Chapter 9

Strike first without hesitating.

I went to school earlier the next morning via a taxi; then after that, I went to the nearby coffee-shop for coffee before going back to school. When I stepped back into NYJC, colourful students in their Secondary school uniforms looked at me, turned to their friends and then a string of whisperings erupted. Another group of students would just give me a detailed look, examined me and then their lips would read “Correct?”

I went to one of the chairs in the canteen and sat down. Usually, Chew Ling should be here already, telling me about the stupid and unconstructive research that she had done the day before. That was when I remembered what happened yesterday. Serene’s words lobbed back to me: “Tomorrow, Shih Tzu, you’ll know what happens to a prey who touches a predator.”

I shivered. Looked around me. Eyes staring. Mouths muttering. Words from moving lips. “Is that she?” “That’s RV, right? Not HIHS?” “You sure?” “But she’s so quiet.” “It’s so happening here.” “She’s pretty.” “She looks so… perfect.”

Define perfect.

I could have gone up to any one of the students and asked her what happened. I stood up, walked around the school. There were no differences: The JC1s mingling together in groups, chit-chatting and the JC2s copying notes. There was a paper stuck near the wall beside the stairs of the classroom block. I strolled towards it.

It was a picture of me, printed with a high-end colour printer. Beside me was a copy of a news article. The article was published two years ago and it was familiar. All too familiar.

Fucking Serene- fucking Serene? That’s my first thought? Ha, ha, Linda Lim. You’re totally dissociated, you’ve lost control.

“Throw it away! They’re everywhere!” Chew Ling’s voice rang beside me. She staggered towards the stairs and sat on the lowest step. “I think I’ve seen at least ten of these. I’ve thrown them all away. Gosh, so this is what they called ‘JC bullying’! Check blogs, Linda. I’m sure these crazy people will write about this too.”

I balled the paper into a ball. Chew Ling was panting and wheezing, as if she had spent the last few minutes running. “Hey, you mind going to the canteen and take my bag here? I think my asthma is triggering.”

I held up my hand and tossed the ball of paper to the ground like how a badminton player smashed a shuttlecock with her racket. I looked around me; was I looking for Serene, or was I looking for a place to hide?

I pictured Serene holding thousands of those flyers and passing – fabricated? - them to every student in the school. “Asshole.” I whispered, wondered who I was referring to and walked towards the canteen.

“No, Linda, it’s asthma, not asshole…”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

There is no way to describe pain with just words. In Oxford School Dictionary, ‘pain’ means “1. an unpleasant feeling caused by injury or disease; 2. suffering in the mind”. That was just academic: The truth is that pain is imperceptible, erratic and treacherous taking the form of an enraged dragon that makes you either cry or frown. It takes everything from you: Your thoughts, your feelings, your memories. Your everything. It eats them.

I pulled out my drawer and took out a small penknife. I had bought it a few weeks ago. The cashier thought I was buying it for my art lesson, not knowing that I did not take art. The blade glided out effortlessly. Stared. Looked. Away.

I did not know why but whenever I felt like slashing, I had to sit on the floor. Maybe I thought if I fainted, I would not drop from the chair. I was expecting tears, but my tear ducts had already worked on an overdrive an hour ago.

All tears gone, now to the memories; the pain. What is the difference between memories and pain?

I held out my hand. The first time I did it, my hand was shaking. Second time, no. Third time, I was stable. Fourth time, I was addicted. Fifth time, it had became routine.

I hesitated like I always did. I positioned the blade close to my arm and pressed against it slowly. A little pain devoured me.

I’ll be perfect-

The blade went deeper. A fiery pain went through my whole body.

Forget- they will-

I slid the blade down towards my palm, ever so slowly.

But will I forget?

A dotted line of blood emerged from my cut. A few seconds later, the dots joined up and it became a red line. There was pain- pain, a dragon.

It’s about me forgetting. They’ll see me differently now. Sorry Serene, but you deserved this shit-

I placed the blade next to the line of cut and drew another parallel line beside my previous cut. The pain ate –

Define perfect.

Like a - the pain, like a dragon, ate me up: My emotional pain, my feelings, my thoughts… my everything.

It was like I had summoned a dragon to eat up my memories. My pain. My past.

Why the fuck am I creating a photogenic image that no one but me will see?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was just a matter of when Mrs. Tee would look for me. The only consolation of having a “talk” with Mrs. Tee was that the Hell Room was air-conditioned with a sofa for me to sit on.

Mrs. Tee was quiet during the journey to the room. She seemed to be counting her steps and occasionally looking at me, as if afraid that I would run off. I increased my pace to hint to her that I was really not interested in the conversation.

“I know about it.” she said when we were comfortably sitting on the sofa.

Yeah, you know everything.

“We’re trying to find out who did it. The Discipline Master is working on it.”

I dropped my head.

“Once we catch the culprit, he or she will be punished severely.”

Like what? Smacking the butt? Call the parents? Or sweeping the floor?

“We take this seriously. He or she will not get away. You have any idea who did it?”

“I’ve got enough enemies. Listing them all will fill up the whole roll of toilet paper.”

“If need to, we’re willing to investigate every single suspect.”

What’s the use?

“We’re trying to help you.”

“This is PAE.” I whispered. “I’m not yet confirmed a student here. So don’t waste your time selling a Gucci bag to a student who doesn’t even have one dollar in her wallet.”

“You know I’m not trying to-”

“You know everything. So tell me what you know about me?”

Mrs. Tee kept quiet. When the silence went on for a few more seconds, I dropped my head again.

“Just leave me alone.” I whispered.

“You leave yourself alone as well, okay?” Mrs. Tee said. I followed her gaze: She was looking at my Adidas towel wristband. A long line of slit, freshly crafted yesterday, lined out from the wristband towards my elbow.

So my pose for a photogenic image is seen after all…

“You don’t understand.”

“Let me help you. Let me understand then.”

I put my hand under my thigh so that my elbow would be facing Mrs. Tee, hiding the slash I had made yesterday.

“Mrs. Tee, the thing is… I don’t understand myself too.”

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