ᵍᵒᵈˡʸ • ˢᵒᵘᵗʰ ᵖᵃʳᵏ

[7]

⇾ MURKY MORNING CONFRONTATIONS

The next morning you woke up feeling clean. Your head was numb from all the crying, buzzing with the beginnings of a headache but it was tolerable. Your sinuses felt drained and it was easy to breathe. The annoying beeping of your alarm didn't drive you to rage like it often did most mornings; you felt oddly at peace. Sunlight beamed in the window, kissing your naked ankles and lighting the glow in your eyes.

You stretched with a restful sigh, adoring the feeling of how the clean sheets grazed against your freshly washed skin. Last night you'd had possibly the best shower of your life. Though it hurt when the water seeped into every crevice of your wound, it felt good after the fact. You knew you had to be mindful in case of an infection, but after bathing you'd cleaned it up with peroxide and put fresh bandages on it.

You'd came out of the shower feeling pure, and the feeling stayed with you on into the next day. Butterflies fluttered around in your tummy, making you feel light and bubbly when you finally decided to get out of bed. They lifted you up ever so slightly, taking some of the weight of your aching feet. Despite everything, you were excited for the fresh start.

It didn't take you very long to get ready for school. When you finally had yourself all dolled up you stood in front of the mirror, staring at yourself. Your painted toes wiggled on the carpet, you closed your arms around yourself for comfort in a hug. Staring back into the soulless eyes of your reflection, you didn't recognize yourself at all.

Something along the lines of 'eternally numb' crossed your mind and lingered there. You wondered if everyone who ever got close enough to you would look into your soul expecting love and warmth only to realize that staring back at them was an empty carcass. It would always be this way.

The thought sent a shiver all through you to spill down your back like ice water, caressing every hitch of your spine on it's way down. You hated to think this way. Lucky you had your beat up earphones that had stuck with you since eighth grade, you plucked them off the dresser and squished them into your ears. You put on something to soothe your throbbing soul.

Today was going to be a long day.

Anybody could feel it or even smell it in the air when they left the house for their daily doings. Outside was wet, foggy, and dewy. The grass squished and almost made your feet slip out from under yourself when you crossed the small way to the driveway where your bike was locked up. It left your shoes caked in mud . The faded pink metal bars of the bicycle dripped with condensation, flowing down your fingertips when they made contact.

The echo of a door slamming nearly made you jump out of your skin. You turned only to greet Ruth darting out of the house and over to his bike next to yours. He ran swiftly, bringing a wave of cold air to cut through you as you hopped on your bike. You shot him a glare icier than the worn rubber handlebars conforming to the grooves in your hand while you pulled your backpack up on your shoulder with the other.

"Don't look so sour," he said, casually but cautious, "It's the first day!" The image of his big silly grin stayed in your mind as he took off in front of you on his bike. He pedaled like you were chasing him, probably thought that too until he turned around to catch a peek at you. It took you a moment more to take off, you urged the bike forwards slowly. Every vibration of the tiny rocks, dirt, and cracks in the sidewalk buzzed under your skin and made you hurt.

You turned your music up as loud as it would go and let yourself fly down the sidewalk, closing your eyes and letting the pavement carry you away. You weren't nervous about crashing, even though you couldn't see or hear a thing you knew the way to school like you knew the back of your hand. Or maybe even as good as you knew the back of Stan's hands.