"Don't look down. Nothing is wrong, just keep walking. Just keep going and look normal. Wipe that tear from your eye. Ignore your instincts. Don't you dare break down."
I repeat this over and over in my mind, hoping that it will stick. But I can't fight the tears as they're running down my cheek. At best all I can do is wipe them away with my sleeve before anyone notices. But they can still see the red puffs on my face, and the pain in my eyes. Darting glances across the room; I need something else to focus on.
There's a sculpture across the room. It's a lumpy blob, but it is molded into the shape that resembles a woman. One hand is in the air, as if showcasing something that only she can see. The other hand is... is on her stomach. Why does it have to be there? Can't it be somewhere else?
Are you going to tell him? No stop, I can't think about that. Think about the sculpture. She has no features; no smile, no nose, no eyes. The only way to tell her emotion is to read her body language. What do you think he'll say? Dammit. Okay I just need to clear my head.
I'll just hold my head in my hands, close my eyes, and breathe.
"Did you finish the biographies?" a voice asks. I slowly open my eyes and lift my head. My teacher is helping a girl matte a photo, but he is sitting next to me so that he has more space.
"I uh, um. What?" I can't think clearly, though I know exactly what he had said.
"Did you finish the biographies? They're due tomorrow." He says cheerfuly as he works.
"I uh forgot my computer at home." My voice grows softer with each word I say. He looks over at me with concern in his eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone becoming serious.
"Hmm?" I'm trying so hard to block out my pain that I can't even realize what's happening right now.
"...Do you want to be somewhere else?" All I do is shake my head to this. I can't bring myself to lie in words and say I'd be glad to be here. A tear escapes my eye and travels down my cheek, and I quickly try to erase it before anyone sees. Of course I want to be somewhere else. But I can't go to the counselor. If I go there then I'll end up there till school ends, and I'll miss my chance at telling him -that is if I choose to take it of course.
He gets up and leaves, thank god. But a girl across from me had seen my tear.
"Are you okay?" I was tired of lying and saying I was alright and not breaking inside, but I nodded and smiled anyways. She gave me a sly look, and spoke softer so others couldn't hear, "I know you're lying, I've got a sixth sense." She smiles light-heartedly with a twinkle in her eye. I force a smile and a laugh to try and prove to her I'm not dead.
"Here, come with me." She gets up and starts to head for the door, and though I don't want to talk I arise from my seat and bolt for the door. I wanted to get away from all those people because I didn't want them to see my tears spill out.
We round a quiet corner and I can't help but bury my face in my hands. My voice chokes up and liquid wells up in my palms. I'm trying my best not to fall to the floor. "I'm sorry" I manage to get out. "I hate crying."
"It's okay to cry. Now tell me what's wrong."
...
Her words race through my head: You have to tell him. He should know.
Don't you dare look down. Keep your head up and breathe. You can do this.
