These Walls I've Built

"Sit still, Cameron. I know it's hard, but I think I know what you're going through-"

I laughed humorlessly, though I didn't even think anything was funny at this point. It was strange, how every single emotion I experienced felt exactly the same. It was as if someone had taken them and mixed them together, because all of a sudden, I felt so many things and yet nothing at all.

"You think you know what I'm going through? You think you know how I'm feeling?" I asked, my voice deathly quiet. It was more of a rhetorical question, but I wanted to see how he comprehended it.

I shot up out of my seat, my hands slamming down on the table. My face was a mask of distant coldness, or at least I tried to make it seem that way. I didn't know what was propelling me to do what I was doing, and I knew it was wrong. But it felt better than grieving completely alone.

"Tell me something, Mr. Petrakis." I seethed levelly, narrowing my eyes at my teacher. "Do you think you know what it feels like to feel completely broken every second of the day? Do you know what it feels like waking up in the morning screaming for someone who isn't there? And do you know what it feels like to not seem to comprehend anything but the one thing you don't want to comprehend?"

I stood, slinging my backpack over my shoulder, and wheeled around, stalking out of the room. Right as the door was about to shut behind me, I said, "Do me a favor, Mr. P. That is, if you really want to help me."

He looked up at me, his face a mixture of hurt, thoughtfulness, and...hope? "Of course. What is it?"

"Never try to help me again." I answered, and walked away, letting the door bang shut behind me.