Jet Black Hearts / l.h.

𝟐𝟗

Thursday, November 7, 2018
7:00 p.m.
Luke's Truck

You know those days where you feel like you're asleep throughout the day and it feels like you're not really there, in your life, living? And it's like you're watching everything goin in around you through a movie screen, and the movie's in slow-motion?

My next few days are like that. I go to school again, but I'm even less productive than if I just stayed home. Mom was threatening to kick me to the curb if I didn't start acting like a person again, so I guess I had no other choice than to attend school.

The only person I've actually talked to during my mental fog is Luke, and that's only through text in the morning when I'm eating breakfast. He usually texts me a quick good morning message before school, and I usually feel like responding. When I leave him on read, I make sure to reply the next time he sends a message. I may not feel like talking but that doesn't mean that he doesn't. From all the times I've hung out with Luke, I've gathered that he's actually quite the talker. It's how he shows that he feels comfortable around you – he seems shy at first, but when you spend more and more time with him, he doesn't shut up. It actually gets really annoying sometimes. But it'd feel weird to have a lot of silence between the two of us now.

Luke was the only reason why I decided to show up to group therapy. I don't even know why that is, but apparently he's a strong reason because I've been too tired to do simple things like brush my teeth, take a shower, or take my meds.

I sit through the session next to Luke silently, nodding every few minutes for my group participation. Problems and struggles are thrown around the circle and, eventually, the session is over and everyone leaves.

Luke stops me by the door.

"Hey, you want to come over to hang out for a while?" He asks.

I shrug. "'Kay."

He frowns, but doesn't say anything and leads me out to his truck. The car ride is full of random songs on the radio and Luke telling me all about something his little sister did yesterday that had him and his mother in hysterics. I try to listen, I really do, but my mind fogs over and it's like my brain just ... stops. Emotions, thoughts, and my senses are numbed.

Until Luke suddenly asks, "How about you?"

I blink. "What about me?"

"How was your day?"

I shrug. Luke purses his lips and glances at me as he speeds down the road.

"Do you have a lot of homework?"

I shrug again and mutter, "Not really." But I do—I'm just not going to do any of it.

There's a silence of like two seconds and I lose it. I don't know why. My eyes start to burn, my throat feels tight, and my hands shake. I clench them hard in my lap and turn so my face is completely hidden from Luke as I pretend to just be looking out the window.

Everything just sucks. And I guess that's really getting to me. It's not even that a lot of bad things are happening to me. I just don't feel right. I don't feel like a person.

And I hate myself for that, and for many other reasons.

Luke starts to talk about his day. I half-listen, half-try to hold in the sudden tears.

Subconsciously, my right hand goes to my left wrist and slides under the sleeve. My fingernails scratch at the scars.

". . . it doesn't sound funny, but it was, you just had to be there. I bet you would've found it funny if—Hey, are you okay?"

Luke reaches over with one hand, keeping the other on the wheel, and gentle touches my shoulder. His touch makes me squeeze my eyes shut, trying even harder to keep the tears from rolling down my face.

I take a deep breath, but it's shaky. "Yeah. Are you?"

Luke ignore my question and tucks my hair behind my ear so he can see my face, glancing at the road as he does so. I quickly move my hair back and play it off casually.

"What are you doing?"

"Stop hiding yourself from me."

"I'm not."

"Then why won't you look at me, Brin?" Luke asks.

I don't reply. I cross my arms and turn away even more, my entire body facing the passenger door as I sit on the seat sideways.

"You can't pretend like I'm the only one who's hurting all the time," Luke tells me with a sigh of frustration. "I'm your friend, you can openly talk to me, you know."

"No I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, I can't."

"Why not?" Luke asks, but when I don't give a reply, he touches my shoulder again, his hand running down my arm to my elbow and he gently tugs on it in an attempt to make me face him. "Brin, come on."

"I just can't, okay? Don't take it personally, I can't open up to anyone."

Luke purses his lips and stares at the road. Then, he starts to slow the car and veer to our right until we're parked on the side of the road in the country side. I hear him unbuckle and shift in his seat before he talks again.

"I'm not taking us to my place until you tell me what's wrong."

A small, humorless laugh passes through my lips. "That's the thing," I murmur. "Nothing's wrong."

"If nothing was wrong then you'd be smiling," Luke points out.

"You're right, there is something wrong." I scratch my scars harder. "Me."

"That's not true—"

"It is, though," I tell him, finally turning my head and looking at him. Our eyes lock and he just looks at me with empathy and concern and care—but nothing like pity or disappointment. Which is new. "Everything is okay, but I don't feel okay, so I'm the problem. Not the world. Not anyone else. Me."

Saying the words out loud makes the dam break. A hot tear leaks down my cheek, but I turn away again and hastily rub it away, ashamed for crying in front of Luke. I want to disappear. I don't even want to look at him, or hear what he has to say. Thankfully, he stays silent.

"Can you just take me home?" I ask, my voice breaking. My finger nails scratch at my scars again. "Please?"

Luke puts the truck into gear and says a quiet "yea" before pulling back onto the road.

The rest of the way home is quiet.