I sat on the bench for a few moments, feeling sick to my stomach. I told myself it was because I had almost passed out in the shower and I knew I needed to sit tight for a few minutes. I didn’t want to pass out on the way home in the rain, so I sat there and stared at the Wildcats Football t-shirt in my hands.
Despite feeling like shit today and seriously considering ways to end my life, this dumbass shirt almost gave me hope. It almost made me believe that I was worth something. I almost believed I was part of what was printed on the front.
Sixteen years old/10th Grade/December
As the red seven turned into a red eight, I managed to pull my eyes away from the alarm clock on my nightstand and stared at the smeared streak of blood on the back of my hand. I’d been staring at the alarm clock for close to an hour after Sebastian left.
The chills had long set in, and I was so damn cold. This had been the same as all the other times before. I’d get really hot to the point where I’d feel like I was burning up with a fever. Then he’d leave, the sweat would dry, and the cold feeling would come. Which was where I was at right now, and I couldn’t stand it.
I started to push myself up, but everything hurt, especially my stomach. Seized by the chills, I let myself collapse face down on the mattress again. Now it was much worse because the warmth I had before I pushed myself up was gone. In its place were the cold, damp sheets. All my sudden moving around made me feel too much again.
“Get the fuck up,” I whispered, trying to force myself up.
I finally pushed myself up and cautiously sat back on my heels.
Ow!
Tears threatened to spill out of my eyes because of the pain in my stomach. My hands gravitated to my abdomen, hoping it would settle some of the pain. I moved slightly so my ass was against the sheet instead of awkwardly on my heels. It was causing more pain. I folded my arms and held them against my stomach while my hands rubbed gently on my ribs. As I rubbed my ribs, I stared at the wet spot on the sheets.
I hated myself.
I leaned forward and grabbed my notebook from the nightstand and opened it to a clean page. I set the notebook on my bare thighs and began to write.
I hate what you do.
I hate that you’re the one doing the bad shit, and I’m the one who feels bad about it.
You make me hate myself.
You make me wonder what the fuck I ever did to make you hate me so much.
You’ve taken everything from me.
You’ve taken good things and ruined them.
I can’t sleep without seeing your face.
I can’t escape the pain I feel when I’m awake.
You make me ache.
I pausedwhen a tear splattered on my page, and I frowned at it. I sniffled, and when I swallowed, it felt like a hand was gripping my throat. I let the notebook slide off my lap and tossed the pen beside it. Tough guys didn’t cry. At least, we weren’t supposed to. I stared at my notebook for a moment or two before I picked it up again. This notebook was the only way I could say the things that I wanted toscream. There was no sense in using discretion in it. I picked up my pen and pressed it against the next empty line.
You make me cry.
When I saw the word,I had to let go of the pen and grab my pillow. I pressed it firmly against my face to muffle the disgusting sounds of my emotions pouring out of me. My chest and stomach ached as I released the pent-up agony, frustration, and humiliation.
I tried to pull it together, and I needed to quickly. Despite it being the weekend, which filled me with dread, I had karate class. It was one of the very few things I looked forward to now. And it wasn’t because I was learning anything useful… I hadn’t yet. But I liked being around the other students and the instructors.
Today’s karate lesson was supposed to be at a different time because the instructor was meshing my novice class with one of his more experienced classes to practice some takedown techniques. I was really excited for this, but class being at a different time meant I had two more hours of hanging out at home before I could leave.
Now that you’ve cried like a fucking pussy, get up and get ready.
I pulled the pillow away from my face and held it against my chest and stomach for a moment while I caught my breath and settled down. As I thought about how pathetic I was, hugging a pillow, a quiet chuckle escaped my throat. An uncomfortable thought that I often wondered about crept its way into my head… What would it actually feel like to be hugged?
I’d wondered that so many times in my life, that each time I thought about it, I wrote it down in my notebook. I’d put the date and then add the question mark next to it. I’d already filled two pages front and back in the notebook with the dates this popped into my head. I had five and a half of additional loose-leaf notebook paper clipped together with dates and the question mark on them. I kept them folded in half with the two pages in the notebook. I pulled the stack of folded pages out and wrote today’s date on an empty line and then slipped it between the pages again.
I flipped to the page where I had drawn a football jersey with Hollis’ number twenty-four. Sometimes I told myself we were friends. I imagined the pretend conversation we’d have about karate while I shaded the two and the four with my pen.
