I am zoning out. The teacher's teaching. I can almost hear it. A little hum of noise in the background. This feels nice. Better than stressing continuously. I can keep it inside, no one will see it on my face. A bright spark of pain makes me flinch, hissing at the suddenness of the feeling. I pull my thumb from between my teeth and look down at it. Blood wells up from between the nail and cuticle. I squeeze it tightly, soothing and intensifying the ache, my hands clenched together in my lap. I look up, catching the eyes of a few of my peers as theirs dart away. I look to my teacher. She's staring at me. I lower my head in shame.
"Ace, are you okay?"
I look up again and smile, nodding. "Tore a cuticle," I say, "It's all good."
She nods at my statement and continues the lecture. I look down back to my desk. No one is starring. They all believe me. They don't even care. So why does it feel like I'm crying?
YOU ARE READING
Not me. (2023)
Proză scurtăso, I've been struggling for a long time now, and I never told anyone about it. I've never opened up. but I met someone who understands how I feel, and I'm beginning to feel again. I don't know how to do it, but I finally feel I can fight. I've been...
