, yet I can already see all the cliques: the emo guys with their fringes falling into their eyes, wearing MCR T-shirts; the jocks standing by their lockers, punching each other on the arm and laughing uproariously; the nerds sitting away from each other, all of them clutching books in their hands or wearing thick, heavy glasses. I make my way past all these people, keeping my eyes trained on the floor.

I am not a nerd by any definition of the term, but much like them, I'd like to isolate myself from human interaction. Mama says the only way forward is to move on, to forget. Mama is wrong. The only way forward is to learn from the past, and it has taught me too much about love and friendships and attachments. Way more than I would have liked to know.

Looking over the sea of people surrounding me, I maneuver my way to Math class, the first one on my schedule. Students have already started filling in as I enter, greeting each other, already eager to make new friends. I wish I could remind them of what they are setting themselves up for—which in precise terms is disappointment, heartbreak, broken promises—but I don't want to make myself look like a fool. There is also a thick chance they would think I am crazy, just like I thought when Jenny tried to protect me from heartbreak. I guess it is best if they learn the way I did—through suffering and pain—because there is no better way to digest how damaging love is.

Taking a quick scan of the classroom, I soon realize that I am too un-cool to be one of the backbenchers and too much of a day dreamer to sit in the front rows. I locate a convenient seat for me right next to a window and hope that our teachers don't have seating charts.

Someone two rows behind is singing harmoniously. Shifting my gaze to him, I find that he has already found himself a little fan club—the students crowding around him are shaking their heads to the beat, mesmerized by the sound of his voice. My eyes meet with his and he winks and I turn my head away. All the noise is really starting to get to me when the sound of boots clinking against the floor reaches my ears, a quiet hush falling over the room. All the students rush back to their seats. The guy behind me stops singing in the middle of belting out a high note.

The figure stands in the doorway, briefcase clutched in hand as he patiently waits for everybody to settle down. I try not to flinch visibly when a girl occupies the chair next to me. She waves enthusiastically, mouthing a hello. I give her a weak smile.

It doesn't take long for our Math teacher, Mr. Ronald Roosevelt, to launch into a memorized, yawn-inducing speech about the significance of math in everyday life. Apparently, I am not the only one who's bored. The girl sitting next to me introduces herself as Jackie.

"Jackie's a nice name," I say, attempting to put an end to this conversation.

She nods vigorously, her blonde hair falling into her eyes. "What's your name?"

"Carla. Carla Mason."

"Sweet," Jackie says. She holds out her hand in front of me. Hesitantly, I extend my arm and we shake hands.

"It was really nice meeting you, Carla. We should hang out in the lunch break. What do you say?"

No. I want to say no. But Jackie's batting her eyelashes at me, looking expectantly for a positive answer. Sighing, I nod my head in affirmative. She flashes her shiny teeth at me in response, then turns to face Mr. Ronald Roosevelt, who appears to be writing a trigonometric function on the board.

I pretend to pay attention, to make sense of the gibberish he's written on the board in his dirty scrawl, but what flashes in front of my eyes is the letter Jenny wrote to me when she left all of us for good.

Stay away from the things that can hurt you.

I almost want to tell Jackie I can't join her for lunch. That I've seen enough heartbreak, had enough losses, to steer clear of any friendships. But when I turn to face her, she's already bent over her notebook, copying the lecture off the board. I do the same. 

*****

author's note: well, things just took a turn. what happened to Jenny? where's eric? i'd love to hear your theories on this! 

i made a quick but HUGE change just hours before posting this chapter on here, so i hope there isn't too large a difference between the first and the later half of the chapter. 

i also tried to adopt a slightly more mature tone as i wrote this, with carla being all grown up and all, but i am not sure if it came through? do let me know what you think in the comments!

can't wait for you guys to read eric's POV next wednesday! 

-RZ.