“Stop!” She lifted her arms over Maya’s head, leaning back. “Red.”
Maya immediately retracted her hands. Her gaze softened, and somehow that hurt more. It added a pitying taste to her already deceitful words.
“Harper, I—”
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Harper blinked, smothering the tears stinging her eyes. “Is this how you like to get off? By making me feel like shit? By mocking me?”
“Mocking you? That’s not… Harper, I’m not mocking you.”
“Yes, you are. You’re saying things you don’t mean.”
“What things? That you’re smart? Sweet? Interesting? Are those the words you don’t believe?”
Her bottom lip quivered. The shame coiled into a knot of razors, rising to her chest and slowly tightening around her heart.
“Yes. Because they aren’t true.”
She knew it in her bones. Believed it, as harsh as that was. A brutal thought that had enough mounting evidence to be considered fact.
She felt like covering up suddenly. Like wrapping the bedsheets around herself and hiding from the world, but she couldn’t with her hands tied together. She could just sit there, tears spilling over as Maya stared at her with what appeared to be genuine disbelief.
Maya raised her hand, then paused. When it was clear Harper wouldn’t stop her, Maya ran her thumb over her now wet cheek. A tender caress that hit harder than a slap could have done.
“Just one more question,” Maya said. “Do you think you’re stupid because reading is difficult?”
Another stab disguised as a statement. Shecouldread, just notwell. The words had a habit of shifting around on the page, so it took time and all her focus to make sense of them, and then she had none left to interpret the paragraph they formed.
Her parents had presented multiple solutions. Tutors, mock tests, berating her for not trying harder. All of it just made her grades slip more, as she was too exhausted from the extra work to pay attention in class.
It shouldn’t have been difficult. Hope and Henry had excelled in school—something that was shoved in her face every time she entered her childhood home. When she saw her siblings’ pictures on the mantle while hers were nowhere to be found.
Her gaze fell, but Maya pushed her chin up, making their eyes meet again.
“Is that why?”
Her voice held none of the sternness from before. It was just soft. So soft.
Harper nodded. Barely a movement, but Maya still caught it.
“That doesn’t mean you’re stupid. Based on what you’ve told me, what I’ve seen, it sounds like you needed more tools than you were given. That you weren’t helped like you should have been. I may be wrong, but… Harper, it sounds like you could be dyslexic.”
No.No. That wasn’t it. That couldn’t be it. Someone would have noticed. Told her. Or her parents, at the very least.
But maybe they had, and they just refused to accept it. Like they refused to accept anything that might stain their picture-perfect lifestyle.
And thinking about it… it made sense. It explained why certain fonts were almost impossible to comprehend, why she could never make written words match what she wanted to say, and why dense legal contracts had always gone right over her head.
But just because it made sense didn’t make the reveal hurt any less.
“I didn’t do well in school either,” Maya said, answering the question Harper couldn’t voice. “My parents mistook my lack of interest for me struggling, so they had me tested. It didn’t fit me, but… it might fit you. I’m not trying to trick you or mock you. I’m just telling you what I believe.”
She smiled again. A warm smile that made Harper’s vision turn blurry. “You’re an amazing person. With so many talents. And you’re so quick-witted that most people struggle to keep up, including me. You are not stupid, Harper. That is a fact. One I think you’d benefit from saying out loud.”
It wouldn’t help. They were just words. They couldn’t mend the shattering ruin tearing at her insides.
It was easier to rest in that pain than pointlessly try to get rid of it. She was used to things feeling awful. To her life being a messy collage of shameful decisions. Those moments were tangible, in a way. She could blame herself for them.
Simple, in contrast. Simpler than addressing the thorny ball she’d been carrying around for as long as she could remember. One that had grown with every look of disappointment, every demand that she do better, every reminder that she wasn’t good enough. Numbness was the only way to dull its effects, so she’d sought it out whenever she could. Even if it had destructive consequences.
