Exit Wounds

13 | the right place for a girl like me

T H I R T E E N

LOS ANGELES, CA

          I don't dare move an inch.

          I'm still standing far too close to Adam to do so safely—even the simple act of breathing would inch my body closer to his, a fact that disgusts me and always has—but Michelle is also standing at the end of the hallway, right after a sharp turn to the right, and we're all frozen in place like this is a Madam Tussauds exhibit.

          Naturally, when you visit such an exhibit, it's presumed from the start you're minimally interested in what is available to see and you care about those things. Adam doesn't care about me—and never has—at a personal level, not in a positive way, and I'm either just a body for him to take advantage of or a meek victim for him to intimidate and make himself feel more like a man over it. I don't bother wishing for him to treat me like a human being, refusing to set myself up for disappointment, and I learned a long time ago to not expect basic human decency from this man.

          Michelle, on the other hand, had loved me once. Something inside me aches for times like those, when she sets every ounce of animosity she feels towards me aside and remembers we're supposed to love each other unconditionally, but it reeks of hypocrisy. I've been shutting her out for years, even now that I'm back in Los Angeles, and it's not fair to ask her to disregard the emotional hell I've put her through; after all, just because I was so willing to leave everything behind, it doesn't mean it was easy for her. I dropped her without a word or any poorly attempted explanations and have always been adamant to not give anyone a chance to ever get close to me again, so it makes no sense to want her to give me the time of day.

          And yet, I do. She approaches us quietly, face blank, leaving me to wonder just how much of my conversation with Adam she overheard, and, based on the brief sliver of panic that washes across his face, he's thinking the exact same thing. This fact brings me no joy; in fact, it's a harsh reminder that it's so easy for him to manipulate everyone around him, make them believe what he wants them to believe, and I know Michelle already has one foot out of the door when it comes to me. She's convinced I'm hostile towards Adam because I'm jealous they've been seeing each other, whatever that means, and correcting her would also imply I'd have to explain the whole thing and would run the risk of not being believed.

          Again.

          I don't know how much more beating this little heart of mine can take. It has shrunk considerably throughout the years, and there's barely any of it left to keep me alive.

          "The ceremony is about to start, so you guys should be heading outside before my mom breaks something out of stress," she finally says, getting closer and closer to us, and I'm still glued to the floor. Adam moves away from me at last, which should give me enough room and a nice opportunity to breathe, but my lungs aren't working as they should, all these years of chainsmoking catching up to me. Instead, I focus on making myself smaller, after spending half a decade accepting I deserve to take up space. This is not the right place for a girl like me. "I just need to go to the bathroom and freshen up, but you guys go ahead."

          "Chelle," Adam calls. It takes everything in me to stay put and not slam my fist against his jaw, his cheekbone, and try to see which of us it would hurt the most. If I could, I would break him into a thousand pieces, crushing them under the heels of my Louboutins. Somehow, not even that would be enough. "Chelle, hey—"

           Michelle dodges the hand he reaches out towards her with the seasoned expertise of someone whose nos are rarely listened to or respected, and it shatters my heart in a fraction of a second.