I'm Not a Liar- I'm Not
Ch5
They don't talk as I break down. They don't ask questions. The sit perched on the edge of their daughter's bed as I try to crawl into Riley's skin and disappear. There are hands on me, silent shows of support wrapped around my calf and foot, and steel cables wrapped around my core, holding all my pieces together.
My head aches in tension, and I know that their questions will start again as soon as I calm down so, even after my chest stops hitching, I remained burrowed against my best friend.
This is a nightmare. A literal nightmare scenario I've had before, playing out before my eyes. I can already feel my emotions shutting down, spent from last night and now this morning.
"Maya," Mrs. Mathews begins, and I flinch further into Riley, wanting to just disappear forever. Riley rakes her fingers through my hair, pushing a few damp locks behind my ears as I continue to try suffocating myself in her chest. Her heart drums fast against my forehead.
"Maya," she says again, and I feel her hand slide up my leg and squeeze my thigh just above my knee. "Come on, talk to us. Please."
"I'm fine- I'm fine," I say, muffled into Riley's sleep shirt. I can't even dredge up the motivation to try and make it sound convincing, and it comes out stuffy and wet and just sounds over all pathetic. What's the point?
"You're not fine, Maya," Riley says, nuzzling into the top of my head and- oh. She sounds so sad. Because of me. All I've ever wanted is for Riley to be happy, and now I'm the reason for her tears.
God I can't do this. Except, I don't really have a choice, do I? There's no way they'd let it go- no way Riley would let this go.
"Let's start with this," Mrs. Mathews says, resting her hand over mine to still them. It's only then that I realize I've pulled them to my body and obsessively started raking my nails over the scabs.
I pull away a bit, as far as Riley allows me (which isn't very far), and my cheeks flush in shame. The sleeve have ridden up again with my scratching and there is new blood and skin stuck under my fingernails. My shame burns me as I try to hide them from view.
"When did this start?"
When did it start? Always in some version or another- scratching frowny faces in my skin with my nail in elementary school- pinching myself so hard that I bruise just so I can focus on anything other than my thoughts. Sometimes I'd punch myself in the leg over and over until it's all I can focus on, and I'd end up with a limp for the rest of the day. The actual cutting didn't start until fairly recently, though.
"About a year." A little more than a year, actually.
"Why?" Riley asks this time, and I know that she's hurt, that she's wondering why I didn't tell her or how she didn't notice.
I duck my chin to my own chest, and no matter how much she tugs at my face to try and get me to look at her, I don't. That question is a lot more difficult to answer. It doesn't have one answer, and just thinking about all this feels like my skin is crawling.
"I-" my voice catches, fingers twitching wildly. It's like I can't stop them as my nails find my skin again to punish my arms. "I have to. I need to."
My eyes burn and grow blurry as several different hands reach out to stop them. They squeeze my fingers even as a disgruntled whine starts in my throat at being unable to relieve the pressure I feel throbbing in my chest.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Riley says quickly when my throat starts doing weird, choking/gasping, noises. She presses her forehead against mine, shoving my hair out of my face again before using her thumbs to gently stroke the tears from my cheeks. "It's okay, you're going to be okay. We're going to fix it, okay? We'll fix everything. I promise," Riley whispers reassuringly, but her words only make my heart hurt even more. Because no matter how much she might believe it, she can't fix this. She can't fix me (all these years, she's just been using duct tape that only lasts when she's in the vicinity to constantly reapply it).
I'm broken. I always have been.
Mr. Mathews is the one the speak next, after my breathing has evened out again. I wish that they would just leave me alone. I should never have come over last night. "Maya, I'm going to ask you some questions and you don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but I need you to at least nod yes or no, okay? I need you to be honest."
I nod, feeling exhausted. The sun is well up by now- we should be at school already. We would be at school already if I had just had any sense at all.
"Have you had thoughts of killing yourself?" I stiffen as Riley gasps. Hesitating, I reluctantly nod. Mr. Mathews gives no outward reaction other than his own acknowledging nod. "Okay. Have you thought about how or when you'd do it?"
"I wouldn't actually do it," I say defensively, pulling myself away from Riley and her parent's supportive hands. I tuck my legs up to my chest instead, fold my arms under my knees, out of their reach.
"That's not what I asked," Mr. Mathews says firmly.
I grit my teeth frustratedly, angrily, glaring down at my knees. "They're just thoughts!"
"Maya," he says gently.
"Yes," I finally grunt. I don't elaborate.
"Okay," he says again, softly. "Have you ever taken active steps toward following through with those plans?"
"No," I grit out. Usually when I'm feeling that bad, I can't even get up the motivation to move. Or I call Riley or go to see her. Right now, I feel angry and defensive and all round like I shouldn't be here. They shouldn't have to deal with this, with me.
"Maya-"
"I haven't," I insist, raising my glare to the only adults who seem to care about me. Even though I'm not their kid. Their faces soften.
"Okay. That's good." They exchange long looks with each other. "Why don't we take a break for a bit? Have some breakfast?"
Relief. It's so strong that my shoulders sag and I end up tilting sideways a bit and slump against my best friend. "Sure," I sigh.
Both adults stand up, and Mrs. Mathews reaches out to caress part of my hair. I'm helpless but to allow the show of affection. My entire being craves it, and it's like this family is the only people willing to show it to me.
