Part 1

I, I will be king
And you, you will be queen
Though nothing will drive them away
We can beat them, just for one day
We can be Heroes, just for one day
--David Bowie

One

I woke up, and moaned. Woke up? I wasn't supposed to be waking up!

I looked around--a hospital room. I was in the fucking hospital. Unless I was in hell. But I didn't think hell would have me plugged into all those monitors--that is, if I believed in hell in the first place. Which I didn't. So, this must be the hospital.

I looked down--sure enough, there were bandages on my wrists.

Fuck. Who found me?

My name is Virginia Klusse. I'd say "Ginny, to my friends," but I didn't have any friends. I preferred Ginny in any case. I'm 16 years old, just started my junior year in high school--and I tried to kill myself.

And, damn it all, I'd failed.

As I was lying there in my misery, the nurse walked in. "Ah, you're awake."

"Yeah. When is it?" I said.

"It's noontime on Wednesday."

"Ah. So I was out for, what, 15 hours or so?" I said.

"Yes. You lost a lot of blood."

"Not enough, apparently." She shot me a look. I ignored her. "Do you know who found me?"

"Your mother."

"And where is she?" I asked.

"Well, she and your father apparently had to go to work today. We're to notify them when you wake up."

"Typical," I snorted.

"Well, they do have to work, don't they? I mean, they can't take time off because some spoiled brat decided to make an elaborate plea for attention," she spat at me.

Jesus Christ, I fail at killing myself and I end up with Nurse Ratched. Could this get any better? "Plea for attention, huh? Let me get my hands on another knife and you'll see how much of a plea for attention this is," I snapped. She actually looked taken aback. Then she recovered, shook her head, and left.

My mother showed up at 4:30. Which was frighteningly early for her. Of course, it was also over 4 hours after they'd called her to tell her her 'precious' daughter was alive and awake. And her law firm was two blocks away from the hospital.

And, of course, her first words were, "Virginia Leigh Klusse, what were you thinking?"

"Hello, Mother. Nice to see you, too."

"Don't give me that. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Killing myself. Obviously, that's gone straight to hell, because I'm still here."

"Damn you, Virginia, how could you pull a stunt like this?"

A stunt? Fuck her. Just fuck her. This was completely hopeless. I just turned my head away from her and ignored her. She kept going. "It's a damn good thing that I forgot the tickets to the play, or I wouldn't have found you in time. Then what would you have done?"

"Died," I said.

"Exactly," she said smugly--talk about not getting it.

"Right. I would've died. Which was what I was fucking trying to do in the first place! This wasn't a stunt. This wasn't a plea for attention. I had no idea you forgot the tickets. I didn't expect you and Dad home until long after I'd be dead. That was an attempt at me getting out of my miserable fucking existance. The only reason I'm still alive is a fluke."

"Virginia, spare me the drama," she hissed. "I don't need your attitude."

Fine. I just gave up. I let her prattle on about how horrible I was, and I didn't even care. Finally, she left. After warning me that my father would be along later, and he wasn't happy, either.

Oh, goody.

Then, at suppertime, it got worse. No, not the food, although that was bad enough. It was the guy delivering the food. Craig Tolland. I knew him, he was in school with me--in fact, he was my lab partner in Chemistry last year. "Hey, Ginny!" he said as he walked in.

"Craig? What are you doing here?"

"I work here. Food service gopher," he laughed. "What are you doing here? Accident or something?"

I didn't say anything. But he looked down--and saw the bandages on my wrists. "Oh, God, I forgot this is the psych floor," he said. "Ginny? You didn't! You, of all people?"

I was not going to discuss this. I was not going to give this asshole--any of the assholes in my life--the statisfaction. I glared at him and said, "Get out. Go away. Leave me alone."

He backed out, in a hurry. Somehow, I didn't think that was going to be the end of it. I figured that he'd be back. I also figured that the whole school would soon know that Ginny Klusse tried to off herself. Damn. That means they won. Of course, they would've won if I'd succeeded, but I wouldn't be around to deal with it.

