The Diary Of A Broken Teenage Girl

8 (Afraid... Ghost in the mirror)

Take a look at my body, look at my hands
There's so much here that I don't understand
Your face saving promises, whispered like prayers
I don't need them.
Cos I've been treated so wrong, I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
Well contempt loves the silence, it thrives in the dark
With fine winding tendrils that strangle the heart
They say that the promises, soften the blow
I don't need them, no I don't need them
I've been treated so wrong, I've been treated so long
As if I'm becoming untouchable
I'm a slow dying flow, I'm a frost killing hour
The sweet turning sour and untouchable.
My skin - Natalie Merchant.

  She tried once again. What she did everyday. But today wasn't everyday. So it wasn't working. The tears kept flowing and ruining all her work and messing up her makeup. Making her redo it.

  She kept redoing it and screwing it up. And kept trying. But the tears won't stop and the makeup won't work.

  She pressed hard on her foundation tube, and nothing came out. "Oh No!" She cried inwardly. She'd already exhausted her concealer and planned on going shopping during the weekend, for more disguises. But it looked like she wasn't going to be using any today. And she couldn't let that happen.

  So, she tried again.

  And nothing came out.

  And tried again.

  But nothing came out.

  Then she glanced at the mirror. A ghost reflection stared back at her. An alien who bore very little resemblance to whom she used to be.

  She hated how broken she was and how weak she'd become. And staring at the mirror, at her reflection just disgusted her and gave something to hate herself about. And she hated herself all the more.

  Then she balled her hands into fists and smashed the mirror.

  Then she stared at it now. Through the broken pieces. Now it reflected her even better.

  Broken.

  Her palms bled. And they stung like crazy. But she didn't mind. Because no amount of physical pain in this life could suppress the one she was feeling on the inside.

  None.
**********

  So, I'm on my own, by my locker, minding my own business when Chrissy walks up to her locker next to me.

  "Hey," she greeted.

  I looked around, just to be sure she was talking to me. And when I was sure there was no one behind me, I turned back to her, "Hey me?" I asked. I mean, you can't blame me for being surprised, Chrissy hadn't spoken to me in days, maybe even weeks.

  She gave me a small smile and nodded.

  And I have to confess, she looked terrible, in a long sleeved shirt and a pair of trousers. With base ball cap covering her down poured hair and a pair of sunglasses. She was barely recognisable.

  "Well, you look terrible," I said, like it wasn't completely obvious.

  "Well, thank you, miss stating the obvious," she replied. Then she pulled me by the hand, into the bathroom. "I need your help, " she said.

  Of course she did. Or she wouldn't be talking to me.

  Then she took off the baseball cap and the sunglasses, and then held her hair backwards and Holy Freaking Molly! What the hell happened to her?? She looked like she'd been beat up, thrown down the stairs, drowned and hung out to dry. She looked mightily terrible, with dark circles around her swollen eyes, swollen, really red cheeks, a cut on her lower lip and several other injuries I'd rather not talk about.

  "I fell," she said, when she noticed me staring.

I nodded. I knew exactly what she needed from me.

  "Down the stairs," she added when I didn't say anything.

  "Well, stay in one of the stalls, while I go fetch my emergency kit," I instructed, leaving for my locker.

  I returned a few moments later, and fixed her face, making sure to cover a the cuts and bruises. Covering even those on her arm. And knees.

  And then she changed into her cheer uniform, putting on the school's varsity jacket. She walked around school again looking like she was at the top of the world, while she was actually at the bottom of the heap.

  And I spent the whole day, trying to put pieces to the puzzle of who hit her and why she would lie to protect the person. And only one person kept coming to mind.

  Max Morgan.

  He was the only one capable of inflicting injuries and fear of reporting the injuries.

  And the thought of it, made my blood boil. He was hitting my best friend. And she was lying to me. And Zan must have known. And he'd asked her to break up with him. And Zan had kept it from me.

  And my blood boiled all the more. I was blinded with so much fury, I found myself marching down to the gym, where I knew Zan would be practicing and so would Chrissy and so was I supposed to. But a lot of things were more important than cheer practices.

  "O'Conner!" I yelled, drawing his attention to myself, and a lot more of them, that I didn't care about. All I cared about was Zan O'Conner's.

  "Did you know he's hitting her?" I fumed, stopping right in front of him.

  I ignored the whispers rising around me, as I gritted my teeth and glared at him. Daring him to lie to me.

  Zan glanced around him, at the curious eyes from the other jocks and the whispering cheerleaders.

  "Keep your voice down," he whispered. Staring at Chrissy, as if trying to get her permission to tell me the truth.

  I turned my attention to Chrissy and spotted her trying to leave the gym. ‘Oh not so fast Chrissy!' I gritted inwardly. "Don't you dare take another step towards that door!" I ordered. And she surprisingly stood still.

  Then I yanked Zan by his the neck of his Jersey, towards where she stood. And together we left the gym.
*************
 
  “We have to tell someone," I argued after they told me what had been going on. Somebody had to be able to help, right?

  “We can't tell anyone, Zoey," Chrissy said, practically begging. I could see the fear in her eyes as she glanced around continuously, just to be sure that we didn't have any company, other than us.

  “And besides, I already tried calling the cops, which ended up backfiring, on me and Chrissy," Zan added, almost whispering the last part.

  I shook my head. So that was it. The reason she'd been avoiding and lying to me. And we can't do anything about it.

  Truth was, I didn't know if I found relief in the fact that she'd let me in on the drama or that I was angry that there was nothing we could do about it, or both. I really had no idea.