Wrists

I drove to college 30 minutes before my first class because I wanted more time to myself. I sat in my car and made sure my eyes were no longer red and puffy before I went on my way towards the coffee shop. The same cashier was waiting for me when I got in, and she started creating my order without even asking what I wanted. After paying, I stood nearby and waited, running my eyes over my surroundings as I did so. The coffee shop looked the same as always—almost like a well-dressed cabin. Normally I’d be one of the only people inside, waiting for my order, but this time around two people were sitting at a table near the corner, drinking their beverages and talking in low whispers.

With a second glance, I noticed the female sitting at that table to be the same girl who talked to me before and after my first class. She was constantly fingering her bleach blond hair, white teeth shining as she grinned ear to ear, eyes focused on the man across from her. A man with a vintage leather jacket on. A man with ink black waves on his head. A tall man. My heartbeat started to go crazy; my hands started shaking.

It was that same man from a few days back. And he was now looking straight. At. Me. I quickly turned my back to them, and allowed my legs to take long strides towards the coffee shop door. Did he think of me as a weak, idiot now? Did he know what was wrong? Did he feel my body? Did he touch my wrists?

“Hey, May—it’s your boyfriend,” that familiar, gruff voice boomed. It had a playful touch to it; a touch I had recognized just before the demons clouded out any sense of reality and shouted at me to leave quick, quick, quick.

My body was too weak, though, and I couldn’t get out fast enough without stumbling all over the place. The cashier was looking at me strangely, like I was some kind of idiot. I could hear the blond girl gasping from what the leather jacket man had just said, and she squealed in response, “Shut up, Elijah; you talk too loud!”

“Graham,” the voice was getting closer and closer. My world was spinning from moving too fast with no energy at all, and I could feel my feet slipping from underneath me. I was crashing down towards the ground—that was all I knew—and I was bracing for impact all up until a thick, muscular arm sweeped me up from my waist and forced me back on balance. “Woah, now; don’t fall!”

My eyes slowly refocused, coming face to face with sharp, large features: dark hair falling around high cheekbones and an angled jaw; super thick eyebrows arched over long-lashed navy blue eyes; a mole near the pointed chin, and thin, pink lips. “Sorry,” I gasped, still feeling weak in his grasp. But, not wanting to be humiliated and held any longer, I removed myself from him and managed to keep myself up on my feet.

“You’re always falling all over the place, arent’ya?” The man’s droopy navy blue eyes flickered in a lighter shade of blue, and his lips curled upwards, giving him a gentle expression, despite his intimidatingly huge corporeal. It was evident he religiously visited the gym; the arms of the leather jacket wrapped tightly around his toned arms, and his long, muscular legs were covered in dark wash skinny jeans with pre-ripped holes. On any other man, the attire would’ve seemed very flamboyant, but, on this man it came off as punk-casual. “Like Bambi, or somethin’.”

“Sorry,” I muttered again, lowering my eyes. I was too ashamed to look at him; while being called Bambi gave me a strange sense of accomplishing something, it was also a bit offensive and not doing too well for my ego. I hadn’t realized the demons were ruining my body so badly like this. “I’ve gotta go.”

“But your coffee, sir,” the cashier extended her arm, coffee cup in hand, looking slightly confused and concerned all at once. I shook my head and turned around to head for the door again, but a large hand roughly gripped my arm and pulled me back. I stumbled backwards, about to fall from the sudden gesture, but the strong hand kept me up.

“No you’re not,” the man clad in the leather jacket said, voice ten times more gentle than his actions. He took the cup from the cashier, and tugged me across the coffee shop and towards the table in the corner, where the blond female was watching intently, eyes widening in embarrassment and horror. “Yer comin’ with us.”

“Wa-Wait!” I protested, trying to free myself from his hold, but, of course, he was four times as strong as I. So I helplessly flailed around, hoping the cashier would intervene and do something. As expected, the cashier did nothing but watch, looking half-amused at my misery. Seeing this only made me struggle more. “Let me go!”

“Elijah!” The blond got to her feet. She looked apologetically at me when Elijah finally got me to their table. “I’m so sorry—my brother is often pushy and very”—she shot Elijah a vicious look—”rude.”

Elijah finally let me go, pulled up an extra chair at the table, and placed my cup of steaming hot coffee in front of it. He turned his eyes to me, smiling slightly. “I just wanted Graham to sit with us.”

I eyed him, the blond, and my cup of coffee suspiciously. I wasn’t sure whether to leave or stay, but my mouth settled it for me: “How do you know my name?”

Elijah looked taken aback by the sudden question, and then flushed. “Uh... Well... May told me your name. She says you guys talk a lot.” He lowered himself in his seat, placing his left foot on his right knee. “Right, May?”

May’s face was next to flush. She sat down, too, slowly followed by me. “No! I really don’t know how Elijah knows your name, Graham. He’s just a creepy stalker.” She shot him a look.

“You sure?” Elijah raised an eyebrow at her. “Because I’m pretty certain it was you who was talking about how cu—”

“—anyway!” May interrupted, turning in her seat to force a smile at me. “How was your morning so far, Graham?”

Full of emptying my body, sobbing, and wishing to be let out of this cage. “...Great... I guess,” I muttered. My voice sounded distant, as always; a voice that wasn’t my own. I didn’t have a voice anymore; I probably never had. The only thing I’d ever done that including speaking was lying, insisting everything was alright, and accepting chores. Of course, that wasn’t all, but in my home, that’s what speaking mainly consisted of. I was voiceless.

Depression crashed over me suddenly. I lowered my eyes, no longer wanting to talk, to sit there, or to even look at them. I just wanted to disappear into nothing. Would anyone even care?

“That doesn’t sound too convincing,” Elijah peeped. “Y’sure everything’s okay?” His eyes flashed with concern for a split moment, and then cooled to a warm ocean blue.

I was shocked. No one had ever asked me twice; only one time was enough for anyone else. They only asked to be polite—they never really cared about my feelings—and expected to me say that I was fine. That’s all I’ve ever said. I opened my mouth, wanting to insist that I was, indeed, okay, but, for some reason, I couldn’t let it out. No matter how many times the demons in my head told me to say it, I couldn’t. So I lowered my eyes again and nodded slowly.

May’s hand touched my shoulder, but I quickly flinched back from her touch. I glanced at her, catching her hurt/confused expression, and then turned away again, guilt coming over me. I jumped up to my feet—ignoring the spinning, sick feeling that came with moving too fast—and picked up my cup of coffee. “I gotta go.” I said before leaving.

And, strangely enough, they let me go.

I guess I should’ve expected that.