The day ended with my father berating me for spoiling his night out at the theater.

Damn. I wondered if I could re-open the wounds. Nah--they had me hooked up to so many damn monitors that something would've beeped if my blood pressure dropped. Besides, the night nurse came in and shot me up with something to make me sleep. Yeah, keep me drugged--that'll make it all go away, right?

Fuck. Can't even kill myself properly.

Two

I woke up the next morning and my mother was there. Today was the day she decided to be conciliatory. She brought me the newspaper--I'm a newspaper junkie--and was there when they delivered breakfast. She decided to be Caring Mom today--no outbursts about what a horrible kid I was. It was like living with a chameleon.

Of course, the next person in my room that morning was predictable. I had tried to kill myself, right? So, of course--in came the shrink.

The shrink was a she. Her name was Dr. Kingsley. I'd never seen a shrink, but I was just naturally suspicious of them. This one I could see right through right away--she was playing the 'calm and sympathetic' bit. You know, getting the fly with honey. I saw right through it immediately. Sometimes, being the smartest person in the room is a curse. Actually, it almost always is.

Yes--that's what I said, smartest person in the room. Just about any room, unless Stephen Hawking comes to one of my parties (yeah, right). I break IQ tests. I've never seen anything less than an A in my life. I took the PSATs last year and maxed them--and I have no doubt I'll do the same with the SATs. That's me, The Brain. And if you've got a problem with that--well, join the club. Everybody has a problem with it.

Anyhow, here I was with Dr. Kingsley, she playing the sweet, sympathetic listener. I decided to tell her the whole unvarnished truth. That ought to shock her.

After the introductory small talk, she went right for the jugular. "So, Ginny, any particular reason why you tried to kill yourself?"

I shrugged. "Well, I figured I had a choice. I could either off myself, or re-enact Columbine." Bingo! I heard her gasp and saw her shoulders stiffen. "Of course, if I re-enacted Columbine, I'd have to start at my house before I went to school. And, to be honest, if I wanted to take out all the people that bugged me, I'd probably have to build a thermonuclear device and set it off in the middle of town." She looked at me like I had four heads! But, then I softened my tone. "But, you know, I'm reallly not a sociopath. So I figured instead of removing the situation, it was easier and cleaner to remove myself from the situation."

"You think you could do that? Columbine, I mean?" she asked, still stunned.

"No, I probably couldn't, which is why I didn't. As much as I sometimes fantasize about it, I don't think I could pull the trigger. Trying to kill myself was far easier."

"I still don't understand what your motivation was."

"OK. You been to an amusement park? You ever try a new ride, one you don't know about, and when you get on you find it's a far wilder ride than you thought, and you get dizzy and sick to your stomach?"

She had a little hint of amusement on her face. "Yes, that's happened a couple times. I'm not one for wild rides."

"OK," I grinned. "So, what do you do? 'Stop this ride, I want to get off!' Right?"

"Right."

"Well, Doc, welcome to my life. Stop this life, I want to get off."

"OK, but what I don't understand is why you feel this way."

"Feel? You're asking me how I feel? I'm not allowed to feel," I snorted. "I'm allowed to think. That's it."

"Are you considered bright?" she asked.

"I passed 'bright' about 50 IQ points ago."

"Ah," she said. "And that isolates you."

"You got it. And I'm just tired of it."

We talked for a while longer, and then she left, promising to be back the next day. Oh joy.

The day passed like molasses. I needed some books--I couldn't watch the mindless crap on TV. I called my mother--who was in a meeting or court or something, of course--and left her a message. Hopefully, she'd bring me something to read, if she was still in her conciliatory mood.

Then, at supper, Craig came back in.

I really didn't want to let it all out. But he pushed it. "Look, Ginny, I just don't get it," he said. "I'm sorry, but I just don't get it. Why would you want to kill yourself? You have everything in the world going for you!"

He said the wrong thing at the wrong time. And, unfortunately, I used him as a stand-in... for everybody. "Everything in the world? Where on earth did you get that idea?"

