Just a little snippet I wrote a few minutes ago! Hope you enjoy!
“Taylor? Hey hon, how was your day?”
I pause, stare at the ceiling. Wonder briefly what she’d say if I told her the truth—that I’d had an epic sized freak-out in English, purposely shunned everyone at lunch, and told the only semi-decent guy I’d met in ages to fuck off. But that would ruin the whole façade of how well our family is coping with everything. I mean, God forbid Mom ever admit that her life might be less than perfect.
I toss a believable smile over my shoulder. Thanks to Mom, I’ve been a pro at faking them for years. “Oh, it was great.”
“Did you make any new friends? Join any clubs?”
“I’m still…scoping things out.”
“Well…just don’t wait too long.”
Worry lines distort the skin over her nose, and I feel a pang of regret. I shouldn’t be so hard on her. I know she loves me. She tries, anyway. It’s just that she mistakes being overly involved in the details of my social life for some crazy deep bond. But I can’t share important stuff. I can’t. Talking, really talking, would mean admitting there’s a problem in the first place. And if we had a family motto? It would totally be: ignore it until it goes away.
Relief strips the tightness from my chest once the door to my room clicks shut. I kick off my shoes and burrow into my bed. Finally relax in the peace that comes from not playing a role.
When I’m by myself it’s like I’m shedding a fake skin, sloughing off the pretense of being okay until it crumples into shriveled little pieces all around me. My down comforter doesn’t give a damn if I’m something less than perfect. Flawed.