My Lifeline

8

It's 2am. I'm listening to music and staring at my wall. I've been doing that exact task for the last five hours.

In This Shirt, by The Irrepressibles.

I'm trying to figure out my emotions; figure out why I'm feeling this way and how it all started. Nothing comes to mind. Once again, I'm at a dead end.

I just want to know what to do. I want the answers to my life, I want the roads drawn out for me. I'm going around in circles, waiting for someone to guide the way.

* * *

I'm woken in the morning by my mother's firm hand. She shakes my shoulder so hard like she thinks I'm dead. I blink my eyes and look over my shoulder to glimpse at her, and she smiles softly in response.

"You slept through your alarm," she tells me.

But I only just went to sleep? My eyes closed not even five minutes ago? How is it time for school already?

"Oh." I sit up and squint my swollen eyes at the clock which informs me that I only have twenty minutes to get ready.

Mum stands by my bed, her hands rested on her hips, and she examines me. "What time did you get to bed?"

"I'm not sure," I lie. "Thanks for waking me."

I push myself up and prepare myself to stand on two feet, but what I don't expect to happen is for my mum to sit down on the end of my bed and smile at me. It's a strange smile which I've never bared witness to before, so I shuffle uncomfortably and try to fight eye contact.

"I'm..." she starts to say, but pauses as her eyes travel around my face. "I'm so proud of you, River."

Why? Is what I want to ask, but I don't. I stay silent and wait for her to finish whatever speech she has planned out for me.

I won't believe a word of it.

"Your grades are good, you've never once given me any trouble, I've never had any calls from school. You've just been so great, even when things were hard. I'm always telling Amy and Sean how proud I am of them, but I never get around to telling you. You know I'm proud of you, right?"

I smile and nod my head. A lie.

I want to believe it, but how can I when I don't think anyone could ever be proud of me? There's no reason to be proud of me. I haven't done anything with my life. I haven't saved lives, I haven't made a difference, I haven't even made a life for myself.

Typical — my mum expresses how proud she is of me, and I somehow manage to turn it into a bad thing.

"I've got to get to work." Mum sighs and twists her wrist to check the time on her watch. "Get yourself off to school, okay?"

"Okay."

"I'll see you later. Love you."

"Love you."

She leaves, and I just sit on my bed and stare at my wall for five minutes before I pull on some clean clothes and brush my teeth. I stare at myself in the mirror, my eyes are red and tired, but not enough for anyone to notice. I'm exhausted, and no one realises.