I act brave when I’m scared. I act happy when I’m sad. I act normal when my world is falling apart. No one will know, no one will ever suspect. They’ll think I stayed out too late or got lost on the way home. When they call and I don’t answer they won’t think anything of it because I never answer anyway. They’ll get worried when I’m not back the next morning, worried when the police find my bike by the edge of the lake, worried when they file a missing person report. But they won’t suspect. No one will suspect that I’m so far past broken that trying to fix me would only hurt them, like trying to pick up tiny fragments of glass.
When they’re all wearing black, they’ll think it was an unfortunate accident, some malfunction of the bike, they’ll think it was dark and I couldn’t see. They’ll never know that it was on purpose. Never know that I cried myself to sleep because of them every night. I think a lot of people will come to see, to pretend that we were friends even though I barely knew them, pretend that we would hang out on the weekends when all I actually did was stay in my house. I don’t think they’ll ever know that I’m too far past broken.
People will read the epitaph saying that I was young and talented. They’ll shake their heads at the morning papers the morning after they find my body, thinking that it was a shame that I died. Not a soul will consider the possibility. I’ve hidden behind my mask for so long that I’m afraid if I take it off, people will run away. So I stay happy and stay normal even though I’m way too far past broken.
The kids in my gym class might secretly be glad I’m not there to mess up their soccer games, be secretly happy I won’t be the awkward one in the corner anymore, secretly think that it was better this way. The coaches and teachers will say that it’s sad, that they knew me and thought I was a good student, even though I wasn’t. But until then I’ll smile and laugh and pretend to be okay even though I’m destroyed on the inside, even though I’m too far past broken.
I don’t think that they’ll know. I don’ t think they’ll even suspect. And so I pick up my bike and tell my parents I’m going for a ride. I head for the lake without a coat because they’ll never know that I’m too far past broken to care.