Don't tell me nonsense

Unbottled

I sat in my last period, I was so bored and the time was moving ever so slowly. I sighed and looked back at my work, it was such a drag. I began to write.

"Esther, what was up with you in first period?" Cheyanne asked me. My eyes rolled all the way back, I wasn't in the mood for talking and especially not about this.

"Nothing." I replied lowly.

"Na na na don't try that with me I know something's up with you." I wanted to lie to her so badly, but I hated the concept of lying. The whole purposely perverting the truth I'm not for it.

"Family problems." I shrugged off casually, it was everything, but casual.

"Ahh seen, if you wanna talk about it I'm her for you," she paused, I then looked up from my work and up at Cheyanne. Her eyes filled with compassion, "you know that right ?" She asked but stated if you know what I mean, was as if she wasn't sure of herself. I reassured her with a genuine smile," 'course I do."

The bell rang and the sincere moment went just as fast as it came, there was just something about the schoom bell; it made everything short lived like nothing was meant to reach its climax for the bell shatter the moment anticipating the climax if you get what I mean. It's just a thought.

"Esther," my form tutor called out my name.

"Here, Miss." I answered. Before I knew it form registration was over and I was walking home opposite to the way I came. I came content and I left gloomily, all traces of happiness that ever lived in me were gone. I traipsed my way home and when I got there I kicked off my shoes, went upstairs, dropped my bag, got changed into some blue leggings and a white crew neck crop top. I put on my fuzzy green socks and sunk into my bed.

I just wanted to sleep, but my mind wouldn't let me, it was still busying in my thoughts. Why am I so emotional? I swear I hate him anyway? Was mum not good enough for him, of all the women her close friend? Why couldn't I be the best daughter for him? What did I ever do so wrong for my father to be pried from my very hands?

All these questions I had no answers to and I probably didn't want to hear the answers to them, but it was eating me up inside. Then again, who wants to listen to my sob stories?

I cried and spoke into my pillow, it was theraputic to an extent for I had finally cried on how many years of being a girl with bottles up emotions, but one day of crying won't take away years of pain, hurt and feelings of neglect