Hair Bows and Don'ts

04 | perfect

I wake up the next day with that heavy feeling in my chest. The type you get after all your dreams have been shattered. The type you get after you realised everything you've ever wanted was never going to happen. The type you get when no one listens anymore.

Forcing myself to sit up, I stare at the wall. I have to go to school. There's this awful weight in the pit of my stomach, begging me to stay at home. By now, Luke and I would probably be the talk of the school, and no doubt we're going to get into some serious trouble, or at least, awful rumors.

It's all my fault. I shouldn't have dragged him into this.

Walking down the stairs like a robot, one step at a time, I'm awfully relieved to find only Blake at the island table, having his breakfast.

"Hey, Irabelle," he says.

Sending him a small smile, I shuffle over to the counter and make myself a Nutella sandwich.

"Where's Mom and Dad?" I ask around a bite.

"They went to work early. You're supposed to drive me to school," Blake replies, before adding quickly, "but it's much safer if we walk together, right? I'll stand on the outside, you stay away from the roads."

"Blake..." I sigh.

"Please, Irabelle? I don't want to ride in a car," Blake says.

"Blake, you have to get over that fear someday," I reply.

"Well, that day isn't today," huffs Blake, crossing his arms over his chest.

"When's your therapy?" I try. At least his therapist will help him, because I'm at a loss for solutions. Blake is stubborn and impatient, a trait inherited from my mother, no doubt.

"I don't want to go to therapy," Blake's bottom lip quivers, "I heard my friends say therapy's for crazy people."

"What?" I walk over to Blake, and nudge his chin so he's looking at me. "Blake, you're not crazy. People who go to therapy aren't crazy. They're just people brave enough to try out something to help themselves become better, and they are people who dare to open up about how they feel."

"I don't know what I'm feeling," Blake says softly.

"Neither do I, Blake, but your therapist will help you figure out what's going on."

"Then why don't you go to therapy?" Blake looks at me suspiciously, like I'm telling a lie about therapy.

"There are certain emotions that no one can figure out or understand, Blake. I've drifted out of the zone that has been labeled as 'normal, identifiable' emotions. That, and I don't want to bring more trouble onto people. I'm old enough to solve my own problems." I say, and then swallow another bite of my sandwich.

"So, are you saying I'm bringing more trouble onto people?" Blake's eyes glaze over, just slightly.

"No, Blake, she means you need more practice before you can handle your own stuff." Clarity's voice echoes through the foyer.

I freeze.

"How'd you get in?" I run towards the door, my heart hammering in my chest.

Clarity stands there alone innocently, smiling in greeting. Then she realizes that I'm only in a tank top and shorts, and her cheeks color.

"I dunno. The door wasn't locked." She says innocently.

Mom and Dad forgot to lock the door before they went out. It seems nearly impossible now, but who else could there be? Why would Mom and Dad be in such a hurry?