Do you ever wonder what it feels like to be me? It's not easy being me; being me sucks. Being me hurts. It makes you want to grab the next sharp thing you lay your eyes on and stab it into your ribs. I wouldn't seriously harm myself that way, but I can't deny the feelings I have every time I see a knife. I'd throw it away when I feel like I'm on the verge of exploding, frightened that I'd actually do it. Everything hurts. Being alone hurts, being around other people hurts, even watching TV or listening to music feels so tasteless, so boring and writing...writing is my only escape.
Days have passed and I haven't heard from Adam. I'm still shocked that he's actually alive; my heart and mind are telling me this is a dream but my whole life feels like a dream already so it's not really that shocking.
I'm all good now though, ready to attend classes today.
I pick up my towel and head to shower. Once I turn on the hot water, I take a look at myself in the mirror. As usual my pale face makes my stress and tiredness evident. I sigh, for some reason I hope I will look better as the days pass but I remain unchanging.
I step in the bath and turn the water on, inhaling and exhaling as the hot water streams down my body making me relax a little.
I usually just pick up the first thing I see and wear it for classes but today I decided to wear something less messy. I look inside my closet, unable to remember buying half of the stuff inside it. I guess spending money makes me feel less angry about every other thing in my life.
I pick up a striped shirt and an olive jacket and some dark jeans from my closet. I take my books, close the door, and drive to class right away.
My first class is British Literature, my favorite one. Shakespeare for me is the god of Literature, his expressive poetry is one of a kind. I usually don't feel emotionally moved but when I read Shakespeare's poetry I can't help the warmth I feel within my heart. It inspires me to write and become more expressive in my writing.
I was never much of a writer, I didn't feel the need to write about anything when I was younger. Everything I ever felt, I kept bottled up and never told anyone or expressed it in any way. That was until my father encouraged me to write. One day, when I was as gloomy as ever, he brought me a notebook and told me to write, to write everything I felt. I was extremely hesitant towards this new idea, I didn't know what I was supposed to write. I remember thinking, how can I write about my feelings if I don't even understand them. I never truly understood how I was going to identify how I felt and write about it, but I managed to push through it.
After all this time I have spent writing, I've come to realize that what I'm feeling, what I felt, and what I'll feel will never be written or described accurately.
The class is over and I have 45 minutes until the my next class so I head to the library, as usual. On my way to the library, my eyes catch a glimpse of Daniel. He waves at me so I walk towards him.
"What class did you just have?" He asks, looking down at his phone, texting someone, I assume.
"Uh, British Literature. Do you have a class right now? We can go grab a cup of coffee if you don't.."
He nods at me, still looking down at his phone.
"Who are you texting?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me.
"Oh, nobody." I look suspiciously at him as he quickly puts his phone away.
"Ok, it's that girl I met in a bar and she's..." He pauses.
"She's what??!" I'm pretty sure Daniel has never talked about a girl with me, which is normal. We aren't really friends; he thinks we are, or maybe we are. It's confusing and I don't like to overthink stuff other than death. It's already too much.
"She's so spontaneous," Oh, well..
"Unlike me.." I say without thinking.
"Yes, Unlike you," He looks so happy, pathetic.
"She is hot?" I ask.
"Very," He laughs and I laugh too.
We drive to our usual coffee shop. Daniel picks up our coffees and hands me mine. He asks me about Adam which is expected.
"Oh, he called me yesterday," I lie.
"What did he say?" He takes a sip of his coffee.
"Nothing you know, just how glad he is that I'm okay. I didn't say much. I was still shocked." I'm a good liar.
"So, What are you going to do? Are you going to tell your parents?" He asks.
"No, I'm not and neither are you." I'm never telling my parents about him. I don't want them to take away the last amount of hope I have left.
"I understand and I won't."
We finish our coffee and then go back to the building.
When I finish my other three classes, I drive to my Dad's place. Mom and Dad are together but sometimes his job forces him to stay in New York for days. He always wanted Mom and Paul to move with him but Mom wanted to stay with my grandma who refuses to leave her house and Paul has college.
Since my Dad isn't coming home until hours from now, I clean the place, do the laundry and cook.
There isn't much to clean or any laundry to do though, so I start cooking right away.
I'm done in few hours and so is my Dad with his workday. I greet him quickly and serve dinner.
"Oh, I didn't know you cooked. This tastes delicious," He says, making me smile as usual.
I still can't believe they'd do that to me though and I'm pretty sure it was Dad's Idea.
"Have you visited your Mom?" He tries to break the silence.
"You know I can't do that," He does.
"I can go with you," He offers.
"I can't." He understands I no longer want to speak of the subject and changes the topic to politics, something I'm most definitely not interested in. I wonder if he truly didn't understand me or was just trying to annoy the hell out of me.
When we're done, I do the dishes. By the time I finish it's 6:00 PM and I need to go home.
When I'm about to leave, I hear my phone buzzing. There's no caller ID.
"Hello,"
"Hi, its me aa.." It's him.
"I'm sorry I didn't call you. Can we meet up at your place in two hours?" He gasps as he talks and I say yes.
----
I know it's been awhile.
Edited by: Brenda Rico
