Therapy (2 page)

“Nothing makes us so lonely as our secrets.”

—Paul Tornier

I CLOSE MY eyes as the blood runs down my stomach, the pain oozing out with it. This is what I want, what I need. Otherwise I’m numb, feeling nothing. The pain and depression stays suppressed until I can release it. It gives me a high and a rush that I crave every morning before I go to school. I know when I walk through those doors each day that I have to flip a switch inside and turn it all off just to make it through. My mom drinks coffee with a shot of liquor to start her day.

I cut myself.

I shove my notebook in my book bag and mentally prepare for day two of dodging Elizabeth Brant and her posse of mean girls. Some days, I wish I could just meet them all somewhere and let them beat the hell out of me; they could spit all of their poison my way and be done with it. If I knew it would make them stop, I’d do it in a minute. My senior year of high school has barely begun, yet I'm already counting down the days ‘til it ends. For the past three years, school has imprisoned me.

I just want it to be over.

Every day I pray that they’ll forget about me, and I’ll really become invisible. But they never do. I do everything I can to keep attention away from myself in order to avoid their radar. It's always futile—Elizabeth is merciless. I've never understood how a girl who is so beautiful on the outside can be so ugly and evil on the inside. How all of her admirers can't see her for what she really is will forever be a mystery to me. But I know better than anyone how easy it can be to fool people and hide your darkest secrets inside.

Because I do it every day.

I head into first period English and sit at the back of the classroom like I always do. I shuffle through my book bag and get my notebook out just as I hear them. Their banter is unmistakable.

“Oh my God, Hailey, did you see him this weekend? Jace was on fire in the game, although he always is. I rewarded him afterward, of course. Then he was really on fire.”

The bitch posse giggles as Elizabeth goes on about her boyfriend and the school’s quarterback, Jace Collins. They’re the “it couple” around the school. Jace is Mr. Popular and, of course, Elizabeth is Ms. Popular. What he sees in her, I have no idea. Well, aside from her long, luxurious blond hair, flawless bronzed skin, perfect body, and crystal clear blue eyes. But she radiates
bitch
, regardless of her appearance.

Elizabeth glances back at me as she takes her seat. “So, Jessica, how much slutting around did you do this weekend?”

I dart my eyes down toward my notebook, refusing to reply to her taunts. Trying to stick up for myself only makes it worse. My long jet-black hair falls down around my face, creating a curtain of defense, and I doodle aimlessly on my notebook, ignoring all of her comments.

Something hits my arm and falls onto my desk, then again, and again. I look up and Elizabeth is laughing as Hailey, her partner in crime, balls up another tiny piece of paper. I roll my eyes at them and look back down at my notebook, swiping the pieces of paper onto the floor.

Brian Wheeler turns, looking at me with an assholish smirk on his face, and waggles his eyebrows up and down suggestively. My stomach rolls along with my eyes as I look away from him. Brian is yet another example of a relationship gone bad. The fact that I've slept with him makes me want to puke.

Elizabeth turns around, mumbling something about what a skank I am just as Jace walks in and sits down beside her. Hailey flicks another balled-up piece of paper at me and he scrunches up his eyebrows, glaring at her. She grins back at him and shrugs her shoulders innocently.

“Hailey, don’t be such a bitch,” he says in an obviously irritated tone.

Thank you, Jace.

You’re a mystery to me, Jace.

Why do you care, Jace?

Jace, Jace, Jace.

“Jace Collins, don’t talk to my best friend like that! Hailey is only warding off the infestation of STDs sitting behind us,” Elizabeth hisses.

He looks back at me and mouths the word sorry. I don’t reply; no expression, no all-knowing look, nothing.

He’s the epitome of male perfection with his sandy, dark blond hair and light blue eyes. He’s toned and muscular, but not in a bulky way, and he’s tall with wide shoulders. Not only is he the star of the football team, but also the baseball and male swim teams too. He’s an athlete and pretty much has a clear-cut future with an athletic scholarship to a major university of his choosing.

The only reason I think he’s ever nice to me is because I’m on the girls’ swim team. I steer clear of all team sports, for the most part, and I’m definitely a loner. I’ve been competitively swimming for four years now, and it’s the only thing that I really enjoy besides writing. School is a means to an end for me, and I can’t wait for it to be over. This place is like a sick form of karmic punishment for something I must’ve done in a former life.

After English class, we all file out. I walk slowly, allowing Elizabeth to exit first. Hopefully she’ll forget that I’m behind her. I make my way to my locker only to find notes reading
WHORE
, along with other expletives in big bold letters, taped to it. I rip the papers off quickly just before Elizabeth walks by, shouldering me hard into the cold metal lockers.

“Oh, excuse me, Jessica. I didn’t see you there,” Elizabeth jeers. “You should wear a slut warning sign that lets the rest of us know you’re there!” she laughs as her followers surround me.

I look to the floor, hugging my books to my chest and shut it all out. This is how I deal with her, with all of them. I lock down, shut it out, and wait for it to be over. She flicks a strand of my hair from my face, and I flinch.

