Torn Away

Rexi

Crepes can't mend the things words break.

It was always suffocating; the weight of their words dripping from their tongues. The heaviness in their intent. They didn't care about the effects it would have on me. Too focused on letting it out because the weights they carried were too much for them.

I get it. I get that it was too much, but I wonder why I had to bury all that I felt, just because it got difficult for them.

It only hurt more. Bottling it. Shutting up and keeping my head down because it made things slightly less painful.

And this was every day for years.

They laughed and threw things at me. Called me names I would never dare to yell at anyone. Things I've never thought of, but boy, they had an imagination. And they loved to use it on me.

It was more than a burden. It was crushing; fracturing my bones, my heart, my mind, and now, my soul. Taking everything I am. That I was.

Even years later, the scars hardly faded. The bruises heal just long enough to get new ones.

And did anyone ever try to help?

The short answer: only one.

My best friend, Tora. She's the one who told others after I gave up. Tora was good like that. Staying up late to talk to me. She even gave me her favorite book.

It was good, but I mostly liked it because she's the one who gave it to me.

As for others, well—I guess it gets tiring, trying, I mean. But I never got to quit. I woke up every morning before sunrise so I could cry, then I went about my day. Holding onto the spare pockets in time when I wasn't being tortured. When I could catch a faint breath, shallow and small, only to exhaust myself immediately after.

Maybe it was my fault, though. Perhaps I was ugly. I might have talked higher than most. Or at the very least, I was never good with my words.

I was terrible at making friends and even worse at keeping them. My fear always got the better of me. Rushing me to leave the room when I'd just gotten there. Telling me I laughed too loud, writing down each time I messed up, like it was tallying up for some kind of world record.

I hurt myself, too. Tora doesn't like it, but how else was I supposed to keep some amount of control? To be able to do something to my own body.

Words hold weight. So much weight, and I'm sure they forget that. I know I do, until I'm on the receiving end.

Honestly, you'd think I would've learned by this point, but here I go again, always taking it. Always holding it and gathering up any loose ends they cause.

That's how life was. And I'm sure it would've continued like that.

But it doesn't hurt so much anymore.

The drowning and gasping for a second of silence is gone. Leaving, leaking with each drop of blood.

No more aching in my chest or sharp pains. It's a little cold, and my head's getting a little fuzzy, but it's almost nice, like a calm amongst the screams.

Although I wouldn't have minded just one more shared chocolate-banana crepe.

I'm sorry, truly.

But it's okay now, Tora. The pain doesn't hurt anymore.

Goodbye, best friend.