Safe (Rewritten)

Somebody That I Used to Know

# Somebody That I Used to Know # 

"Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over, 

But had me believing it was always something that I'd done." 

- Gotye ft. Kimbra, "Somebody that I Used to Know"

This is it. This is the puke-inducing, anxiety filled night I've been dreading since I was informed about it. Yes, that's right. It's Thanksgiving and I'm just not in the mood.

I don't understand why I keep changing how I feel. Honestly, I'm not even trying. At first, I was okay and bordering on happy. Now, I feel like a certain ghost is just following me everywhere, smirking at me and blowing kisses with his peach-scented mouth.

Mom wakes up extra early on Thanksgiving, bustling around at the crack of dawn to create "The best damned bird in the entire state of Washington". Clearly, this means a lot to my mother, and the fact that we'll have more guests than usual has made her perkier, which in turn has darkened my mood to the point where I'm even annoyed with the bird in the backyard.

I don't get why we even have to do this stupid dinner. What am I supposed to do when Mom inevitably forces Eric and I to sit together? Sit there awkwardly, trying to not make any noise as I chew? This is going to be a nightmare, and I don't get why no one else can see that.

Around nine AM, Madison starts helping Mom in the kitchen. I feel like I should go down there and be a part of the whole process, but I also know that I'm no help in that aspect. Cooking isn't something I've ever been a master at. Whenever I end up alone for long periods of time (which is rare, I am the one that needs to be watched 24/7, apparently), I usually end up eating cereal and Ramen soup.

Dad's voice fills the lower floor at around eleven. He starts teasing Mom, who threatens to tie him up if he doesn't leave her food alone. I sigh, dragging myself into a sitting position. Despite it almost being noon, my room is nearly pitch black. The thick, velvety curtains block out the sun, even though that's not what I intended. I wanted to block out the stars at night, so that I won't have to look over and remember. Along with the curtains, I have a rug under the door that also blocks light. The only evidence that I'm in fact *not* in a black hole is the glowing red alarm clock across the room.

There's a knock on the door half and hour later, my maternal grandmother finally popping in. Grandpa has been dead for about five years now, which doesn't help my depression when I think about him. He would have known how to help me, seeing how Grandpa seemed to have memorized all of my expressions and he knew what I'd done before I ever had to speak.

As Grandma and Madison chat, I finally flick on my lamp and slip out of my pajamas. The brief moment spent in my underwear before the mirror allows me time to inspect. I realize with near satisfaction that my hipbones don't protrude as much as they used to, which is a sign that I've actually been making tiny strides. I almost want to run to Meranda and gush, but I think better of it.

By one o'clock in the afternoon, I'm fully dressed. I've made sure to cover my arms with a layer of concealer and a thick top. None of my family members outside of Mom, Dad, and Madison know I have the scars. Sure, everyone knows about my depression, but I don't want to think about what would happen if they knew that I cut.

There's a gentle rap on the door and I look up from my book for a second to say, "Come in."

My paternal grandmother pokes her head in, a soft smile on her face. I love Nana. She's a lot like me and Dad, with our reserved personalities and thoughtful manner. "Terryn told me it's time for your pills."

I rub my face. "I need to eat first."

Nana smirks at me, pulling a plate of food from behind her back. My eyes bug, but she just snickers. "I was quite the food smuggler in my day. Remember, you don't tell, I don't tell."