Bent

Next morning he wasn’t up before I went to school, so I left home without any goodbyes. History was my first class, awkward with Pennylee as my partner. “So, do you want to write this?” she asked. “I remember you always had the best handwriting when we were kids.”

For just a moment I gaped at her. Why would she bring back memories of us as kids, when we were best friends? I thought all that went away when I kissed her....but I’m not a fag! At least, that’s what I told myself.

“Uh, yeah. I remember.” Careful not to touch her, I took the paper from her hands. She looked puzzled at my answer. I just turned away and began writing the notes. For some weird reason she tried talking to me again.

“It’s kinda cool we were put together on a project. We were so close once, remember that?” And I had wanted to be closer. Who had put her up to this, bringing back what I would rather forget? To be honest, I never thought Pennylee would sink that low.

It hurt, and I glared at her. “Look, I don’t know who asked you to bully me, but I get it. You really don’t like me. Would you stop bringing up all those fucking memories?” Pennylee flinched away from me, stuttering nonsense. “But...but...Willa....”

I ignored her and went back to work. This project would end eventually. She swallowed, tapping my shoulder. “Willa, I wasn’t trying to bully you. I thought we could be friends again.” “No one wants to be friends with me, but thanks for the thought.” All I wanted was for her to leave me alone. She did, so we spent the rest of class in silence.

The day would’ve been fairly okay otherwise, if it hadn’t been for Wayne. He was a sniveling, slimy kid who managed to be popular because he pulled cruel tricks. As I walked out the front door at the end of the day he tripped me into a huge mud puddle. Everyone laughed, and once again my books were soaked. Wayne cackled behind me. “Fag.”

Whenever stuff like that happens to me, I always feel slightly disconnected. Voices are muted, and everything blurs. It’s only later that the sadness, the humiliation strikes. By the time I got home I was in tears.

It was lucky Davey wasn’t home, because I doubt he would’ve liked to see me cut myself. Blood and the sting of cuts had become the only thing that connected me to reality.

I was done about thirty minutes after I got home, pulling my sleeve down over my wrist, making sure blood wasn’t dripping past my fingertips.