The park was a world of muted hues, the moon casting a silvery glow over the worn paths and whispering trees. It was late—way past my bedtime—but who cared? The walls of my room felt like they were closing in, suffocating me with the stale air of my own misery. After sending that single, tentative text—"I'm here."—a wave of conflicting emotions crashed over me, dragging me deeper into my chaotic thoughts. I needed out. I needed air.
Sneaking into the cool night felt like a small act of rebellion against the invisible chains that bound me. The gravel crunched softly beneath my sneakers, each step a muffled scream against the stillness of the world. Memories swirled around me, dark and unyielding—my father's drunken rages echoing in my mind like a twisted horror movie. The sharp clinks of glass hitting the floor, the angry shouts that reverberated through the house, the way the air felt thick with tension before it all exploded. I felt the familiar churn in my stomach, the fear of what awaited me at home clashing with the need to feel free, even if just for a few minutes.
The towering oak tree loomed ahead, its gnarled branches stretching out like protective arms against the night sky. I paused beneath its sprawling canopy, feeling the chill of the night seep into my bones. I hugged myself tightly, the warmth of tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I blinked them back. Crying was for the weak, and I was done being weak. My hoodie sleeves brushed against bruises still tender from my father's latest "lesson," remnants of his anger that I wore like shame.
Then, like a beacon in the darkness, I heard footsteps approaching. My heart raced at the sight of Marie emerging from the depths of the park, her silhouette softly illuminated by the glow of the moon. She looked like something out of a dream—her hair glimmering silver in the light, her eyes bright and alive. But there was a heaviness in my chest, a fear that she would see through the thin veneer of my bravado and into the chaos I tried to hide.
"What the hell are you doing here?" I shot back, attempting to mask my surprise with a hint of bite in my tone. But my voice cracked slightly, betraying the vulnerability I fought to keep buried.
Marie stepped closer, her expression unwavering and filled with genuine concern. "I could ask you the same thing," she replied lightly, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness in her tone. "You texted me."
I glanced away, feeling the weight of her gaze on my bruised arms, the faint purples and yellows hidden beneath the sleeves of my hoodie. "I just needed to get away," I finally admitted, my voice almost a whisper. "Everything feels... heavy. Like I'm dragging a fucking boulder behind me." The confession felt foreign on my tongue, a fragile shard of truth slipping through the carefully constructed walls I had built around myself.
As I shifted my weight, I tried to ignore the dull ache in my ribs, a reminder of the last time my father's rage had exploded. I hadn't meant to show it, but I was wearing my pain like a second skin. Marie's gaze flicked over me, sharp as glass, and I could almost feel her dissecting the layers of my facade.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, her voice cutting through my thoughts. Her gaze flickered to the purple blotch peeking out from under my sleeve. I'd pulled the hoodie tight around me, thinking it would hide the evidence of my scars, but I could feel her eyes drilling into me like a spotlight.
"It's nothing," I shrugged, trying to brush off the concern like a pesky fly. "Just a little roughhousing, you know? Gotta keep up with my badass reputation." I forced a smirk, but it felt hollow. Marie wasn't buying it, and I could see the gears turning in her mind, dissecting every half-truth I fed her. She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing in scrutiny.
"Roughhousing?" she pressed, eyebrows raised. "That looks more like a fight with a damn freight train."
I exhaled sharply, trying to maintain my bravado while the truth clawed at my insides. "Well, you know me. Always throwing myself into dangerous situations. Can't resist the thrill of it."
YOU ARE READING
The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (GirlXGirl)
Teen Fiction--- In the dead of night, Dylan stands on the edge of a bridge, her mind heavy with the pain she's carried for years. The world around her feels as distant and cold as the dark waters below-a mirror to the weight of her broken family and lingering s...
