Caught In Plath's Bell Jar

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Why did you lie?

Submitted: July 12, 2010

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Submitted: July 12, 2010



I hated that I had to lie. It nearly killed me inside, and robbed me of the experience I had so badly wanted. I’d given him my standard story, that I’d lost my virginity on my best friends couch due to an excess amount of vodka and lemon juice. I told him I didn’t really remember it.
While that event had taken place, the place I had lost my virginity had been a place much colder, harsher. It was odd that I regretted about lying about that of all things. I hadn’t really needed to lie, but in a way I did. It killed me to admit it to people. It made me feel damaged.

I grabbed the razor blade I’d taken from my fathers box cutter and lightly pressed it to the inside of my left wrist, testing the waters.

A week ago he would have killed me for this, though it would have defeated the purpose. He always cared so much, I didn’t deserve it.
I’d been a bit of a drinker since the eighth grade. He was the one who had asked me to stop. Thinking back I have to wonder why I actually did. Probably because he actually asked me to quit, rather than just tell what I had to do.
I had been helping a friend move when I met him for the first time. He was the next door neighbor of course, with ice grey eyes and dark brown hair. Naturally, I’d found him attractive from the moment I’d first laid eyes on him.
There had been a first date, to the fair of all places. We had gotten cotton candy and shared a blue snow cone. When we rode the farris wheel, he kissed me for the first time, our blue lips pressing against each others. It had been nice.

I pushed my wrist under the water, pressing hard on the blade. I felt the top layer of my skin break. I smiled and closed my eyes as a familiar sensation flooded my body. This one wouldn’t leave a scar, I’d never leave another scar.

I had been the one to say I love you first.  We had  been together a few months, and he’d just stared at me a moment, a happy dazed look on his face. He’d admitted that he loved me too.
I now wish I hadn’t lied to him, but I had felt that I had to. All my friends had always said those three infamous words after a few weeks, so I felt defective for not feeling them. I guess it wasn’t that bad, I had been extremely infatuated with him.

Infatuation was dangerous. I opened my eyes and looked down into the bath water. A red haze seemed to form in the area where my hand met my wrist. It brought a light smile to my face. Closing my eyes tightly shut, I bit my lip. I pulled the razor away from my skin and quickly gashed my wrist, slicing it deeply.

The day it had all gone down, I’d woken up to a simple text from him. Before then I hadn’t known how much four little words could change things. Why did you lie? Of course, being me I had tried to deny it, but he had know better. I don’t know how he found out about the web of lies I’d created of my life, but he knew.

I realized my body was shaking. I snapped my eyes open and looked down at my wrist, watching the red haze spread out across the bathtub. After a moment it occurred to me that there wasn’t enough blood. I pulled my wrist out of the water and examined it closely.
There was a deep gash, but I’d missed the vein. Of course I wouldn’t even be able to die right. I brought the razor back to my wrist but froze, unable to move but my shaking. I had no doubt in my mind that I wanted to do it, but I couldn’t. It was like I was caught in Plath’s bell jar.
If I ever recalled the story to someone, I would lie. I would say there was a knock at the door. I would say I was shaking to bad. I would say my father was screaming at me. I would say my phone rang. It wouldn’t matter what I said, but it wouldn’t be the truth. Sometimes lies make more sense than the truth.

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