A Gun To My Heart

18

As I walk down the hall, I pass a few people working here. They don't dare to meet my gaze, knowing how short-tempered I am these days. I don't know if I'm enjoying it or not. It keeps reminding me of my mother, and I would despise being compared to her.

I don't want to be a nightmare. Yet there is this tiny feeling deep inside of me, that tells me that I'm a nightmare. A nightmare creating a mess everywhere I am. Nearly harming everyone that makes me the slightest bit annoyed.

It scares me.

Suddenly someone grips my arm and drags me into a dark room. I wince as they push me into an uncomfortable chair, and I'm trying to hide my shaking hands under my short sleeves. My heart is pounding fast against my chest, as I'm wondering what's happening right now.

"What the fuck, Maeve." Sabrina steps into the dim lights coming from the window. I sigh frustrated leaning my head back. We're sitting in a random, unoccupied, dark bedroom.

"Why did you do that out there? While everyone was watching? Are you crazy?"

She waves her slim hands hysterically in the air, expressing her anger not trying to make a lot of noise. If she could express her anger, not caring about being loud, she would definitely yell at me, and slam her hands at the metal table that's placed next to her.

"He annoyed me." I look into her eyes and they are raging with anger. Her hands are now pulling through her hair, and she tries to control her breathing. To not lose control.

Her feet step closer, now standing just a few inches from my face. She fixes her posture trying to look bigger. Taller. To try to intimidate me.

"You can't just slash his face up because he annoys you."

We're whispering. Not wanting anyone to hear us. However, it's almost that we decide to give up, just to start screaming at each other instead. I grip my hands around the handles of the chair as hard as I can.

"Mother would do it."

I'm just as disgusted by the words coming out of my mouth as she is. Sabrina scoffs not wanting to even look at my face anymore.

"Wrong. If she was in your position, she would laugh it off because of the number of people sitting around her. Later on, she would shred him to pieces in private. Not in front of so, many, people, Maeve. Use your brain. Please!"

Her voice raises, and she's no longer whispering. I'm debating between leaving the room or break down crying right in front of her. Embarrassed by my actions. Tell her I can't control my decisions anymore. That I can't stand my own thoughts. I want to tell her that I hate the thoughts that are haunting me in my own head. I want to tell her, that they're like demons waiting for me to break down. Just so they can take over.

She sees the battle in my face, wondering if she should say anything or not. I'm holding back the tears, feeling a pain in my throat instead. I want to cry, but I can't do it in front of her. I don't want her to comfort me. Look at me like I'm some weak little sister. I am not opening up for her.

I am not opening up, to a sister that's not even standing up for me in front of mom. A sister that ignores me being beaten mentally and physically by our mom. A sister that just watches me go through that every now and then. A sister that looks like she's even enjoying watching it. Watching her little sister go through severe pain.

I will not open up to her.

Sabrina chooses to not say anything about it, and the raging fire I saw in her eyes is now put out. Just like that. Replaced by pure disappointment. I'm not surprised.

It's what she does. She dives her head into problems and when she gets to the main core - she stands there looking at it. Examining it. Wondering if it's worth solving it or not. Only to leave. And everything goes to waste.

"You know you're in the wrong, Maeve. And I know you realize it too. Please think twice before acting that way again."

Her voice almost trembles. Almost. She barely keeps it under control. If she shifts her focus a tiny bit elsewhere she'll lose it. Exposing the voice she wants to hide. Her fear is to look weak. Just like me.

Is she really disappointed, or is this another act to make me feel bad? To make me feel like the failure everyone tells me I am.

A failure.
I'm starting to believe it now too.