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I can’t sleep. So here I sit in this tiny room, writing down my secrets like future me might forget the worst night of my life.
What’s even more pathetic? I hated his parents, but I could never hate him. Even when he called me his friend and silently agreed I wasn’t worth more.
School was my chance out of this life. But him…?
He was the life I wanted.
So I’ll silently mourn what I won’t ever have and feel angry I’ll never be enough. But I’ll still go to school tomorrow and be his friend. And pretend I never heard what they said.
Why?
Because being his friend is better than nothing at all.
Dear future self, you can forgive him, but you should never forget.
* * *
I was a mouse, and awareness was a cat batting me around like a plaything, sinking its teeth into me one moment but then knocking me away the next.
It was disorienting and mildly upsetting. During it all, a voice in the back of my mind taunted me to wake up, but I didn’t know which way was up, so I continued ping-ponging between consciousness and unawareness, settling in an odd in-between state.
Eventually, the ping-ponging slowed, and everything felt like a dream where I wasn’t sure what was real. But that steady beeping sound? One hundred percent annoying.
I began to notice things like the cool air against my arms. The sterile smell. Pain. When I could, I searched around for something pleasant, but it was like trying to slough through trash.
But then there were voices.
“She’s still not awake?”
“No.”
“Have you slept at all?”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
My eyes shot open, everything in me revolting so hard against death. Against the death of the person who owned that voice.
Who owned that voice?
The light was eye-wateringly harsh against the blackness where I’d been imprisoned. Everything was blurry. Nothing made sense. I wanted to look around but felt paralyzed by confusion, brightness, and fear.
The terror was strong, rising ominously slow to overtake everything else. Its monster size was further enhanced by the fact my eyes nor brain could seem to focus on anything at all. Though they were open, I felt entirely blind.
A loud squealing scrape filled the room, and then a shadowy figure filled the space above me, buffering some of the uncomfortable brightness.
“Jess?” that voice I liked so much called.
Was he talking to me?
“Go get the nurse,” he called over his shoulder and then was back, focus all on me.
“Jess, baby,” he whispered, warm hands cupping my chilled face.
I sighed, eyelashes fluttering closed under the comfort.
“No,” the voice above me commanded. “Open your eyes.”
I did what he ordered, wishing everything wasn’t so unfocused.
