It's another morning I spend with the blankets huddled over my head, trying not to move. Sometimes they leave me alone, if they think I'm asleep. If I wake up too loud, the head might come in.
This is a morning they leave me alone. For now.
The blanket that protects me shuts out all the light, and I'm not getting ready for the day, not brushing my hair or eating or putting on my dress. My safety is a thin spinning of threads that shuts the good things out and yet can still be ripped away.
I ache there in the dark, ache for Mom's arms around me, held like the time when I was still little enough she'd hold me close, and the promise in that warmth. I ache for Pa's laugh and the way it proclaimed that life was good.
I ache for the family that was, once. I ache for life before this school. I want the life that doesn't hurt, the one without punches or jeers or Them and their hangers-on, and all the cruel, stupid things they do.
I want to be seen. I want to be loved. I want to be known by someone who doesn't call my name like a humiliating joke.
The bell rings and I crawl out from under the blanket, get ready for another day I'm going to hate.
I wish someone here would see me. I wish I could make a friend.
They chase me behind the gym instead.