Cordelia needs to learn to speak up
You're the only one I turn to
When I feel like no one's there
And when I'm lonely in my darkest hour
You give me the power
To sit and pretend
-Red Jumpsuit Apparatus, Damn Regret
I make excuses all week. To Chris, to Christina, to mom. I can't bear being around anything of them. I realize I'm tired of lying. Why am I always lying?
Mom won't talk to me, so it's almost easy avoiding her. The few times I've tried to talk to her, she either ignores me or snaps at me. I want desperately for dad to step in, to make things better, but he stays silent. I think he's trying to avoid a fight, but it's making things even worse. It's easier to just stay in my room.
I want to see Chris, but still, every time I see him, I feel a strange combination of longing and guilt. He tries to talk to me in class, but I can't make myself respond. I don't know why I'm doing this to him. He's been so happy recently, and I'm ruining it.
I shake my head. I should be studying, but I can't focus. Add that to the list of things I find myself unable to do this week.
I stand up and grab a jacket from the closet. I have to leave. My room feels too small; the house feels too small. I can't stand it.
No one says anything to me as I slip out the front door. The sun is starting to set, so I figure I have twenty, maybe thirtys minutes before it's set completely and I have to be home.
I try telling myself to head for the treehouse, but instead I go to the bridge. Without hesitation, I walk across it halfway. I run my hands over the rail, and pick at a splinter of wood sticking up.
"Knew you'd show up eventually."
I turn at the voice, and I'm not remotely surprised to see Chris at the end of the bridge.
"I'm sorry," I tell him without pause.
"Are you leaving?" he asks. I think he's trying to joke, but knowing what he knows, maybe he's not.
I shake my head as I turn to him. "This week has been terrible," I confess.
He shrugs. "I wouldn't know," he tells me. "You've stopped coming to the treehouse." I look down as he pauses. "What's going on?"
"It's stupid," I tell him.
I hear his footsteps, but I still jump when he reaches out for my arm. "I doubt it."
I swallow hard and look up at him. "I tried to talk to mom again," I tell him. "It didn't go well."
"What happened?"
I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts in order. "She yelled, and then I yelled, and then she, she…hit me."
Chris' hand tightens almost painfully around my arm, and I try to tell myself that it doesn't feel good even though it does.
"What?" he asks in a flat voice, making it sound like a statement and not a question.
"Please don't make me say it again."
"Why didn't you tell me?" he demands.
"I was embarrassed."
"Why?"
"I don't know!" I tell him, gesturing my arms out of his grip. "I don't know, but I was. I still am. I never thought she would, and it happened so quickly I didn't even realize it at first."
"You should have told me," he repeats, his voice a bit softer.
I watch him for a moment before I throw my arms around him and hold him close. He wraps his arms around me tightly and we don't say anything else. I don't know what it is, keeping me here with him, but I never want to let go.
But with every minute, the sun sinks lower and I know I have to leave. I pull away from him, but he pulls me close and kisses me quickly.
"Don't keep secrets like that, okay?" he asks, smiling. My heart starts to pound as I nod.
I never want to leave, but in the end, I have to and I force myself to walk back home. And as I lay down for bed, I feel another stab of embarrassment because I should have known I could tell him. I don't know what exactly Chris is to me, but he's at least my best friend. I should have known I could tell him.
And this time, when I think I just have to make it to graduation, I don't feel sick. For the first time in a long time, I can see a different future for myself, and it's with Chris.
When I wake up a few weeks later, I check the calendar in the kitchen as I'm leaving for school.
There's only thirty-six days until graduation.
these chapters aren't as long as they used to be, and I'm sorry about that