Wronged

? 13 ?

"Why are you so closed off?" He sighs.

"I'm not," I lie, snapping angrily.

He scoffs. "Uh yeah. You are."

We both mess with our objects for a second, him polishing the beginning of his clock, and me brushing off any extra wood shavings.

"I'm not closed off," I say quietly, restating my argument. "I was just shut down before I had the chance to be opened."

I don't lift my head and instead reach for my song notebook, flipping to an open note page. I insert those very words inside and close it again. All the while, Nico has looked up from his work and is staring at the side of my head. I act like I don't see him doing so, but I know he recognizes the uncomfortable pain in my face. I hate allowing others to know anything. That's all I'll give him.

And it seems to be enough, because he doesn't speak to me for the rest of the period.

~

In academic extension, I sit by the window, staring out into the world aimlessly as the parking lot rests at a sit-still. My chin is pressed against the surface of the desk, arms crossed in front of me. Music plays in my ears through tiny white buds.

"I'm paralyzed.
Where are my feelings?
I no longer feel things.
I know I should,
I'm paralyzed.

Where is the real me?
I'm lost and it kills me.
Inside,
I'm paralyzed."

NF is probably my favorite, most relatable rapper on the face of the planet. He has no idea how much he's helped teach me that I'm not alone- in the reality of problems at least. In my specific one, I am alone. Like really. But it helps to know that there are others who feel as empty as I do too.

"I'm paralyzed.
I'm scared to live, but I'm scared to die.
And if life is pain, then I buried mine,
A long time ago.
And it's takin' over me.
Where am I?
I wanna feel something,
I'm numb inside.
And on the race of life time passes by-
Look.
I sit back and watch it,
Hands in my pockets.
I just watch it.
I'm underwater but I feel like I'm on top of it.
I'm at the bottom
And I don't know what the problem is.
I'm in a box-
But I'm the one who locked me in.
Suffocating and running out of oxygen."

Yes.

Perfectly described.

Someone taps my shoulder. I look to my right, where Hayley is smiling at me and gesturing for me to take my ear buds out. I'm sure her fake grin is due to my baggy eyes, injured knee, and dreary state. I haven't slept since Aiden's place. And now my nightmares are from my father, the stranger on the street, and the dude who interrupted my and Aiden's time. Oh yeah. And the thunderstorms have only become more frequent.

All within a few days.

I take my right bud out and she points up to the front of the classroom. "Mrs. Meyer said you have a phone call at the front office."

I sigh and stand nevertheless, glancing at none other than Mrs. Meyer. She gives me a nervous, tight-lipped smile and a nod. I roll my eyes at her fearful habits and leave, uninterested in anything and everything around me.

When I get to the office, I go up to some old receptionist lady who was typing away furiously on her keyboard. It takes her about ten seconds to even know I'm standing there, which is a long time in conversation years.

"Oh. Hello. What can I do for you?" She asks kindly, breaking the stereotype for cranky school receptionists...and old people.

"Phone call?"