All I Have Left Are Secrets

It gets harder and harder to keep this secret. I feel it festering inside of me, begging to be released and see the light of day. I want so badly to set it free like a white winged dove soaring through the blue sky up above the heads of the humans who minds are filled with useless clutter and worry. I dream of the day that I can hang my laundry out to dry in the spring air, and have someone dare come up to my soiled sheets and take a whiff. I pray that they will inhale deeply, capturing the scent to memory, and not fear what they will inevitably find. This person, girl or boy, man or woman, will embrace me in their tender arms, hold me tight to their chest and whisper sweet nothings in my ear. I crave the warmth of another body pressed against my own, reassuring me that the monsters that hide under my bed will never thirst for my blood or find pleasure in my agonizing screams again.

This day that I so eagerly beg for, have grovelled at the feet of the devil to let happen, this day I know will never come. Instead I stay hidden in the back of the closet, fur coats and big hats concealing me from view. By chance the few curious wanderers that spare a glance inside this four walled prison, never see me stuffed at the back. I am left to rot like the rat infested garbage at the side of an abandoned street. Please someone, anyone, just see me.

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With my eyelids shut, the darkness encompassed me. Even sitting here in broad daylight surrounded by my peers I was petrified. I had learned a long time ago what kind of monsters hid in the dark, but that didn’t mean that that stopped my heart from beating louder or faster every time I shut my eyes. Nothing would stop the fear as it crept into my veins, grabbed hold of my sanity, and rattled its cage with all its might. No. I was shackled by own fear and nothing would ever rust the chains that keep me tied to hell.

I attempted to focus on my other senses, the scent of mystery meat Thursday as if wafted into my nostrils. The giggling gossiping girls two tables over, the rambunctious jocks jeering at one another, the innocent laughter that filled the air. I could feel the cool plastic of the lunch table pressed against my face, and I exhaled a breath, feeling the tension ease from my shoulders. Time ticked by with each passing second my pulse rhythmically counting down the moments till lunch was over.

A shrill bell rang through the cafeteria, snapping me out of my reflective daze. My crystal blue eyes snapped open as the bell shocked my nerves, wakening me from my unpleasant thoughts. I scanned the high school cafeteria, watching the hordes of students file out in clusters as they meandered to their next class. A few of my classmates lagged behind the pack, their footsteps heavy and laden as they trudged out of the almost empty room.

 I didn’t bother getting up today; guidance had informed me that they brought a child psychiatrist into talk to me about my recent behaviour. I don’t know what infuriated me more, the fact that they classified me as a child despite my sixteen years of age, or the fact that they think I’m crazy. The very idea that an individual could be broken and so easily fixed by the mere act of pouring their heart out to a stranger was a mockery. It ignited a spark in me that could easily turn into rage if I wasn’t so dead inside.

He stood on the outskirts of the cafeteria, for how long I did not know, but he was studying me. When the last of the stragglers emptied from sight, he approached cautiously. His steps were equal and measured, treating me like a wounded animal that would sprint because of any unexpected movement. I was not vulnerable, I was not weak, I was not wounded. He had no right to make such assessments about me; he doesn’t know who the hell I am. He approached the table, his dark complexion contrasted against the blanching of the harsh luminescent lights as his large frame loomed over my delicate body. His shadow casted over me, momentarily forcing me back into the darkness that I dreaded.