I’d only wanted a goddamn tissue.
Not even a tissue - just one of those rough, scratchy industrial paper hand-wipes from above the sink and the mess of soap to dry my cheeks and blow my nose, to wipe away the sticky remnants of my shameful anguish.
It was dark blue outside - almost midnight. I’d assured myself that the bathroom would be empty, like it usually was at such an unholy time in the evening. It’d be quiet, I’d told myself, they'd be recovering from exams. I’d be alone to gather my thoughts and my shattered will under the harshness of the new lights.
Instead, she was there, droopy-eyed and make-up-smudged, clutching a toothbrush and toothpaste. She’d started to greet me cheerily with eyes weighted down by those awful dark circles, the ones that looked just like mine, like big violent bruises blossoming violet across our faces.
She’d whispered, almost hissed, my name. “What’s wrong?”
I’d shaken my head and reached for the tissues. I’d avoided her bright, curious eyes as anxiety and shame and everything bad welled up.
“You can tell me. Come on.”
I’d shaken my head again. I must’ve been an absolute sight. Please. Let’s just go. My hand had been on the door when she’d persuaded me with her eyes and the way her eyebrows arched to tell me that this wasn’t a game. It wasn’t a ploy or a plot knitted together by children with too much time - this was something adult and human.
I’d followed her like a disgraced hound to the final shower cubicle of our floor’s beaten-down bathroom, my feet shuffling like I’d been shackled for murder, where we sat and she tried to coax the truth from me. You can trust me, she’d say, over and over like a dictator doing his brainwashing.
And I had wanted to trust her - oh, I wanted to trust her so, so much - but I couldn’t. More tears fell. I couldn’t. Doubt hijacked my conciousness. Those blackened eyes didn’t seem to innocent after all.
She crooned my name again, “what are you so afraid of?”
What was I so afraid of?
I’d started to shudder then, trembles running up and down my whole body. Warm, prickling tears blurred everything. My trust in her was a cowering dog.
I’d told her.
“Oh,” she said my name again, “it’s okay. It’s okay, I promise….”
Her eyes sparkled with Spanish wisdom as she launched into a speech that was bitter, sweet, and too deep for my tired mind all at the same time. People didn’t hate me, she’d said. Her eyes weren’t lying when she added, it’s all about perspective, you know.
Somewhere further down the corridor, a door clicked shut.
God knew why I was this way, she’d insisted, and God had plans for me and lessons for me to learn. Her faith in Him spilled more tears.
I’d nodded, and then replied that I didn’t know why God had fucked me up so much.
She’d smiled, a little sadly, but had continued with her speech.
Warm gratitude and fiery shame - God, why are you like this? Annoying piece of shit. Stop being an attention hog - had coiled in my stomach as she talked. I’ll help you, she’d said. I want to help you, she’d said. She wanted to help me.
“Talk to me,” she’d smiled, eyes reflecting my own wretched image back at me. She got up (“I need to pee. Talk to me while I pee.”), making for the toilets. I’d sat poised like a greyhound about to race for his life, waiting for the start-gun of the lock clicking.
My feet had been as sweaty as my palms, fueled by adrenaline and other darker things. She herd me creeping away.
She’d called my name once, twice, thrice.
“Don’t leave me! No, you can’t leave…”
I’d frozen.
I’d fled.
I’d fled back to my room like the coward I was.
Thanks for reading! This was just a little thing written way too early in the morning. It's an important part of one of my character's backstories. In case it's not too obvious, it's set in a boarding school.
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