may shatter on impact (tronnor)

1. Pools & Worry

I trace small hearts in the water, watching them ripple away as the wind sends small splashes of water across the pool. My feet dangle into the pool, the cool water splashing up the wall and onto ceramic mug that my phone is trapped in. Some song on the piano plays softly, the sound from my phone magnified by the mug and coming out tiny and lost in the last of the summer wind.

I tilt my head back into the wind, enjoying the peacefulness of the night before school starts. Tomorrow morning, I'll begin waking up at 5:45 everyday and listening to teachers who talk to us like we're five. I'll ignore the curious looks that the new kid always gets - I would know, I'm the one who always given them. I'll ignore the questions when my hands shake and the fear boiling at the pit of my stomach when the door slams shut and the lights go off for PowerPoint presentations from kids who just pretend to care about the class.

If I look to my left, then I'll see the darkness and cover of a forest of trees, their shadows overlapping into one mess of black, one mess of hidden secrets that can't be found in the daylight. If I look to my right, I'll see a household of parents and a younger brother walking on eggshells, scared of every noise, hoping for the phone call saying that the entirety of last year was a dream. I'll see every light in every window on, the burning gold of the lightbulbs revealing boxes of things that we'd rather not unpack and gifts from friends that we ran away from.

I used to be able to tell which room was which when I looked at dark windows and windows shining with light and windows with music drifting out of them and windows with the washing machine roaring and windows with screens and windows with nothing. I can't anymore.

All I see is light and boxes and a shadow pacing around and two shadows sitting at a dinner table in silence, two extra bowls set but their children worlds away, their lives put on pause and please rewind, but it's like the remote is broken or the batteries have been hidden.

Someone calls my name, and then my brother's. I stand, my phone and the mug with monkey faces on it in one hand, the other keeping me balanced as I walk along the wall of the pool. My footprints gradually get smaller and fade as I finally get to the door of my house, slowly opening it and wincing at the creak. Any sound hurts my ears now, like I'm stuck in that silence for the rest of my life. Like the quiet when no one dared to take a breath and the quiet that was only broken by tears. Like the quiet in my house, my new house of porcelain dolls and unpacked boxes.

I set the mug and my phone down on the counter before sitting at the dinner table and nodding a small thank you at Mum. I start eating with the rest of my family, ignoring the clinks of the spoon against the bowl and Dad's optimistic, exhausted expression.

"School starts tomorrow, huh? Excited?"

"Sure," Tyde, my brother, says. He continues to eat - I swear, that boy is always hungry - and I see the worry etched onto his forehead anxiety about school the only thing on his mind. His tan is beginning to fade for probably the first time in his life, and his brown eyes trying to focus on the bowl of food in front of him instead of what might happen tomorrow.

"What about you, Troye?"

I just shrug.I can't tell her that my day was crap because then therapy is a thing that will happen again. I can't tell her that I met someone today because that would be lying and I won't - refuse - can't - shouldn't - promised not to - won't - lie to anyone. I can't speak about anything because all that I can say is how sorry I am and how sorry really doesn't mean anything. I can't speak because I can barely think. My thoughts are a mess and I can't speak if I can't think.

Mum sighs, but seems to accept the answer as enough and gives up all conversation until we're all done.

"Well, we should all get to bed soon, we want to start the school year off with enough sleep, yeah? Remember to set your alarms for tomorrow; you're both taking the bus."

Tyde groans softly, and clears his bowl begrudgingly. "Do we have to?"

"Yes, Tyde." She smiled at the two of us, standing there in the kitchen listening to Dad click away on his laptop, doing whatever his work on there is now. "It's going to be fine." She reaches out to ruffle my hair and I duck away, swatting at her hand. Tyde smiles, but the worry isn't gone from either of our minds.