For Your Eyes Only

33

I haven't gotten out of bed in seven days, only getting up to use the bathroom and sip some water. With all the tears I have cried, my body craved all the liquid I would allow myself to consume.

The first day, I cried. I cried throughout the night, the evening of heartbreak playing over and over in my head. Could I have said something differently to make him not react the way he did? The answer to that is no. But I could not except that.

The second day, I continued to cry, except this day, my mother came into my room. I claimed sick, which wasn't false. I couldn't eat which left me dry heaving when my body begged for me to help itself.

"Do I need to call a doctor?" She had asked, pressing a thin hand to my forehead. I dodged it and pulled my covers up and over my unwashed hair. "Oh my Heavens, are you pregnant?"

"No, Momma. Leave me alone. I'm sick," I droned, closing my eyes to block it all out.

My mother ignored me like normal and yanked on my sheets to expose me again. "I'm calling your father."

I let her be on the second day because the wounds were still so fresh to the point that everything hurt; breathing, talking, blinking, thinking. Sleep was even painful because I dreamt of him.

The third day, I woke up to my father sticking a thermometer under my tongue. I batted him away and tossed it against the wall. That's when they both pinned it as my time of the month. I didn't bother to correct them. I didn't bother to speak. I couldn't. I wasn't able to speak up then, why should I start now?

On the fourth day, my mother stayed home from her brunch date with the women from the country club to watch over me. She was persistent on making sure I didn't sleep long because she was afraid I had some kind of concussion of sorts because I 'wasn't acting like myself.'

I don't think I'll ever be the same again.

Heartbreak is tricky. Every beat of the stupid organ was like one step closer to the last.

On the fifth day, I welcomed sleep. All I wanted to see was him. In my dreams he smiled at me, he touched me, he told me he loved me, and every time I was so close to smiling, touching, or telling him I loved him back, my mother would shake me awake.

It was like death over and over again not being able to touch him.

"You're being dramatic, Kelly Grace," my mother scolded me as she set down a strawberry yogurt in front of me on a tray. "It is time to get out of bed."

"I can't," I had moaned, my voice hoarse from days of not speaking. "My body hurts."

"That, honey, is from laying in bed for days." She landed harshly on my mattress, her little body rocking mine in a jolt. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. I don't think I could cry anymore even if I wanted to. "You need to go to school. At least, shower."

"I can't go to school." If I went to school, I knew I wouldn't see Nate because he is recovering from his surgery. But still. His friends would be there. My secret was out now and even though I never fully bonded with them, it still hurt to see the look in their eyes during the confession.

It didn't help my nerves that the fear of the police showing up at my doorstep haunted me as well. My future with Nate seemed over. So did any feature for that matter.

All I wanted to do was walk next door and check on Nate, make sure he is doing okay after the surgery.

I don't ever want to see you. I closed my eyes because how could I yearn for something so badly when someone who I swore shared a piece of my soul claimed to want nothing to do with me.