Letters You Will Never Read

Issues

"It's apparent that you have issues," He said.

I was twelve. I had an inbred terror of people who dressed crisply and addressed the heart of things as professionally as this man. His eyes did not dodge, they bludgeoned at me like I was some sort of code to be cracked. He was so closed off, yet he demanded everything of me. I do not like that.

"I'm human," I said simply. "We all have issues."

"You cut yourself."

There were thin red lines along my arms, and legs, but I shook my head. "No," I said, "I don't."

"Then please, explain yourself."

I looked into his unforgiving gaze, curious. Because in fear I become such an optimist... an annoying one, too. "Why should I? It isn't your business, and to be honest I don't really like you."

He smiled briefly and placed a hand on mine, saying, "I'm only here to help," And added my name, like it was some good luck charm. Bad move. I relinquished my hand and sneered at him.

"You can tell me anything that's weighing on you, it'll be just between you and I."

I folded my arms. "Mom sent for you, because she thinks I'm crazy. I don't cut myself, and I don't need you propitiating that rumor either. Do you think it really helps me to warn everyone that I'm some sort of freak?"

"You aren't a freak," He said in his most comforting voice.

Slowly a smile etched its way over my mouth. That was it. I met his gaze squarely and smiled him down. "Mr. Fletcher, you know what it's like to be an only child. Your parents expect so much of you... they invent grand dreams for you from the moment you're conceived. And you, Mr. Fletcher, have been such a good child, meeting up to their expectations. You can't possibly understand what it's like to find your own way in the world... the reason my mother sent for you is because I am not who she wants me to be. If she can convince me I am troubled, she can control me, or so she thinks. And she's afraid because all my life she has wanted me to be a model, an example to everyone around me of brainless beauty; when I talk she is terrified at my intelligence. I have different strengths, I have a different calling, being her pet is impossible."

He blinked and paused. "Well," He said, fumbling over the words like an idiot, "If you explain why you're cutting yourself..."

"Mr. Fletcher!" I snapped, "You are not listening to me. Why, why should I waste my time trying to convince a man who doesn't listen that I am perfectly fine? Why should I trust you, when you utterly refuse to trust me?" I was growing aware that I no longer sounded twelve, but that is fine, he needs someone to stand up to him. "Even if I did have issues, I would not bring them to you. You look so important, Mr. Fletcher, but you are shallow and rude. Is it my intelligence? Does it baffle you? Is there some explanation as to why you cannot comprehend the most simplistically stated sentence that comes from my mouth?" I could have laughed at him; the visible effect of a small mind trying to digest my complicated words desintegrated his authority. But to be fair, I do read too much...

He didn't come back.