"You're so smart!" he said. "You could do anything you wanted to. You're the smartest person I've ever met. Shit, I got a B in chemistry last year--I probably would've flunked if it weren't for you."

"Right," I said, building up steam, "and what did you do for me in return?" He just looked at me. "Remember your big sixteenth birthday party last year? I remember it, because I had to hear you talk about it for three weeks before; and then I had to hear you talk about how fantastic it was for two weeks after. Did you even think of inviting me? Did that even cross your mind for a second?"

He blinked. "Well, I didn't think you'd want to go."

"Why not?"

"Because you never go to any parties or gatherings or anything."

"That's because I never get invited, you jackass! I watch you in the lunchroom. You eat with all your pals. You know who I eat with? An empty chair. I have no friends. I've never been asked out on a date--because I'm too smart and because I'm overweight. I spend my entire life alone. You know how you treat me? Like a computer with legs. Not like a human being. You and every other fucking person in that school, and my parents.

"Why did I try to kill myself? Because I hate you. You, and every person in that school, and my parents, and everyone. I hate every single fucking one of you. And it was easier to kill myself than to blow everyone else up.

"Why did you just assume that I wouldn't want to go to a party? I'll tell you why. Because you didn't know how to deal with the freak. Nobody knows how to deal with the freak. So, the freak is tired of it--and the freak wants out."

He stared at me for a good two minutes while I picked at the poor excuse for food he'd brought me. Then he finally left.

I felt bad. But only a little. We'd gotten along in that chem lab--I thought maybe I'd finally found something approaching a friend. And then he broke my heart. Maybe he should know what he'd done to me.

Three

My mother came back the next morning, still playing conciliatory. She brought me some books. Plus my laptop. Of course, she had to say, "I thought you could use this to keep up with your schoolwork." Fuck that. I could play The Sims and write depressing poetry. Fuck my schoolwork.

I love The Sims. It's the closest thing I have to an actual life.

Anyhow, the shrink came in again. I talked to her for a while. Then she gave me the kicker: "On Monday, I want your parents in here."

I laughed. She looked at me. I asked her for a piece of paper out of her notebook, and her pen. I wrote on the paper, and then handed it to her. "Here you are. Here are their names and numbers at work. Good fucking luck."

"What, you think they'd object?"

"Of course they'd object. Having their daughter take precious time out of their all-important careers? Mom's a lawyer. Dad's some kind of executive. We're very rich. And that's really all they care about. I had a nanny growing up, until I was old enough to stay by myself--which, in their estimation, was something like 13. They don't want to be bothered."

Dr. Kingsley--well, Shannon, as she'd asked me to call her--was dumbfounded. "But you just tried to kill yourself!"

"They think it was just a bid for attention. And they don't understand why I need attention, considering I'm smart and they buy me shit."

"Ah," she said.

"I'm the school brain, and we're well-off. Why on earth would my life not be perfect, right?"

"But it's not. Ginny, when was the last time anyone hugged you?"

That question just about knocked me right off the bed. Damn, she was good. I stared at her, stunned, for a couple of minutes. Then I thought about what she had asked. "I don't remember," I finally said. "Probably my grandmother before she died--and she died 8 years ago."

"That's what I thought." But then she moved on to other things.

I thought about that one for most of the day.

At supper, Craig was back, with the food again. He didn't say anything--in fact, he could barely look at me. Finally, after he had gotten my food on the tray, he stood and stared at me for a minute.

"What?" I finally blurted.

"Look," he said. "You're right and you're wrong." He sighed, and ran his hands through his hair. "I was up all night thinking about this. I feel horrible. I mean, to think that I was in any way responsible for that," he said, pointing at my wrists.

"Craig--," I started to say, but he interrupted me.

"No, let me finish. I know that wasn't all of it--at least I hope it wasn't."

"Call it a symptom," I interjected. "Just one small piece of a very large puzzle."

