Tears are strange things. They can be unexpected, beautiful, tragic, emotional, or broken; they make little sense to me. I certainly don’t think I will ever understand them, or rather, I will never understand how I somehow, understand tears, and what there trying to say, and least of all why tears of others make me feel. I remember that time when I was alone, completely. Those days were dark and lonely and unbearable, before things changed.
Gemma was like the other girls in my class, or so I thought, though I hardly knew her at all for all she was so quiet. I didn’t notice her, nobody did. I think it seemed better that way at the time. A person I talked to always ended up getting hurt somehow, that’s just how it was. If I glanced at her, she would smile, and look away, and that was all. On that day, in the thunderstorm, rain poured down outside. I watched from the window of the first floor, thinking. Then somebody jabbed me in the back of the ribs, I spun around, and looked into the eyes of Melody Dewater.
Melody was beautiful, the most beautiful girl in the school, as well as the most popular, talented, and obnoxious. “Alison” she smiled at me. “We’ve been looking for you.” I glanced over her shoulder, her adoring ‘friends’, about 7 of them. I turned and dashed, but she was too quick. She grabbed my arm, and shoved me forcefully against the wall, the impact knocked the breathe from my lungs. “Where do think you’re going?” she asked nastily, smiling her sickly sweet smile.
“Let me go.” I said feebly, to which she laughed, and her little friends echoed her, grinning. They knew they were going to see a show. “But we have such a lot to talk about.” She said quietly, taking my chin in her hand and lifting it up gently so I looked her in the face. She shook her stunning strawberry blonde curls. “Alison, sweetie.” I hated it so much; I wished she would just go away. “I’m not your sweetie.” I spat, and tried to wiggle out of her grasp, she was strong, and her grip only tightened.
“I warned you.” She said, her voice dangerously low now. I could feel her grip on my arm, and my arm was breaking, slowly. I shrieked, and she shouted over my scream “I warned you Alison. Behave.” I wailed, pale and shaking, and glared at her, biting my lip so hard it started bleeding, willing myself not to give her the satisfaction of tears.
“Much better.” She said with a smirk, and her friends giggled. “Now then, do you remember our last little chat, Alison?” she starred at me expectantly, and slowly, I nodded. “Good, good.” She said, her voice dripping with honey. She sighed, and lovingly almost, stroked my cheek, played with my hair. I could have been sick. “You know, we could be such good friends.” She simpered, caressing ever so gently, her hand like steel on my arm. I grimaced “but, its such a shame, because this little, habit, of yours” she leaned closer. “It sickens me” she spat in my face. I glared right back. Melody’s friends were shifting around, murmuring, they were getting impatient.
Melody sensed this, she smiled at me again. I didn’t want to think about the fresh horrors she had conjured up today. I just gritted my teeth, and held my resolve to just make it though this. “This is Jamie, Alison, who has kindly agreed to help us out today.” I heard her simper. I opened my eyes, to see a boy standing next to Melody, one of the tall athletic ones. “Isn’t it nice of him?” she smiled, as if we all such very good friends. Ugh. I starred at Jamie. He was grinning at me nastily.
Was he going to hit me? Break my leg, or arm, or both? What? I looked at Melody, confused, and her smile grew so wide, it was freakish. “What do you think, Alison? So nice of Jamie to help you, with this annoying, little, freakish, sinful, grotesque, habit” I could almost feel her words stab at my conscience with a very, deep, loathing. Jamie was getting closer. That’s when something sort of kicked in, and weirdly enough I sensed what was coming. I freaked, screamed, thrashed, somebody grabbed my other arm and held me up against the wall.
I could hear Melody and her friends, shrieking with laughter. Jamie went ahead and kissed me. His lips were hot, strange, and horribly horribly wrong. I felt a deep thick sense of nausea, and struggled to push my dinner back down into my stomach. After about a minute, he stopped, and grinned at me. Melody and her friends were cheering, like they just witnessed the messiah’s return.
I could feel myself shaking violently, and I was sweating heavily from my brow as my body tried to reject itself. I turned to look at melody; her companion’s laugher rang in my ears. She just smiled. She knew I just went though hell. She was deliberately trying to punish me for being alive. The grip on my arms lessened, and my knees gave way, I crumpled in a heap at Melody’s feet.
“Did you like that, Alison?” she asked slowly. “No?” I looked up at her. “Ungrateful, you know? And we try so hard, poor us.” I heard her friend mummer in agreement. “Punishment time” I heard her say, gleefully. Her friends cheered. I was pulled to my feet again, and they all started crowding round, eager for a turn. That’s when I glimpsed a flash of pink hair. I didn’t concentrate though, because that was when somebody made the first stab at my leg.
It took at least two hours. I wondered whose idea it was, the stinking garbage that now coated my face, hair, and clothes. Probably Melody. I looked up at the window from where I lay after they had left me alone. The rain. How badly I wanted to wash these hateful feelings away. I gripped the wall, pulled myself up, and forced my screaming legs to take me to the open door. You know it from there, most will in any case.
Tears are strange things. They can be unexpected, beautiful, tragic, emotional, or broken; they make little sense to me. I certainly don’t think I will ever understand them, or rather, I will never understand how I somehow, understand tears, and what there trying to say, and least of all why tears of others make me feel. Nor my own sorry tears, that abandoned me along with everybody else, I had thought.
Discrimination and abuse to teenagers like Alison has to stop.
I hope this reached the people that count.
© Copyright 2016 synesthesia. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Gay and Lesbian
Poem / Poetry
Book / Gay and Lesbian
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