Freak Options

[sporadic]

I cried yesterday. Yesterday when I walked out of the Algebra room. Everyone asked me if I would be all right and, of course, I would. I shoved them away with angsty disdain. No one needs to know why. Maybe they don’t care. That’s it, I’m sure. No one cares.
Even my boyfriend couldn’t penetrate the wall I’d apparently put up. No one understood. Why had this normally happy girl suddenly turned into a stone? Cold and hard, with no consideration for us? Oh, woe to friends who will never know. Who am I kidding? They’ll know soon enough. Soon enough.
I wish that the tears would stop. It’s bad enough without feeling like a faucet. Mom and Dad always knocking on my door, asking to come in. They know I won’t let them in. I know I won’t let them in. Taking a sip of my Mountain Dew, I relax into my futon and begin to think.
What happened yesterday? Why then? How could I let it happen and why couldn’t I tell anyone else? I cut the now empty Mountain Dew can in half. Am I just a freak? Am I some paranoid, neurotic freak? I slid the edge of the can along the prominent vein in my wrist. The blood welled up, embracing the edge of the can. I watched as it slid down. For a moment, I lay on the bed and my arm hung over the edge, dripping my life’s essence.
I’m not beautiful. I’m not smart. I’m average in every way. My boyfriend’s only with me because the girl he truly loves rejected him. The girl he truly loves is my only best friend. I truly loved her once, too. Thankfully, I never admitted this to her, because I imagine she would’ve been very creeped out.
……So why did he choose me? Do I stick out in any way? I’m not any more or less vulnerable than the next girl. I don’t appear weak. I hope I don’t appear weak. Maybe I do appear weak. Maybe I’m just… different. Average and different. Are those contradicting? Apparently not, since I think I’m both.
What will everyone think? Will they look at me strangely after they find out? Will they question me constantly? Will they understand?
I look down at my bleeding arm for a second. The numbing affect of thinking flies away as soon as I see the pale white, stained with dark red. My arm looks unnaturally pale. I’d go to get a bandage, but I’m far too lazy. I let it bleed.
I suppose I should make a decision. I know everyone will know soon. I know that it was definitely wrong. Why? Why did it happen? Am I scarred for life? Scarred like this mark on my arm?

I was molested yesterday. Yesterday before I walked out of the Algebra room. He asked me to stay after and I did, assuming that he had something Algebra-related to talk about. I was wrong. I was very wrong. And now I’m trapped. I’m a rock, a faucet, a runner-up, a freak. But life goes on… Doesn’t it? I run the broken can along my other arm. I can still feel. Maybe I’m not a rock after all.

[*stephinika*]

wow. very well written...nice job. the writing is quite honestly, superb.