"OK," he continued, "but it was a piece. And I truly am sorry. I think you're a remarkable person, Ginny. The world would be a lesser place without you." I blinked at that one. It actually sounded sincere. He went on. "But you were a little wrong--it's not that I thought of you as a walking computer, or however you said it. It's that I thought you were above such things as a silly birthday party."

"Above such things?" I snorted.

"Well, yeah. You're so serious. Look--that party. We smuggled booze in, listened to bad dance music, and whoever found someone of the opposite sex willing made out. It was teeangers being silly." He grinned. "I got sloppy drunk and threw up all over my mother's coffee table. Got grounded for two weeks." I had to laugh--he laughed right along with me.

Then he went on. "You just always seemed so above that. Almost like you were too adult for that shit. Last year, when we got paired up, someone asked me what you were like. I said you were cool, and generous with the help in lab--but that it was like being in school with a 30-year-old, or something. Look, a lot of people that don't know you think you come off as the queen snob of the school, that you think you're way above us mere little people. I knew from chem lab that you weren't a snob. But you did seem like you were completely uninterested in, you know, anything your average 16-year-old might be interested in."

I was rather flabbergasted at all this. "People think I'm a snob?"

"To a point, yeah. I mean, come on, Ginny. You're brilliant, and you have money. The smartest girl in school, drives to school in a freakin' Range Rover, and you're, I don't know, I guess aloof is the best word. Like I said, I'd figured out you weren't a snob, but you still seemed, I dunno, just different."

"It's not being a snob," I told him. "And it's not being aloof. It's being caught up in my own misery."

"Well, yeah, I see that now."

I thought about that one, then asked him something completely different. "Who have you told? At school, I mean."

"Nobody," he told me. "That's not my place. It did get out that you were in the hospital, and people know I work here, so I did get asked. But I just told anyone who asked that you had an accident and that you'd be fine."

"OK. Thank you," I said.

"You're welcome. However, you know you're just delaying the inevitable."

"Yeah, as soon as I go back to school people will figure it out. Ah, well," I sighed. "I guess I'll just have to find a way to finish the job before I go back to school."

"I really, really wish you wouldn't do that," Craig said in a low voice. I looked up. I'd almost forgotten he was in the room when I said what I said. "I know I can't talk you out of it all by myself, but I really wish you wouldn't."

"I absolve you of all guilt," I said.

"That's not it."

"Then what?"

"It's what I said earlier. The world would be a poorer place without you in it." Before I could say a word to that, he disappeared out of the room.

Four

Monday morning dawned. Shannon somehow got my parents to come in to the hospital for a meeting. Of course, she must have twisted their arms real hard.

"I have court in two hours," was the first thing my mother said, "so this needs to be quick."

"And I have a meeting I can't miss in two and a half," Dad chipped in. "And another thing, this whole situation is an awful inconvenience. When is Virginia getting out of here? I see no reason to keep her here any longer."

I shot Shannon a look. She shot me one back, but played it cool with my parents. "Please sit down, Mr. and Mrs. Klusse. I'll try to get this done quickly for your schedules, but this is your daughter's health we're talking about."

"There's nothing wrong with her," Mom said.

"She tried to kill herself. This isn't a cold," Shannon told them. I was going to get to talk sooner or later, but I let Shannon go with it for now.

"A bid for attention," Dad said dismissively.

"You know what?" Shannon said icily. "Considering what Ginny's told me and how you've acted to me, both here and on the phone, I wouldn't blame her if this was a bid for attention. But it wasn't. I'm convinced of it, and I've done this for a long time. Ginny genuinely intended to kill herself. And if I let her out of the hospital now, she's going to try again. And she's going to keep trying until she succeeds. Your daughter has a potentially fatal condition right now. It can be fixed--but it's not fixed yet."

"What, depression or something?" Dad said. "There's drugs for that, aren't there?"

"Ginny is not showing the typical symptoms of clinical depression," Shannon said. "At least, by my expertise she's not. Most suicidal youngsters do--Ginny is not. She's not depressed in the commonly understood sense. She's angry. And she's tired. I may prescribe her something, yes--anyone who's suicidal has some depression, so I may prescribe her a mild antidepressent--but that won't save her, not all by itself."

