Damn, I Hate You

"So how does it feel?" I asked her as I hopped over the gate and fixed my backpack on my shoulders.

"What?" She asked.

"Freedom. The feeling that you're escaping an evil and returning to a world of hate, yet the hate is warm and welcoming. It's as though through the hate of the real world, we find reality, unlike the alleged safety of a classroom environment. We're not being brainwashed right now. We're not being subliminally taught that our freedoms don't exist. We're free." I said. I was rambling, but if she thought she cared for me, she better know exactly who it is she supposedly cares about.

"It feels... good." She said as she inhaled.

"Well, good. But we need an adrenaline rush." I said, grabbing her hand and running. We can't just stand outside the school! That's just begging to get caught. I ran her through an alley, trying to stay behind as she struggled to keep up. Finally I got her to a ladder. "Ladies first." I said, gesturing to the ladder against the department store's wall. She looked at me as though I were crazy. "Trust me." I said, and motioned for her to climb up. Like the foolish girl she was, she obeyed.

I reached the top and sat down in the middle of the roof we were on. Then I leaned backwards and closed my eyes.

"Why are we here? I mean, I feel adrenaline, but it's too early in the morning for a good rush." She asked.

"This is my happy place. You think you care about me? You think you know me? Here's your opportunity to learn the truth." I said.

"Uh... What do you mean?" she asked. "Like, you're just going to tell me everything about your life?"

"No. I'm going to answer whatever you want to know and clear up whatever you think is the truth." I replied easily. "So fire away, babe." She blushed instantly. Wow, smooth.

"Uh- uh- ok? Well, why is this your happy place? Like, why do you come up here?" she started.

"Well, it started in the sixth grade. I became... well..." I stopped. This was a bad idea. I looked down at my dirty and practically destroyed shoes.

"I won't think any different of you." She assured me and touched my arm. I flinched, scaring her a little bit. Crap, I must seem crazy.

"Sorry." I appologized. She looked a bit hurt at my reaction. "It's a reflex." I sighed heavily. "Ok, so this is how it is: in the sixth grade, I became extremely sucidal, and I was thinking of good ways to do it. The barrel staring at me from my crossed eyes was too intimidating. The noose didn't work; it only gave me rope-burn. Guess I did it wrong." I made a little smirk at that. She didn't look amused, though. I continued. "So then I got the idea, a good fall should do the job. But when I looked down- when I felt the wind, threatening to push me over the edge- I suddenly felt this warm feeling engulfing me. It was like it was telling me that things would get better and not to do it. So I sat here, crying, for hours. Eventually, it just became the place I came to when I needed to escape my house or when I felt like ending it all." I explained.

She looked horrified. "You almost committed suicide?" She asked.

"Well, we all try it. It's no big deal. I mean, we're all a bit fucked up, right?" I gave her a sly little smirk, not one to make her feel better, but to make her realize I was still light-hearted about it all. She wasn't, apparently.

"But... You're so... I dunno." she tried to explain.

"What are you talking about? I told you you don't know me." I said. She looked down at me, after I had fallen into a lying position and looked like she was about to cry. Crap, this was a terrible idea. Then she leaned her head against my chest and breathed in heavily.

"I need you to promise you won't freak out." She began.

"Sure. I promise." I agreed. What could I lose?

"Well, I always thought of you as a strong, protecting person. I mean, I always thought that you were so stable and so smart, and so able to handle whatever came his way. Part of the reason I cared about you so much was because I thought you would always be able to protect me, because you always were able to protect yourself." She said into my shirt. Uh, bad promise. I wonder if she was able to feel my heart rate increase.

I sighed again. "I'm... I'm not a very protecting person. I can't protect myself. Aside from words and pretty good self-defense against a couple people my size, I'm really weak." I admitted.

"A few people and yet you still think you're weak?" She asked, astonished.

I pulled my shirt up to wipe off my face. First she gasped at the welts and bruises on my stomach and chest from my dad. Then she saw the bruises on my face and looked ready to break down. "What happened?" she asked.

"There's one person I can never fight. And he knows that. And he was pissed at me last night for coming home late. And he was probably a few drinks in when he lost his cool. And he was probably just taking his anger out on the fact that I'm exactly like my mom and he still can't cope with the fact that he lost her ten years ago." I finally told her.

She fell onto me, crying. "I always wanted to protect you from trouble in school and becoming a jerk!" she sobbed into my chest as I sat up and craddled her head, trying to lull her. "I can't protect you! I can't make everything fine. I'm so sorry!" she said. How is she making this about herself?

"Listen." I said as I hushed her under my breath and rocked back and forth, her tight in my arms. "You can't do anything about it. It's no big deal. None of it's your fault. It's been going on since I was, like, ten. I'm glad you actually care, but worrying like this will get us nowhere. Shhh Shh Shhh Shhhh Shhhhhhh" I soothed her. She burried her face into my chest and trembled.

"I want your life to be perfect." She said, "Because you're perfect. You have a perfect face, a perfect mind, a perfect... everything! I want you're life to be perfect and happy!" she cried. Wow, she really did care a lot. I mean, we never talked. How could she care so much?

"No one's perfect. Nothing's perfect. I'm fine, though. It's all ok." I assured her. Second period would be starting soon. Hmmm. Today's not a good day to go to school.