Look at his face to see that he was expecting this it only makes me angrier. The anger builds and builds until he raises his eyebrows, smirks and says,
"Well?"
It's enough. It's more than enough, and I blow.
"Where in the hell do you get the right, huh?! You don't know me! You don't know what I've been through, or who I am! You don't know my life, and you didn't even know my name! I don't know you, and I sure as hell don't think I can trust you! Where do you get off?! Telling me I'll need someone, that I'm lying, that I can't do this alone? You don't even know. You have no idea what -" he cuts me off.
"Did you only come here to yell at me? Because honestly I don't feel like being used as a means of you feeling better. And I definitely don't just want to hear you rant. Maybe you don't need someone. Obviously it's not big enough for you to accept help."
I don't know what causes me to tell this guy what I won't tell anyone else, but I soon find myself speaking.
"Do you know what it feels like to be drunk, and hanging out with your best friend at a party. It's one of those 'i can't believe i'm here' moments. After a while you get used to it though. Instead of the high of getting drunk, you get a high from even going. You become almost addicted. I went to get another drink, because you always refill your cup until every last drop of alcohol is gone. But I was drunk, and I started to fall. He wrapped his arms around me, catching me. Only he didn't let go. I felt his lips on my neck, and he pulled me backwards. I screamed for help, but it was too loud. Everyone was drunk. They didn't know what was going on. They didn't see anything wrong. I heard him open a door, and kick it closed. The air rushed around my body as he threw me onto the bed. I felt pain that wouldn't stop. After a while it disappeared, and I thought he would leave so I could die in peace. Instead I saw the flash of silver. I heard his laugh. Heard him say I was his. And then I felt a worse pain. He left me a reminder," I pull up the sleeve of my right arm and twist it so you can see the inside of it. He says something, but I'm in full story mode now, and I can't stop.
"No one realized what had happened until it was too late. Everyone keeps trying to make it better. Trying to solve my problems. Trying to take care of me. But the truth is that I'm the one taking care of them. I have to hide what happened, because everyone would unravel. I have to hide the pain and fear I feel every day, because if I don't people will start blaming themselves and it'll only make things worse. But you don't know. You don't know how bad it is. No one does. I'm scared to go asleep at night, because I always relive that night. But instead of it being a relief to wake up, it hurts. I can't breathe. I can't think. At first I think no one really found out, and I'm still in that room, in that bed. When that fear leaves, everything else reminds me of it. I can't stand people touching me, because I'm afraid they won't let go. I always tense up when I hear someone laugh. Everything sets off the memories. I'm living through them every second, of every day. And I can't make it stop. I thought that if I could curl myself up small enough I'd be able to disappear from the world. I wouldn't have to worry about people seeing me remember, because I'd already be gone. That if I was small enough, if I closed my eyes tight enough, and covered my ears hard enough that the memories would fade. That I could block them out of my head. That I would finally feel some relief, if I could only make myself small enough! But it doesn't work. The memories are too much. I can't think. I can't act. I can't sleep. I can't eat. I can't breathe. But the longer it goes the more I think I won't be able to make it to the next breath. I'm just waiting now. Waiting for it to all just finally be too much. It's only a matter of time, I can feel it."
Looking up into his eyes to see sadness, anger, understanding, and worry I tell him, "I can't do it anymore Jace. I can't BREATHE, and it hurts. It's killing me not to tell anyone," I fall to my knees as I finish "but the moment I tell, it's over. I can't go back, and I'll have failed at protecting the people I love."
I realize that as I had told my story my voice had been a whisper, and by the time I finished I was almost mouthing the words. But I don't care. Tears roll down my face, and I finally give in to what I've been carrying around for about two months now.