The Metamorphosis Diaries

Chapter 13 - God Is Listening

CHAPTER 13

Surprisingly, school had become a haven for me. My worries of ridicule were tarnished by the odd silence of the hallway crowd. I would have thought since the obvious split between Darren and I, especially so soon in the relationship, the looks of endearment would turn into looks of disgust. After all, like he said, I was nothing without him.

Time at school meant I wasn't pent up in my room replaying the weekend in my head. The feeling of his hands crushing my flesh was engraved with bruises. I hid them with my itchy uniform sweater. Which I wore everyday. For two weeks.

Arden rejoiced when I told her we broke up. I told her that he wanted to have sex and I didn't, and that he was upset. I didn't tell her about his exact reaction; she already hated the Pops enough.

But something stayed off between my friends and I. Now that I wasn't hanging out with Darren so much, I thought I'd have more time to be with them. But they've all been so busy the last few weeks that I've been stuck in my room watching movies online for hours at a time. Selena's been with family every weekend, watching her new dog run around. Mackenzie started dating some guy from her school who has long hair and smokes a lot. Even Arden's been getting out, going to movies and concerts without me. Ivan hasn't even answered any texts.

Something people don't know about me is that I break hard over things I maybe shouldn't. In grade eight, my teacher made us watch videos on the Math lessons for the next day, and one of them included his own personal flare; a jump scare. I don't know why, but for two days, every time I thought about it I cried. Not only because it was so terrifying in the moment, but because he was my favourite teacher, and this broke my trust for him. To others, it seemed so stupid to be SO scared of something so dumb, but for someone with severe anxiety, when the climax of the terrible event your stomach is waiting for actually occurs, its terrifying.

The second time was more recent. I had gotten back from overnight camp, and my mother had completely rearranged my room. She didn't change the position of my bed, or DIY new organizers for my makeup table, but something that felt much worse. Years of diaries written on napkins were tucked into drawers I didn't know existed. My favourite t-shirts that were left astray amid cleaning my room had disappeared into closets at different corners of my house. Jewelry, makeup, pillows, all placed squarely in predictable places. My room wasn't mine anymore. It terrified me to think of how much control I didn't have over my own life and my own belongings. To think my mother had found the spare blades I had hoarded incase of emergency, or the collection of makeshift means for experimental masturbation (I'm growing, it's a part of life). My mother would judge me the wrong way. The first time my depression turned self-destructive she was embarrassed, and much more concerned with the aesthetic of being happy. She'd already told me in pieces the way she felt about sex and masturbation; disgusting, inappropriate, we're too young, it's unnatural and unnecessary. I felt like a free prisoner: watching the world roam and live around me while I was covered in chains.

I didn't talk to my mother for three days. I had broken down into screaming fits a few times, and I couldn't even look at my room without hyperventilating. It was the most extreme feeling I've ever felt.

Until here. As I make real eye contact with him for the first time in weeks. He's surrounded by ivory pillars, his friends, and they move—no, sway—like a school of sharks, or stingrays, or snakes.

I feel my heart hesitate, as if another beat might offend him. I was never scared of anyone, but maybe that was because I never had anything to fear. I remember the feeling of his warm breath on my neck as he kissed me, and I actually missed the feeling.

I had let myself feel for him, for real. And that never worked the first time. How did I let myself feel for him again?

The moment passes quicker than our relationship on a universal timeline, and I'm in flames.

—-

In the music hall, there's this storage room with cubbies stacked with woodwind and brass instruments. I'd manage to stuff myself inside one, squished between a guitar case and crumpled sheet music. It's second period, around 10:30am, far too early for my eyeliner to be smudged with tears, but there I sat.

A playlist of sad songs repeated in my dollar store earphones. I'm tired of waiting for permission to love. Heartbreak is your game, but I'm learning. With every passing second it became harder and harder to focus my breathing.

Panic attacks for me felt like I wasn't in control of my body. I became sore, cold, and shaky. I couldn't focus on anything, and needed to hold my breath in order to contain my hyperventilation. Sometimes I got dizzy, sometimes I got nauseous, and today I got tears.

My body didn't feel like it belonged to me anymore. It belonged to the shakes, the nerves, and the soreness. It belonged to the words that echoed shamelessly in my ears—words I have probably made up. It felt like the air was getting thinner, and like the collar of my uniform was trying to strangle me like an anaconda.

By 10:40 I had begun to calm down, and I could focus my mind on other things. Now was the time for me to make a decision: do I channel this feeling, or do I keep running away?

Now was the time for channeling. Not often do I let myself far apart, so now may be the best time to suffer for my art.

I opened the supply room door and checked around both corners before heading two doors down. The piano lab was dark and empty, but the hallway provided enough light for me to see the keys. I needed to play something.

I know you don't want to hear from me

But I'm not the one who should be sorry

And it's kind of crazy baby

Please don't mind the disposition I play imperfectly

So love me like you do

I want to know you inside out like we wanted to

Then break me like you planned to do

Because you know that I'll come back to you

This was a song I had written about Darren, most obviously. Not because I would literally let him hurt me again, but because I proved myself wrong. Because I'm not as strong as I want to be, and he'll be my kryptonite forever. His opinion will always matter to me, even if I choose not to let it change me. He's been complicated since the day I met him. If people were subjects, he'd be math and I'd been Russian Literature.

The song was still incomplete, as I felt our story was, too. I knew this back and fourth would almost never end between us. For years he's been breaking my heart into tiny pieces, and I put them back into his hands.

I looked up from the piano to see someone standing at the door. Black glasses, shoulder length hair, and a ridged jawline were the only features I could make out before they gasped shortly and disappeared.

I furrowed my eyes and followed him out of the room. By the time I had reached the door, he was halfway down the hall, his walk coming to a calm. I watched as his dark denim jacket soaked up all the light in the room, and his shiny brown hair orbed around him like a halo. Godlike.