charity project // mischa bachinski (ride the cyclone)

13 - deer in headlights

One night, I'd just gotten into bed after doing all of my homework. That day was not one of the best ones I'd had, to say the least. Nothing inherently terrible happened, but my self-esteem that day had been weirdly low. Add in the fact that it was overcast, cold, and misty, and you've got yourself the type of day I had. I wrapped a blanket around myself and then stared at the wall, feeling a bit down.

The whole day, I'd had upsetting thoughts running through my head. I knew somewhere that they probably weren't true, but I couldn't see that now. The 'not ___ enough'-themed thoughts continued to swim around and rot in there as I stared at the wall. I knew it was bad, me sitting there and wallowing in self-pity, but for some reason it felt good to have something to be upset about. An excuse to feel bad.

I suppose that's how a Venus Flytrap was. It seems inviting when you set foot in it, but as you get the satisfaction of disappointment, it closes in on you and what first seemed interesting and well-deserved turns on you and encloses you in its sickly sweet death trap. You don't even realize before it's too late, or if you're rescued.

Before this mental-flytrap could close in on me, I experienced what I believed was the most terrifying moment of my life. It didn't help that I was home alone when this happened.

What was it, exactly? A noise from outside my window. No, it wasn't a tree branch. There wasn't a tree near my window. Besides, it was more of a loud thud, like someone pounding on my window. I was too scared to look out of the window. And then there was muffled shouting.

"Hello! Y/n! I'm kind of cold!"

I'd recognize that voice anywhere. I rushed to the window and opened it. "Mischa?"

He waved and smiled. "Yes! It is me! Why are you holding a dictionary?"

I looked down. Apparently, I'd grabbed the heaviest book I could find in an effort to arm myself.

"I thought you were a murderer or something!" I called to him. "Why didn't you just knock on the door?"

"It's late. I didn't want to bother your mother," He explained as he began pulling himself through the window frame.

"She's not here right now. I think she's on a date with someone."

Mischa jumped to the floor. "So you're home alone right now?"

"No. Roxi's here. And you are too, now," I laughed. "But why didn't you call?"

"I tried, but you didn't pick up."

I nodded. "Makes sense. I was busy with homework. I usually have my phone turned off when I do that."

"I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"What do you mean? I'm fine! I'm perfectly okay. You don't need to worry yourself," I sat down on my bed.

He sat next to me. "No, you're not. You were all sad at school. You know, when you just get all quiet and talk a lot less? That's what you do when you're upset."

"Was I? I didn't think I was," I glanced away from him.

"Look. I know something's bad, and I just want to see you happy. What's upsetting you so much?"

"Myself," I told him.

"What exactly do you mean?"

I shrugged helplessly. "I feel like a disappointment, but not to anyone but myself, you know? Like I'll see myself in a mirror and think I'm not pretty enough. Or I'll get a grade less than a hundred and think that I didn't work or study hard enough. Just things like that."