Secret // Calum Hood

4

Elena

I walked home alone, like always, my head full of thoughts about everyone at school dying of spontaneous combustion.  Okay, maybe not that serious.  I wish they would all get the Spanish Influenza.  There’s a vaccine for that, right?  See, they’d be okay.  They would just suffer for a while.

When Dad was here, he would help me through the times when I would start thinking like this.  He understood.  But Mom, she just ignores it.  She knows I have no friends, but I think she denies that I get bullied.  Because I do.  Every single day.  I try to tell myself that everything will be okay, but that’s just not true.  Dad’s not here, and he might possibly never come back.  Mom is quickly spiraling back to the way she is when he’s gone.  And I’m just numb.  I’m either numb, sad, or angry.  And I hate it.  Sometimes I want to be normal again, happy.  But other times I don’t, because this is all I have.  It’s all I feel familiar with.  I don’t remember a time when I was truly happy.  Of course, I love it when Dad is here, and I certainly do feel happy when he’s around.  But it never lasts.  Even when I manage to feel happy, the pain is right behind it, trying to break through the barrier.  It weighs on my heart.

I unlocked the door to my perfect house and welcomed the lonely feeling.  Mom wouldn’t be home from work until later tonight.  There was a note on the fridge.  I was expected to make dinner for us.  She recommends noodles and chicken.  I didn’t have any homework, since it was the first day of school, so I got to work on making dinner.  I put all of my effort into it, hoping it will put her in a good mood.  She walked into the kitchen just as I was putting dinner on the table.  

“Smells good,” she commented, throwing her stuff on an empty chair.  She sat down and sighed, putting her hand up to her wrinkling forehead and massaging it.

“Tough day?” I asked hesitantly.

“You wouldn’t believe it,” she sighed again.

I sat down and said that dinner was ready.  We both chewed our food in awkward silence for a while.  Dad was usually the one that got conversation going.

“How was school?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Were the kids nice?” she asked, almost absentmindedly.

“No.”

I guess she didn’t know how to respond, so we just ate in silence again.  A few minutes later, I was completely done eating.  I didn’t want to get up though-she might get angry.  Instead, I tried to talk again.

“Dad called today,” I said.

“Did he?”

“He said he’s doing alright.”

“That’s good.  Let’s talk about something else now,” she said.

“But he said he wants you to call him before-”

“I said let’s talk about something else!” she snapped.

I immediately shut my mouth and looked down.  I shouldn’t have said anything.  I should have just kept my mouth shut.  It’s always better that way.  But I don’t know why Dad is such a sensitive topic.  I know how much it hurts when he’s gone.  But it won’t help by just ignoring him.  I want to see him, talk about him.  I excused myself from dinner and cleared my plate in the kitchen, and went upstairs to my room.  I didn’t even notice that I had started hyperventilating.  I paced my room, trying to stop myself from what I was thinking of doing.  But as I went to my bathroom, opened the bottom drawer, took out the plastic bag, and held the broken razor in my shaking hands, there was no going back now.

It felt almost electric.  Everything slowed down, got intense.  My bathroom was dark, because I hadn’t turned on the light, and I was now on the floor, sitting against the wall.  My rubber bracelets were off, revealing the raw and scarred skin on my tiny wrist.  I was still shaking.  I always shook before this.  The anticipation and excitement and pain all jumbled together, until I didn’t really feel anything at all.  And then I did it.  I slid the razor across a new spot on my wrist, creating a jagged line, the blade tugging on my skin slightly.  It was the most painful and wonderful feeling.  Without even noticing, I started crying.  And I couldn’t stop.  I didn’t do those huge sobs or anything.  Just silent tears with the occasional hiccup here and there.  I washed the blood off my wrist after putting the blade back and then dressed for bed.  I felt tired.  You know, that kind of tired where it’s like your feelings are worn out.  So you just gotta lay there for a few minutes and not think about anything.  Eventually, I fell asleep.  

-

“What do you think people see you as?” Calum asked me.  We were at his house, a few days later.  The encounter of him inviting me over was incredibly...awkward.  He kind of just said “we can go to my house tomorrow” and I said “okay”.  Those were the only words we had spoken to each other ever since we became partners, excluding when he asked me if I was okay.  We had spent class time coming up with questions to ask the other person, and now we were asking them.

“I don’t know,” I flatly said.  I didn’t want to be here.  I know he doesn’t like me.  I hate this whole project.  No one in the world wants to get to know me.  Especially not at school.  What’s the point?

“Is that your real answer?” he asked skeptically, looking up at me from the paper he was holding.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Come on.  What is it really?” he interrogated.

I smiled without actually feeling the feelings that usually come with a smile.

“You don’t have to pretend to care,” I said.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

“It means exactly what I said.  You don’t have to pretend to care about me, or like me,” I said.  I abruptly got up and gathered my things, preparing to leave.

“Where are you going?  We have to finish this,” he said, putting the paper down and looking at me with an annoyed look on his perfectly sculpted face.

“We have all semester,” I vaguely responded, and let myself out the front door.  I know I made him angry.  But I don’t really care right now.  I’m sick of him pretending, or trying to pretend, to like me.  People have done it to me before, I know what to look for.

They all can just go to Hell.

-

This chapter was kinda...meh.  But yeah, now you know part of Elena's secret! (Yes, there is more!! mwahahaa).  

On a serious note, this story can be triggering.  I know what it's like.

Stay Strong Lovlies, you can do anything. xx