The Boy I Met On the Roof

Childhood Scars

Rebecca always felt this deep need to be strong.
It wasn't in the sense that she wanted to be strong in a prideful way, the kind of strong athletes and bodybuilders have, but a more humble kind. The kind of strong where you throw yourself in front of the bullet for someone weaker, where you act like the wound doesn't hurt afterwards.
To be strong in the way where you swallow down your pain again and again just to throw all the emotions up again in your room. Crying yourself to sleep every day, watching all the misery drip down from your thighs after you purged it from your body.
Growing up, everyone told her that true strength is self-sacrificing, martyrdom; giving all you have until you are nothing but the good words they tell about you. At first, she believed it all and gladly took her sibling's punishments, because that is just what you have to do to be strong, because pain is just weakness leaving your body, and who causes it is neither here nor there.
Real security lies in structure and faith, real happiness lies in obeying, and real strength lies in ignoring all your needs and desires.
She grew up well according to everyone who ever met her; middle-class Catholics, all parents living and present, always with enough food on the table and a roof over their heads. You know, the bare minimum.

She went to church every Sunday, and did well in school, though according to her father, she really shouldn't be doing so, as she could just marry rich, as her mother did. Plus he isn't willing to pay for her college. Going to a catholic all-girls school taught her to be coy and silent, to never raise her voice or act even the slightest bit angry.

There were two kinds of girls; those whose parents sent them there to keep them well-behaved, and those sent there to make them well-behaved.
Everyone told her to stay away from those girls, but their very essence captured her interest in a way she never knew before; rebellious and strong-headed, sarcastic and fiery, with their dyed hair and pierced lips, they were free in a way she had never had been, because they were from caring about anything but themselves. While they were smoking in the bathroom, she always stayed longer than strictly necessary, nodding to them and running away blushing because the one she was interested in the most acknowledged her.
She felt what everyone described as love to her, but it took months for her to realize what had been happening, confessing to her just minutes after learning her name; Ashley, or Ash, as they preferred. She learned so many things she had never thought were possible, and it felt like the world became more colorful after they met, more full of life, with endless possibilities beyond what she had been limited to.

One day, lying in the grass, holding hands as the sun went down, coloring the sky an orange-red, they kissed; their lips were dry and chapped, tasting faintly of smoke and Redbull, but even through that, it felt magical in the way she imagined cocaine to be like.
At first, she gasped, but as their hands gripped her shoulder in a gentle touch, fingers barely grazing her skin, almost tickling her, she leaned forward, closing her eyes and attempting to force herself to visualize a man, just to realize that those images are just faceless creatures used to justify herself.
As they pulled away, she let out a faint "wow", like a lovestruck idiot. They giggled, a raspy, gurgling sound, but to her, every move and sound they made was a gift, something indescribably captivating and beautiful.
The two hung out more and more, holding hands as they walked through the school corridors, and no one batted an eye at it, after all, girls are just more affectionate. They kissed each other's cheek at the end of each school day, and eventually her father caught wind of it, telling her to stay away from those influences, or there would be more consequences than a whooping.
She didn't listen, getting closer to Ashe's friends and realizing that those girls were kinder than their tough demeanor might let on,
They always shared their lunch with her after she forgot, letting her sip from their water bottles if she forgot to fill them during the break, encouraging her to finally wear her hair open, to stop straightening it and using relaxer on it, even buying her coloured hair gel so she could be one of them without her dad knowing. It felt liberating, to do what she wanted, to look in the mirror and see what she imagined herself to look like.