"What about your sister?" One voice whispers.
"What would she do without you?"
"She'll survive, just worry about escaping your pain." another interjects.
"Yeah! Let's make them guilty for all the things they've done or said to you."
The voices start to all mix together, each shouting their own opinion.
"Who might you hurt by going through with it?" another voice reaches her over the others and makes her think.
"I'm not scared." Her own voice echoes in her head.
She begins to get overwhelmed, every voice is mixing into one. Every sound is just a noise, there are no words anymore.
"SHUT UP!" She screams, this time out loud. Her hand quickly moves up to cover her mouth, and she gasps. All the voices in her head had stopped talking, but every single person in her history class was looking at her. Their faces either showed smirks, or complete and utter shock.
"Clara?" The teacher asked her in a whisper. Without responding Clara picked up all her stuff and hurried out of the room. Her heart was pounding, and as she ran through her schools hallways, she could feel her breath quickening.
She didn't have to think about where to go, her legs took her straight to where she needed to be; the staircase by the back end of the school that was always empty.
Clara's eyes began to sting and water, and by the time she reached the stairs and collapsed with her back against the wall, tears were streaming down her face. She tried to take back control of her breathing. Clara felt tear after tear escape from her eyes and make their way down her cheeks, dripping off her chin and onto her neck and shirt. The thought of all those people watching her as she rushed out of the class sent a shiver up her spine. What would they think of her? Do they realize it's partly their fault, that they've driven her this far?
Clara reached into her backpack and pulled out a notepad and pencil. She began to sketch out words, words that they've called her, or the way she was feeling. She directed her emotions through the pencil, writing out lyrics and poems. The pages of her notebook were stained with tears, but she continued to write, writing anything that came into her mind. Everything she was feeling, or had ever felt was written in that notebook.
The notebook, had saved her life more than once before, It was her outlet. Clara's way of expressing herself, without the possibility of people telling her secrets to everyone else. A better friend than any actual person that she's ever called her friend.