Jessica

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

This story is about one teenager's struggles with fitting in and how he thinks the world sees him. Please do not leave hateful comments, as this does contain some controversial content.

Sunlight fought its way into the room, peeking between the curtains and sending a single beam of light across the grey duvet covering his petite body. Cars drove slowly up and down the street, the hum of their engines now white noise to cover the painful silence. He knew he had to get up and ready himself for school, but he clung to each precious second that he spent hiding beneath the blankets. His bed was the only place he felt at peace, and for him, the term “safety blanket” had never been more true.

 

He rolled over onto his side, squinting as the sunlight found his eyes, and checked the time on his phone. It was 6:35. If he didn’t get out of bed now he’d be late for school. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad, he thought. Maybe I could just hide under my blankets for the rest of my life. Nobody would notice, would they?

 

Thinking better of it, he threw off the blankets and made his way over to the bathroom. The faucet groaned as he turned on the shower, and he laid his towels on the countertop. He pulled the shower curtain aside, stepping into the stream of hot water as he released a heavy sigh. As if on cue, the tears began to fall, mixing with the water running down his face. This seemed almost routine at this point; it was as if his body timed his breakdowns so that the shower would hide the evidence of his vulnerability, leaving him to pick up the pieces before they fell down the drain alongside his tears. Maybe this was why he showered with his eyes closed, or maybe it was because he couldn’t stand the sight of his own body.

 

He shivered as he stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. He reached for his clothes as a barely audible groan escaped his lips. He hated having to assemble himself piece-by-piece every morning, despite the fact that it had now become a painful habit much like biting one’s nails: he first shimmied the spandex shorts under his boxers, then the compression undershirt he wore to hide his insecurities; his jeans had to be tight enough to stay up without a belt but loose enough to hide his hips, and his shirt sleeves had to be rolled in such a way to create the illusion that his arms were more than just skin-covered fat and bone.

 

Once he was dressed, he reached into the cabinet, past old make-up tins that served only to gather dust, and pulled out the hair putty. He dipped his fingers into the jar, rubbing the putty between his palms. He ran his hands through his hair, spiking the top so it would lay off to one side, just as he liked it; his thick auburn hair had a bit of a wave to it, so he made sure to keep the sides significantly shorter than the top to avoid appearing more feminine than he already did.

 

He wandered back into his bedroom, sinking down on the edge of his bed as he slid his feet into a pair of blue and grey Vans. The single beam of sunlight fell onto his phone, and he reached down to pick it up. It was 7:05; he was running late again. He had to hurry to the bus stop, otherwise he’d miss the bus and he didn’t want to inconvenience his parents by asking for a ride to school again. With his bookbag slung carelessly over one shoulder and his history book beneath his arm, he took the stairs two at a time and out to the kitchen where he grabbed his house key from the counter. Just as he opened the door to leave, his mother called to him from the living room. He was hoping to leave quietly without talking to anyone, as he did most mornings, but unfortunately his mother caught him before he could leave.

 

“Have a good day, Jessica,” she called. “Love you, and don’t forget to text when you get home!”

 

His heart sunk and he felt his self-esteem shatter. Every ounce of hard work he put into piecing himself together that morning was useless, and he felt worthless. He was tired of his efforts being in vain. He felt his face grow red with a mix of anger and defeat, and he struggled to hold back the oncoming tears.


“I love you too mom,” his voice cracked, pained, “see you later.”


Submitted: January 30, 2016

© Copyright 2020 Emmett Cohl . All rights reserved.

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Comments

Chris Green

A difficult subject handled very well with great narrative development, leaking a little of the story bit by bit with a chilling realisation at the end. Nice work!
Regards
Chris

Sat, January 30th, 2016 6:19am

Author
Reply

Thanks so much for reading, Chris! I'm glad you enjoyed!

Sat, January 30th, 2016 12:13am

MightyDeath

I guess this applies to you, although you changed the name. I really hope your parents will try their best to call you the right name, the name you prefer. I cannot imagine how awful it must feel that the people you love don't understand what it does to you. They'll get there eventually. Just be you, and the rest will come. I know it's easy to say, but I really hope youcan continue with being yourself and I also hope your parents will start to realize this is who you really are, who you've been all along. Stay strong and stay awesome :3

Sun, January 31st, 2016 9:47pm

Author
Reply

Thanks so much :) you're too sweet :)

Sun, January 31st, 2016 1:53pm

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