"Angry?" Mom spat. "What on earth do you have to be angry about? You have everything! You're very smart, we have money. Any little thing you want, you get. Now you're going to get all prima donna on us? Angry, my ass."

Before I could say anything, Dad tried to be a bit more conciliatory. "Ginny, I'm sorry, I just don't get it. Why would you want to kill yourself? With your brains and our financial resources, you can be anything you want to be!"

That's when I finally spoke up. "I can? Really? That's news to me. Anything I want to be, huh? So, tell me, Dad--can I be pretty? Can I be popular? How about sexually active--can I be that? Well, unless you count playing with yourself, you need a partner for that, which leaves me out. Loved--there's another one. Can I be loved? I'll answer those for you. No, I'll never be pretty. As for popularity, everybody hates me because of those brains you're all so fucking proud of. I'll probably die a virgin. And, as for love, that's completely beyond me. And don't tell me you love me."

"How on earth could you say that?" Mom said. "We give you everything!"

Shannon said it before I did. "When was the last time you gave her a hug?"

That absolutely floored them. It was beautiful. Finally, Dad spoke up. "I've never been great at that kind of affection."

"You've never been great at any kind of affection that doesn't involve purchasing something," I told him.

"Virginia," Dad said, with a real look of pain on his face, which floored me. "I do love you. Both of us do."

"It's easy to say that. But you've never made the slightest bit of effort to understand me. What I can't figure out is why you had me in the first place."

"How can you say such a thing?" Mom piped up.

"It looks pretty easy from my point of view," Shannon interjected. "I mean, your daughter's in real trouble--and the first thing you talked about when you walked in this room was your job."

"My job is very important," she sniffed.

"More important than your daughter?" Shannon asked.

"No!"

"Sure it is," I said. "Both of their jobs are more important than me--always have been. And, don't let Mom fool you--she's a corporate attorney. It's not like she's prosecuting criminals--or getting innocent people off. She's a lackey."

"My job is important to the people that pay my salary," Mom sniffed.

"Not important in the grand scheme of things."

"Is that what this is about?" Dad asked. "You're embarrassed that your parents are 'lackeys'?"

"No, that's not what it's about," I said. "Your jobs don't embarrass me. Not anything I'd want to do, but I'm not embarrassed by them. I do resent the hell out of them." I took a deep breath. "Do you know how fucking tired I am of eating supper alone every night?"

"What?" Mom said.

"I'm tired of it. I come home to an empty house. I eat in an empty house. I do my homework in an empty house. When you do come home, all you ask me about is grades. As if I ever get anything less than an A. Then I go to bed. And I wake up. To an empty house. Then I go to school, where everybody hates me because I wreck the curve. I'm so lonely. I'm so damn lonely, and I just can't take it anymore. I want to die, I really want to die." I tried to hold the sobs in. I wasn't successful. Damn.

They looked at me, while I was weeping, for a good solid minute. Finally, Dad said, "You always seemed so self-sufficient."

"Because you forced me to be," I sniffled. "I am self-sufficient. That's not the point. It's not that I can't take care of myself, you know that. I can. It's that I'm tired of doing it." I took a breath. "A guy I go to school with works here. And he knows what happened. And I laid some of the blame on him the other day--said that everyone at school treats me like a computer with legs. He came back the next day and told me that I had it wrong--that he didn't think of me that way. But he did think of me as sixteen going on thirty. And he's right. It's like I'm thirty--and a spinster at that. I feel like an old woman locked in a house with nobody to talk to but her cats. If I had cats, that is. I'm not supposed to feel this old, and alone, and beaten up. I'm just not."

"Look, Ginny, I had a rough adolescence too..." Mom tried to start.

"Rough adolescence?" I snorted. "You were a fucking cheerleader, Mom! You were runner-up for homecoming queen! You went out with the star quarterback! I'm sixteen years old and I've never been asked out on a fucking date!"

"OK," she admitted, "but I had other problems. I had problems with the schoolwork."