Teardrops

3

Five years later

My peers have developed an addiction to tormenting me, as if my own self-torture wasn't enough. As the years went by their words piled up, and I could not just brush it off anymore. At first, their words could be gone with just a flick of my wrist, but now even with both hands I cannot push their words off. Looking up at the faces of my tormentors, I relive all the times we've covered this ground. Their voices have begun to harmonize with the echoes of the younger versions of themselves stored in my head.

Two girls walk in, but not new tormentors. These, I am significantly happy to see. One has shoulder length straight black hair, and olive skin. The other has wavy light brown hair cascading down her back, and tan skin.

"Hey, quit it. Leave her alone. She hasn't done anything to you. Just get out," the one with black hair says.

"Fine, but only because I'm bored," Ester, the Queen Bee says, as she turns, flipping her hair and strutting out of the bathroom with her posse.

"You know you can't push us away forever. Right?" The one with brown hair asks.

I sniff and nod still wiping away the tears, leaving streaks on my blotchy skin. They sit on either side of me. Tara, the one with black hair puts her arm around my shoulder offering me comfort in the only way she knows. Bethany, more practical in her approach, passes me a paper towel, to wipe the tears off my face.

"Okay, so are you going to tell us what they've been saying, or do we get to guess?" Tara queries, and adds, "They just want a rise out of you, you shouldn't let them control you. Please, let us help."

Sniffling more I cautiously look up inspecting them. I realize they truly want to help me, I muster a small smile and a slight nod, the closest to a yes I can do.

"They made fun of how I look, and how I am," my eyes gather more tears, "and."

"And what, is there more?" Tara asks.

"Tara! You don't have to tell us if you aren't comfortable," Bethany comforts after punching her sister in the arm.

"They blamed me for my dad," I whisper as the tears escape the harbor.

Tara jumps up racing towards the door, "I'm going to kill them, they won't be able to walk ever again when I'm done with them! I'm going to shove their words so far up their..."

"Tara! Stop! No! You can't!" Bethany yells, carrying Tara back from the door, throwing her down on the floor beside me, and sitting on her in case she tries to run again.

"You know his death wasn't your fault. Right?" she counsels.

"Yes it is," I whimper, "I was the one in the car with him, it was entirely my fault. I should be the one in the cemetery, not him!"

"Sweetie, there's nothing you could have done. It's not your fault," Tara soothes, rubbing my head, "I'm going to kill Ester!" The sister's words soothe my mind into the abyss of sleep.