are we out of the woods? | h.s

i

i push my body as far against the head of my bed as i can. i hear the sound of rain hitting and sliding down my window comforts me, and i can see their teary shadows run down my guitar that i had thrown into the corner of my room. she keeps staring at me with those big doe eyes and wasn't seeming to stop; my best friend had a tendency to do that. we have been sitting in silence for four minutes now, neither one of us wanting to speak first. talking first means that person cares more about the issue, and we both know that neither of us care for it at all. the issue has dug and cut its way into my skin, as it did from time to time. he left an impression on me, and it is an impression that presses deeper and deeper on my swollen, bleeding heart every second. it is something i can't get rid of, like a dark cloud hovering over my head. no matter how i try, with drugs, alcohol, even pushing myself to use my razor blade like the sharp, broken glass left behind in me... nothing works. i don't think anything ever will. i can't get those damned eyes out of my head. those damned, beautiful, alluring eyes.

"do you want to talk about it?"

she asks quietly, reaching her small hand out to touch me. i pull my legs into my body and shake my head. talking only agitated it more.

"no."

a sigh leaves her parted lips as she lowers her head into her hand, her hair falling around her face to fabricate a barrier between herself and i. but with my darkened, disheartened self placed beside her lighthearted spirit, the barrier was already created. i see that my resistance to speak was agitating her to a level close to mine.

"you've been getting more and more mopey as the year comes to an end. why?"

why. why, why, why, fucking why. everyone wants an explanation to whatever feelings i feel at any moment in time. ever since that night everyone became cautious around me, and now try to make sure that they understand why i feel and act the way i do, like they are my therapist digging into my brain's useless thoughts. why. god, i hate the word.

"why does it even matter?"

i snap, narrowing my eyes at her over the top of my knees. they burn from the lack of sleep i have grown use to having, and my fingers feel brittle, cold, and weak against my ankles.

"because it gives me another reason to worry about you. now talk."

my legs shift down so she sees a bit more of my face, even though i continue to shy away from her. i gulp down whatever feelings start up towards my mouth and keep my eyes solid against the wall. i couldn't look her in the eye right now.

"i don't want to talk."

my eyes trail down the wall as i start to remember what i have done. my heart somehow flutters at the thought of looking over what i have done, and the thought of letting another person see it. i write these kinds of things for a living, of course, but looking over something new always made me nervous. i quickly turn my head to my side table and spot the red spiral notebook, sitting there like an elephant in the room.

"here, look at this."

i throw her the notebook and she looks at me curiously, opening it to the first page. from where i sat, all i could see were the words that didn't fit and the doodles around the edge of the paper i had scratched out in rage.

"what is it?"

she asks, turning the page to quickly glance at the back before lifting her eyes up to me. i cross my arms over my chest, almost in a comforting way to hug myself, and scratch at my arms with whatever nails i hadn't bitten off at that point.

"well," my voice cracks as it slips back down into my throat. "it's, um, a song i wrote."

her eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. she looks shocked.

"a song? you finally got your creative mindset again?"

i let my eyelids drape down while i take a deep breath. i knew she'd be excited if i showed her what i did. i had to get my cavernous feelings away from my brain and latch them onto something else. i do that anyways - like i said, it's my job - but writing this didn't feel like a job. it felt like an escape from whatever cage i had been locked in. a kind of rehab, of sorts.

"a bit, yeah."

"what's it about?"

i just look at her. she asks again.

"Really, what's it about?"

everything.

it was about everything.

hiiii guys, it's emma, so this is a short out-of-the-blue story im writing about taylor's song because its boss and i felt the need to write something about it. i hope you enjoy !