I'm Not a Liar- I'm Not
Ch3
The water had long ago run cold, and goose bumps cover my arms and legs, but I just sit there, staring at the white wall.
Plain, bare, unadorned. Nothing.
The stark wall reflects the feelings inside of me.
How can the sensation of nothingness be so painful?
I sit at the bottom of the tub, freezing sheets of water hitting my back and welling up around me.
My hair lays plastered to my face, either from the shower or my tears or both.
Feeling nothing is agonizing, and my arm itches, so I scratch furiously at it. But its not enough, so I reach for my razor and turn it around and around in my hand.
Riley would cry if she actually saw my bare arms. She would try to fix me. I can't be fixed, not from this. But I could forget about my brokenness if she would just hold me and never let go. That's not a fair thing to ask, though. That's not a fair thing to put on someone.
The liquid icicles turn pink as they spin down the drain and a sharp pain in my arm makes me gasp.
My hand shakes with the blade as I drag it slowly across my marred wrist again and again.
As the wound pulses and stings, my thoughts drift from Riley and the weight in my stomach, instead focusing on the dancing, swirling blood.
My body is numb with cold as I shakily turn the water off; the towel is rough on my skin and comes away soaked in red. It always takes a while to stop bleeding, and it should have at least slowed, but it is still dripping down my wrist.
I wrap it tightly in gauze until my fingers go numb and quickly dress into my pajamas.
The sound of breaking glass makes me jump, and I stand, heart pounding, as I listen to shouted curses. My mom.
She stands in the kitchen surrounded by broken glass and red wine and her feet look cut like she had stepped on the shards.
"Hold on mom, stay there." I say making my way over. She doesn't respond to me, preferring to carry on with a dictionary full use of swears.
I reach her, tiptoeing around the debris and touch her arm to help lead her.
Smack!
I swallow against the sting on my cheek and grab her more firmly, pulling her away from the danger.
"Mom-mom, I'm just going to look at your feet. Calm down." I say kneeling down.
I steady her leg and grip a fairly large glass shard that had pierced her skin.
"I'm going to pull this out now, and it's going to hurt, okay?" I ask. "Here we go."
I pull hard and quickly. It was bigger than I expected and she shouts pulling her foot away and kicking out at me.
I grimace touching my split lip delicately.
"Damn it, this is going to be impossible to cover up." I look accusatorily at her. "You know, if you're going to beat me up, you might have the decency to do it inconspicuously. That's right, I know big words."
She mumbles something incoherent and rolls her head back, accidently banging it on the table. She slides off the stool and onto the floor.
I want to cry again, but I force my way to my feet, swiftly clean up the mess, and struggle to get the older woman onto the couch. While she's unconscious, I take the liberty of removing the rest of the glass and wrapping her feet in gauze.
Even when the fridge runs empty, gauze is the one thing I never let us run out of.
By then, it's late and I don't have time to do my homework, unless I want to stay up all night. What's the point, anyway?
I fall into bed with a throbbing mouth and stinging cheek.
…
I roll out of bed with a groan and dress quickly, making sure the long sleeves pull past my hasty bandage.
My bag goes onto my shoulder and I race out of the apartment, past the empty couch.
The subway is as crowded as always, but I force myself to watch the people that pass.
A mother talking on her phone as her child cries, and she just shushes him to be quiet; a man in a suit talking on the phone with a smile, to a wife maybe, or girlfriend; two friends giggling in a corner and shooting glances at what some would say a cute boy.
Many people enter and leave the subway, each with a different expressions, different lives, all in one place.
They probably ride the same stop every day, at the same time, with the same people, and not even realize it. How many times has that mother popped her child on the bottom, right in front of me, and I never noticed? Who is waiting at home for that suit guy to be smiling so care free into that phone? How many people are actually faking a smile?
The subway slows to my stop, and I get off almost reluctantly, watching all the people who are so oblivious to one another.
I hurry toward my best friend's apartment and I come to the familiar door, with the familiar box, with the familiar words.
I tromp up the stairs feeling strange and foreign in my own body. Everything is the same except for my thoughts and my tightening chest and my itchy arm.
"Hey Ma- what happened?!" She gasps, eyes going big and wide and filling with tear. It takes me a moment to remember the injuries I had sustained the night before and I laugh nervously.
Riley pulls me inside hurriedly and Mr. and Mrs. Mathews are already standing there, worried from their daughter's exclamation.
"Honey, what happened?" Mrs. Mathews says, gingerly touching my bruised lip.
"Oh nothing; just had a make out session with the sidewalk."
Riley's eyes narrow at me, slightly disbelieving. "You're lying."
"I-it's no-nothing, honest. I just got into a fight is all." I say, scrambling for another excuse. "I completely forgot about it until you said something."
"Maya, why are you lying to me?"
Mr. and Mrs. Mathews look between us worriedly.
"Riley, just leave it alone." I say warningly.
"No, I want to know why you're lying to me, and I want to know who hurt you." She says stubbornly, crossing her arms in defiance- a sign that I know very well meaning she wont back down.
"Just drop it okay?! It's no big deal- it's not like this stuff doesn't happen to me all the time!" Maybe if I hadn't clamped my hands over my mouth, she wouldn't have noticed my slip. But this is Riley and she most certainly would have. If not her, then her parents.
Her eyes are wide, disbelieving, shocked. Sad.
"I-I didn't mean it like that. I just mean-"
"Who's been hurting you Maya?" Mrs. Mathews asks in a no nonsense tone. They're not supposed to know, never them.
"No one."
"Maya, you need it stop protecting whoever it is you're protecting. They're hurting you and no one deserve that."
"There's no one, I'm not protecting anyone. I have to go, I'm going to be late for school," I mutter, turning, and dodging Riley's reaching hand, walk out the door.
A couple hundred puzzle pieces fall onto the table, and even though you can't tell what it is, it's any ugly picture for them.
If you're reading this, please review!
~Silver~