"Cory and I will go whip something up. While we're doing that, why don't you go get cleaned up? Riley, can you-?"
"I got it," Riley says, petting the back of my hand she cradles in hers.
When they leave, she drags me to the bathroom where she pushes me onto the toilet seat lid and shuffles through the medical supplies under the sink. I can only watch as she carefully cleans the mess I made of my arms, dabbing at the sluggish bleeding with toilet paper and scrubbing at my nailbeds.. She flinches a bit as she spreads some antibacterial gel over the few cuts that I managed to reopen with my scratching, and I stare as she methodically places her beloved Red Planet Diaries Band-Aids on each one.
When there is nothing left to do, Riley just continues to stare at my arm, fingers trailing over the scars all the way up to the bend in my elbow. I let her. I even let her reach for my other arm and slowly push that sleeve up to look at those scars. There are several newer ones, but the arm she just put Band-Aids on is clearly my razor's favorite.
My eyes widen when she lifts my arms and places gentle, fluttering kisses over the scars, before looking up at me.
She has those big Bambi eyes that she's worn since that first time I climbed through her window.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks softly. Her finger strokes one of the Band-Aids. I wonder if she can feel how fast my pulse is under her touch on my wrist. Her other hand comes up to stoke the bruise on my eye. (That's probably the next thing they will force me to talk about.) Would running away do any good? Probably not. Riley would just show up at my door instead, probably with both her parents right behind her. For some inexplicable reason I haven't yet found out, they care about me. Even little Aggie. I wonder what they'll tell him about me when he gets back from school today.
"Maya?" she draws me out of my thoughts, and I blink slowly at her.
"Because you can't fix this, Riley," I whisper to her, closing my eyes against the caress on my cheek. I crave her touch so much that I ache, even when she hasn't even let me go yet. "You can't fix me. Not this time."
"Why not?" she asks.
"You just can't. It's not something that can be fixed. It's something inside of me- it's- it's- broken. I'm broken."
"I don't believe that, Peaches," she breathes, bringing our foreheads together again. "Maybe a little bent, but never broken. And I'm never going to give up on you. It's you and me."
"Together," I sigh.
"Forever," she finishes. It's something we've always said, from the moment we decided to be best friends.
"Okay," I whisper. I knew she would try from the start. It's just who she is, to force hope down my throat and try to drown me with it. And I am who I am, so of course I can't help letting it in and suffocating under it. Either she will pull me out of the water, or I'll sink below the waves. But until then, I'm left flailing, trying to keep my head above water, choking. Letting myself sink is much less painful, but she just won't let me.
Riley rises to her feet and tugs me up with her. "Come on, let's go see if breakfast is ready."
Mrs. Mathews has made pancakes. I know that it's just for me, to try and make me feel better, because she knows they are my favorite.
But after the heavy and emotional morning, I only manage one before feeling distinctly nauseous despite my nearly empty stomach. I keep playing with my food, though, pushing it through the syrup, knowing that as soon as I'm finished, they'll want to talk again. It seems like no one else is very hungry, either, because soon I'm the only one with a fork in hand.
Riley's hand hasn't left mine from under the table. It squeezes as Mr. Mathews clears his throat.
"As a teacher, I'm required to report this to the school."
My heart thunders in my ears, making me feel faint. There is the burn of betrayal, too. Riley is the one to protest, which is good, because it feels like my throat is closed again.
"But dad!" she starts, and is immediately cut off when he raises his hand.
"But as a father… I want to help, Maya. I'm going to help. And to do that, I need to know… your mother…"
"She loves me," I say, voice trembling. I might be the only thing she loves, other than alcohol. Unfortunately, she seems to love the drink more. "But sometimes… a lot of times… she drinks. A lot."
"And she hits you?" Mrs. Mathews asks, already knowing the answer. They heard me say it already this morning. How much do they want from me?
"She's not abusive," I defend automatically. "Yeah, she's an alcoholic, but she's not- not- that." I don't like the sympathetic, pitying looks they send me, and it's frustrating that they don't believe me. I love my mother. She works so hard, she's always worked so hard. I remember the times I used to be scared of the lightning storms, and she'd come flying in and make a game of it saying that the light was the aurora borealis and we were searching for gold. Every year for Christmas Eve, I still spend it with her at the diner, and she still pretends to be Gimbo the elf that climbs through the hole in the wall. "She's not mean," I insist vehemently. "She just gets drunk, and she can't really control her limbs, so I get hit sometimes- but she's not abusive."
"Okay," Mr. Mathews says, breathing slowly, and it sounds like it's only supposed to placate me. The two adults exchange looks, and it's eerie how they don't have to say a word but seem to understand each other perfectly.
Mrs. Mathews stands up to start collecting dishes. "Why don't you girls head back to Riley's room for a bit?" she suggests, and I can hardly believe that that's it of the conversation.
I know there are probably a hundred more to follow, but for now, all I feel is relief that this one is over. I don't try arguing, standing immediately to flee to the safety of my best friend's room. I don't even care that they will clearly be talking about me- I just want to curl back up into Riley's bed and maybe cuddle her some more before undoubtedly passing out under the comfort of her blankets.
A/N: Please review!
~Silver~