Masks Always Fall

Chapter 17

Three days passed in a haze, each bleeding bleakly into the next as I drifted through routine's motions on autopilot. My insides remained cold and tangled, thoughts clouded by memories' relentless assault.

The others tried engaging me at meals, activities - Zahara foremost in her exuberant attempts to breach walls grown impenetrable once more. Their chatter and laughter simply...washed over, devoid of meaning or warmth. I wasn't truly present anymore, only surviving moment by moment, a ghost drifting dispassionately through fleeting interactions.

Noel observed from a removed yet watchful distance, eyes darkened by concern that only cut deeper in my current condition. I saw worry poorly masked by her continued soft assurances, gentle assurances that help was here if I chose to accept it.

But how could I do that, when inside I was little more than an exhausted shell - numb and distant as if observing some macabre play in which I had no real stake or purpose anymore? Every friendly gesture, each outreached hand, slipped through graspless fingers no longer tethered to anything resembling hope or meaning.

I existed, breathed, performed tasks out of ingrained habit alone. But inside, the crucial spark had gone out, leaving me lost and drifting in endless void, cut off from all reprieve or solace and too far gone now to find my way back unaided.

The dining room swirled with activity each morning, a chaotic blend of laughter, chatter and clanking dishes that usually slid past listless awareness like all else in this haze.

Today was no exception as feet carried me mechanically toward the bustling scene. But one voice cut through fog's dulling veil, high and eager as always.

"Emma, come sit by me!"

Through the crowd, Zahara waved enthusiastically from her spot, patting the empty chair beside her with an openness that should've stirred hollowed spaces but...didn't, not really. Still I drifted toward her out of sheer lack of alternate direction, taking seat as programmed yet disengaged as before.

The others greeted me cheerily around mouthfuls, asking questions that dissolved into meaningless noise.

Only Zahara seemed untroubled, babbling animatedly about lessons and TV shows and laughing brightly without judgment or hesitation.

Between bites of waffle, Zahara enthusiastically asked, "Are you excited to go back to school, Emma?" I mechanically chewed, giving a subtle nod. Despite the emptiness around us, I felt compelled to acknowledge her persistent enthusiasm.

"What grade are you in, Zahara?" The question slipped out without much thought, a rare flicker of curiosity in my otherwise gray days.

Suddenly, Zahara fell silent. Her wide eyes shifted away, focusing on fidgeting hands in her lap. Uncomfortable tension replaced the carefree atmosphere.

A harsh voice from my left interrupted, "The dummy over there goes to the special school," followed by mocking snickers.

Noel's calm yet authoritative voice broke through the fraught atmosphere, dispelling shadows with her steady presence alone.

"That's enough, McKenna. I'd like to see respect and kindness shown to all here."

Her gaze met mine briefly, soft empathy knowing the painful echoes Zahara's tormentors roused within wounded depths. Some tightness in my chest released in silent gratitude for her intervention.

Then, turning to the room at large, Noel issued the routine directive with kind finality. "Everyone finish up and get your bags. It's time to head to school."

Immediately activity and bustle resumed as usual, the tense moment dissolving into normalcy once more. But my eyes returned to Zahara's downcast face, seeing not ridicule's aftershocks but the brave soul facing it daily with spirit yet aglow, whether others saw her light or not.