The girl and I

“Don't tell anyone,” I whisper, to the girl in front of me. I turn around anxiously trying to make sure no one heard, as cold sweat breaks out on my skin.  

She nods, slowly at first, then faster, when she sees my trembling hands. She knows I'm scared. She tries to reach out, tries to comfort me. But I pull away- I…I don't need her comfort. 

The rising sun peeks in and out of the swaying trees, casting fleeting shadows in my room. They dance a peculiar dance, trying to invite me into never-ending darkness, tendrils of black stretching across wooden panels on the floor. 

I watch, captivated. 

“Hey, I’m here.” The girl in front tries to direct my attention back to her, smiling at me comfortingly. I raise my eyes to hers. In that second, she looks just like my mother - with sincere brown eyes, long black hair. Her hair glistens, like diamonds found between ebony black crystals. 

But there's something else in those eyes. 

I look again, pushing my face closer. She doesn't flinch, she moves closer too, inviting my presence. I wish I were like her - more brave, more confident, more alive.

In those eyes, I see an endless abyss, like a tunnel filled with countless mysteries. Yet, the edges of her eyes are hardened, weathered wrinkles pinching her skin. From time or fatigue, I cannot tell. 

Maybe it is pain, or how else would she understand what I was facing?

“Are you okay?” she says in that same soft voice, trying to guide the attention back to me. It sounds like a musical note humming in my ears, too melodious, too perfect, for me to understand. I wish she let me distract myself with her mysterious eyes. I could immerse myself in them, drink the dark brown orbs down my throat. 

The obvious answer is no. But I am known for doing the most illogical, unobvious things. 

I nod my head, shielding myself from her gaze. I feel like a robot, the way my joints move up and down, up and down, the responses to that phrase already programmed without errors. 

She gazes at me with a forlorn smile- I know it all too well. It is the smile that only lifts slightly at the sides, lips pressed together tightly, eyebrows knotted together in an inverted ‘V’. 

She’s disappointed, and she’s right to be - just like everybody else is. She sighs, then leaves, the chair scraping across the wooden floors like sandpaper.

I leave too, tears blurring in my eyes. 

As I walk out of the door, I ignore my parents, slamming the door without another word. The more I keep to myself, the better. I do not have time or energy for empty, meaningless conversation. At the very least, if we do, the only thing I do is lie. 

The silence seems to amplify the roar inside my head. They are crashing like tumultuous waves, trying to drown each other out. 

Don't tell anyone. Don't tell anyone. Don't tell anyone. 

School passes in a blur. 

I recall an unknown figure noticing something when my sleeves slid, betraying me. I try to recall her face, but it only appears like a blurred blob in my memory. Just another person I should not involve in my life. She asked if I was alright. At this point, “alright” was like a word thrown out of my dictionary. Had I already forgotten what it was to be “alright”?

Something deep in my throat stirred to life, like a creature that was finding its way to freedom. It’s been too long, too long since the creature had found solace in someone else’s warmth. For a moment, I relished the thought - what if I let it go free…just for a little while? 

Then, I found the words caught in my throat, like they were sharp, irregular-edged blocks that were shoved into that narrow, hollow space. 

If I say something, she will tell everyone. Everyone will think I’m a failure. It’s my secret. If no one knows, they cannot get hurt. This remedy, this dangerous drug, is for me to worry about, not for them to worry about. If I just do things right, do things better, everything will be “alright”. 

The creature stopped moving, dejectedly sinking back into murky depths. 

Wringing my hands, I lied straight through my teeth, though it could be called a truth, with the number of times I have said it. A cat scratched me, I laughed. 

Even the laughter sounded real to me; I have gotten better at lying - not just to others, but to myself. 

I must, I must, I must - for them, for myself. 

Don't tell anyone. Don't tell anyone. Don't tell anyone. 

At the end of the day, I slide back into the chair. I face her again. She looks even more tired, worn out. 

Sunlight streams into the room, seemingly burning holes through my jacket and setting my skin aflame.  

Slowly, carefully, I tear off the jacket from my skin, revealing another long-sleeved shirt below. The rustling sound makes me turn towards the door, expecting someone to walk through any moment. One, two, three seconds. 

Silence. 

Removing the jacket off feels like I have torn off the crimson red curtains that frame the stage I am on. No longer trapped in an endless cycle of lying, of pretending. How long have I danced on that stage, put on a performance worthy of an Oscar? I do not know. 

All I know is that just like always, she is there, waiting, ready. Silent, her deep brown eyes exchanging unspoken words with mine. 

I do not ask for her opinion anymore, and she does not try to reason with me. 

A glance is all I need, for her to understand - I need this. 

Wordlessly, she pulls up the sleeves on my arms. With shaking fingers, I pick up the penknife beside me. The sharp, glinting corners are discoloured, dark patches of viscous liquid at their tips. 

I lift the penknife, and she lifts hers, and like a reflection, she follows me. 

“Don't tell anyone,” I whisper, and the girl in the mirror whispers the same thing back.