Young Writers Society

Everything I do is controlled. I have to walk myself through how to do even the most mundane things now. Rinse out my hair, scrub my body. Dry myself off. Put toothpaste on a toothbrush and brush my teeth. Everything is so robotic. There's no flow to my movements or even to my joints anymore. 

Now I'm wrapped in a towel and the cool air gives me goosebumps as I dash across the hall and into my bedroom. Seeing the shades open, I jerk them closed. My room is in the front of the house and at night with the lights on, anybody could see me. The way he saw me. 

Rummaging through my clothes is nearly impossible with only one hand. I reluctantly drop the towel and then place my arms over my breasts. I feel so exposed. I grab the first clothing items that resemble sleepwear and hurriedly put them on. Sweatpants and a t shirt. Not bad. Then an idea hits me.

Turning out the lights, I open the shades. I know nobody can see me within the confines of my house. Then I slowly turn around. On my walls is the most beautiful display of shadows I've ever seen in my entire life. The streetlight almost directly outside my window filters through the shades and I see a spectacular light show. A car passes by, and the shadows dance. I used to do this all the time to help me sleep. I would marvel at how I could raise my hands up and cast shadow puppets on the wall, creating stories in my head and acting them out in my room. Then I remember.

We ran up the stairs of my empty house, his weight caused the steps to squeak. I watched him watch me. He wasn't looking at me, exactly, but my room. It was neat but with a few messy areas here and there like my bookshelf. Places where I'd allowed the most important things in my life to become tangled and complicated. 

"I have to show you something," I said. Then I pushed him gently backward on the bed and turned out the lights. Opening the blinds, I held out my arms.

"Ta-da!" I said. He laughed a little.

"What is it I'm looking at, exactly?" I gestured to the walls.

"The shadows, of course. Aren't they beautiful?" I flopped on the bed next to him and we just watched them dance across the walls. And then it was time to go, and I was locking the door. Back to his house so I could hang out with his sister. His sister who was my friend. The thing was, I didn't like her. I was only staying with her because my parents were out of town. When hanging out with her, the only thing that was on my mind was her older brother.

I resurface. Back to the real world. It feels like this happened a million years ago when in reality, it's only been a few days. A tap on the window distracts me. I ignore it at first, it could just be a tree branch or something. I pause.

There aren't any trees outside of my window.

I look over through the blinds, and I see a face. Stifling a scream, I grab the first thing within my line of vision, a heavy book. Then I examine the face closer. It's Alec. My heart stops. He's here, he's really here. 

And then, when I push the window up, he's not. 

Then I can feel the pain in my chest blossoming. It feels like someone is stabbing me over and over. My lungs get tight and I slam the window shut. The covers welcome me when I jump back into bed and the tears roll down my cheeks. I feel like a leaky faucet, tired and broken with steady tears streaming out of my eyes. Drip, drip, drip. Down my face and onto the covers. Gradually soaking my pillow. Then sleep drags me under.

I think about him every second of the day. Not a minute goes by when something does't remind me of him and the way we touched. I thought I could handle it. He made it clear that for him, this was purely physical. It wasn't like that for me. I can't escape the memory of him in the waking hours. My only chance to get away from him was in my sleep. But even now, as the memories wash over me in my dreams, I know now there's no escaping him or the hold he has over me.

And when I wake up, when my conscious mind realizes that, everything comes back to me. I remember what happened. Alec touching me, my Dad finding out. How I can never see him again and how he probably doesn't even care about what happened between us. The way I begged for him to go all the way with me, but he respected me enough to not let that happen. All of this drowns me. It sucks the oxygen out of my lungs and I can't move. I can't breathe. 

All I can do is cry and try to push back the feeling in my bones. Even in the sea of pillows and blankets, I don't feel safe or warm. The chills push themselves into my joints before turning white hot and then cold again.

In books I always read about heroes and heroines who fought a long battle and then were knocked unconscious. Then, when they came to, the author described their thoughts using the words "the memories came flooding back". I've read descriptions like that in so many books but never really noticed until now. I never really stopped to think about what that feels like- until now. 

This is just the price I pay. I saw him for a second, a split second. I saw his face and the lopsided grin he wore. I saw his beautiful crooked teeth and his ever changing eyes, now a brilliant blue. And for a moment, I was in the clouds. For the first time in days, I actually smiled. But the thing about being on top of the world is that once you get there, the only place to go is down.

So I fell.