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I didn't ask you to save me
I stared out the dark window at my pale reflection looking back at me. Raindrops pattered against the glass, splashing black liquid at me. I lowered my head, letting a sheet of dark hair fall to either side of my head, casting my face into shadows. I lifted a hand and press it against the icy glass. I stare passed the pale person looking back at me and out at the darkness surrounding the window. He was still there.
He was standing out there, rigid and unmoving. His tall figure stood defiantly against the rain falling in sheets around him. His blond hair was plastered a dark brown against his face. His black shirt was dripping and hanging loosely over his jeans. His strong, thick arms were by his sides and his legs holding him up like a rock. His shadowed eyes had circles under them from lack of sleep and they were fixed on my house.
I moved away from the window and slid down the wall, wrapping my arms around my chest and hugging myself tightly, hidden from view. Ripples of cool air ran down my arms, raising goose bumps. I lower my head, trying to rid myself of the slow moving pain easing through my body.
I felt like I was surrounded in the deep depths of a seething ocean, threatening to engulf me. I huddled closer to myself and waited for the feeling to pass. It didn’t. I didn’t expect it to. It hadn’t for the last four days.
Slowly, I managed to stand up and walk up the stairs. I walked blindly toward my room and sat down on my bed. I kept the light off. Deciding the bed was too comfortable; I sat down on the floor and leaned against my dresser, beginning to shake. I felt the tears coming, and didn’t bother to stop them. I let them pour down like the rain outside. I cried and cried. Like every night when I was alone. Tears stained my pillow permanently, no matter how many times I washed it. Pain enveloped me and I slid sideways onto the floor, curling up tightly into a ball as the tears kept falling down my face. My body and surprised me over and over about how much liquid could come out of my eyes without stopping. This was another of those nights.
I cried myself to sleep. Again. My dreams were nightmares. Unbearable pain suffocated me as I struggled for the fresh breath of air I was so desperate for. Blackness surrounded me and pressed in on me, making me feel more alone than I had ever felt before.
I woke up crying in the darkness. It was still raining. My glowing digital clock read 2:46. I closed my eyes, hugging my shaking, shivering form closer to me. I didn’t get up for a blanket. I suffered through it, letting the cold creep up on me as I tried to fight it off. I drifted off to sleep again only to be disturbed by the nightmares that followed me everywhere.
My mom didn’t even bother coming to wake me up. She knew I wouldn’t go to school. I hadn’t for the last four days. She couldn’t make me. Nothing could make me go there and face him for my absence. I woke up with the bright, friendly sunshine spreading over my floor. It was mocking my pain. My grief. It was laughing in my face at the darkness it could never shine away from me. And I hated it for it.
I listened for the garage door to open. Then the car door to slam. My mom revved the engine, and pulled out of the garage, then the rumbling door closed behind it. I stood up and walked down the stairs, closing all the blinds as I went to keep out the awful sun. I felt it touch my skin and attempt to warm it, then I slammed the window shut and closed the blinds, blocking it out. Leave me alone.
Food tasted like dirt, water like vinegar. I picked at my food. Pushing it around, slowly tearing it apart. It was like my life was down there on my plate, getting shredded and mangled, then dumped into the trash. I didn’t look out the window. He wouldn’t be there until three thirty-two on the spot. Enough time to get home, then run all the way here after school. I wondered if he hoped he would still see me there.
At three thirty, I went up to my room and shut the door. I didn’t want to see him standing there. I sat down at my computer and turned it on. I opened my email page, and saw seven unread emails in a row from Skyler Ashton. I looked at the subjects. Where are you? You’re still there, right? Talk to me! You can’t hide forever. I miss you, come back. This has gone far enough. Megan . . . please read this . . .
I checked them all, and moved them into the trash can. Then I emptied my trash can, and signed out. I sat there by myself waiting for the time to pass.