“We all know you slept with Harrison this weekend. You know that Hailey has been seeing him for quite a while. Did you really think you could keep that from us? Huh?” she demands, inching forward. “You better keep your skanky ass away from him. Do you understand me, Jessica?” She’s so close that her words spray flecks of spit onto my face. “He doesn’t want you! None of them want you, bitch!” She slaps her hand on my locker mere inches from the side of my face, and whispers quietly as she leans in closer to my ear.

“Don’t you ever just think about ending it all and sparing us the repulsion of looking at you every day? You’d be doing everyone here a service.” She glares at me with hatred burning in her pools of ice-cold blue. My eyes quickly dart back and forth, looking for an out. I feel hot, too hot, and my skin is clammy.

Breathe.

Then I hear his voice.

“Liz, leave her the hell alone already!” he scolds, gesturing for her to make her way to second period. “Remember what I said, skank,” she exclaims as she struts off down the hallway.

I look up to see that Jace is still standing here looking at me, his hands shoved into his jean pockets. I feel vulnerable and embarrassed. Why is he causing this awkward, silent moment to happen? I look away nervously and turn back to my locker, opening it quickly with shaky hands.

“Hey, I’m sorry about Liz and her tribe of bitches,” he says as I rustle through my locker, stalling so I don’t have to turn around and make eye contact with him. My hands are trembling, and I’m trying to regain some form of composure after the face-off with Elizabeth.

Just breathe, Jessica.

“Don’t let her rattle you so much. I didn’t hear what she was saying, but I promise you her bark is far more scary than her bite.”

He has no idea what his girlfriend is really like on the inside.

“Are you ready for swim this year? I hope we kick ass like we did last year,” he says, and I wonder why he’s trying to carry on a casual conversation with me. The bell rings.

Thank goodness.

I spin around and look at him with my mask of fake confidence. “Thanks, Jace. And yeah, I’m ready for swim team. I really have to get to class, though,” I mutter. His mouth turns up into a grin and he walks away in the opposite direction.

What was that all about?

Why do you care, Jace? Why?

If Elizabeth sees him carrying on a full-blown conversation with me, she’ll go apeshit. I’m like the plague around here, and the star quarterback talking to me is definitely not a good idea.

The day moves at an arduous pace, but I continue to avoid Elizabeth. I’m not sure what’s worse—this place and the way I seem to be the butt of everyone’s jokes or home where I’m invisible to everyone.

I go to my car and drive home, blasting Seether out of my speakers. I wonder what kind of day Mom is having. She’ll either be drunk, or be Martha Stewart; it’s a fifty-fifty chance.

I stopped caring a long time ago. When she’s not drunk, she tries too hard—it’s smothering. She overcompensates for her lack of parenting on the days she’s drunk as shit. I pull into the driveway and see her sitting on the porch, smoking a cigarette, and holding a glass of wine. There are kids outside playing next door where new neighbors are moving in. Their ball is in my way as I try to park, so I maneuver around it the best I can. A little girl smiles and waves at me as she retrieves the purple ball. I look up as I get out of my car and see Mom smile and wave sloppily at me.

Drunk day today...

“Hi, Mom,” I say hurriedly as I walk past her.

“Hi, sweetie. How wassss your day?” she slurs.

“Great, Mom. It was great!” I say, lying straight through my teeth. Telling her the truth is pointless.

I go inside to my room and slam the door behind me. After locking it, I reach over and pull out my hidden box of razors, alcohol swabs, ointment, and bandages. I flip my iPod docking station on and fall down onto my bed. Hinder plays as I pull up my shirt. Unbuttoning my jeans, I pull them down just barely enough to expose the fresh cut from this morning. I have to be really careful not to let the cuts get infected, so I clean and bandage them daily. It’s a normal routine for me.

I know I’ll have to put on a happy face when my dad gets home. He doesn’t really pay me any attention, but I always feel like he has me under a microscope, looking for any imperfection or mistake. I do my best to avoid him like everyone else in my life. The weekend is the only time I socialize, and that usually involves a guy. Sneaking out every night on the weekends is the norm for me. I’m usually cruising the back roads with whatever guy I’m seeing at the time, which changes often. I’m always too clingy, so they always run scared after they get what they want from me. Sex is my way of connecting, another way to feel something. I guess sex equals love for me since I have no idea what love really feels like. It’s my version of love and it fills a void, so I continue the vicious cycle of sleeping with every guy I go out with. The fact that guys have never noticed my scars really should tell me that they don’t care at all. I know it’s usually dark and they aren’t that visible, but to this day not one guy has noticed. If they have, they’ve never said anything.

After cleaning up my cut, I place a bandage on it and button my pants back up. Placing the box of items back in my nightstand, I pull out my journal and decide to write. I rarely understand why I feel the way I feel every day. Writing is my only true form of expression free from the fear of judgment. I can pour all of my feelings, fears, and frustrations into the pages of my journal and know that they’re all safe from the bullies that make my daily life a living hell. My secrets must stay hidden, just like my pain.

Pulling the cap off of the pen with my teeth, I chew on it anxiously as I write.

You only know the mask I wear

Who am I?

Do I even know?

Black...White...No gray

I either love or I hate

When I want to hold on, I claw

instead

No sense of purpose

Eyes that are dead

Regret and rejection I swallow down

I just want someone to love me

Emotional pain creeps all around

When someone hurts me, it hurts

forever

Be. Me. For. A. Day.

Let me walk beside you

Let me look over