One, Two, Three, Four

It became routine. Sitting down, taking out a book, escaping to an alternate reality. It kept me sane. It kept everything from reaching me, I was so far away, safe in another world.


But this time, having forgotten my book, I just sat in silence, taking bites of my food every now and then. My throat felt tight and parched. I refused to look up, to join the conversation. I just couldn’t.


One.


One sentence, that was all it took.


“She has no right to do that!” Came the complaint. The rest nodded, agreeing.


I wanted to choke. They’re back at it again. Those words, aimed like a gun and shot straight through the heart. I shut my eyes. I wanted it all to be over. The words came out of my mouth, littered with disgust.


“Have you been… nice?” I asked them.


Did I regret what I just said? I don’t know.


All I knew was that it wasn’t fair. They couldn’t treat people like this.


I didn’t want to see their stares, fixed upon my face. I didn’t want them to see how they affected me.


Two.


Two words, that was all it took.


“Of course!” Came the reply, shocked that I would ever doubt it.


It was closing in. The walls of my prison cell, the hands around my neck, ready to strangle the life out of me, the waves, towering above my tiny raft on the endless sea. I was in an interrogation room. Everything - anything that I did, getting up, leaving, staying silent - could be used against me.


Please, I begged, trying to find the little voice in my heart who I knew would guide me. Please, talk to me. Tell me what I’m supposed to do, what I’m supposed to say. Who I’m supposed to be.


They all turned to me, suddenly, unexpectedly. “You were talking to her. What did she say?”


Such an innocent question, but my hands were shaking with anger, fear, I don’t know what. I hid them inside the sleeves of my sweater. It was so easy to give the wrong answer.


I wanted them to open their eyes, so I could open mine. I felt like an old vase. People used to see me as beautiful, but now I was cracked, and broken, and used. My once intricate patterns were faded and my bright colours gone.


I couldn’t face this anymore.


Three.


Three questions, that was all it took.


“How could you ask that kind of thing? Don’t you think she’s in the wrong too? Don’t you care?” They were on the offense now, their narrow gazes pinning me to the back of my chair.


I wanted to scream. They had never asked me this before. I wanted all of this to be over. I wanted to get up and walk away, but the questions were like iron handcuffs, weighing me down, forcing me to stay.


I cared. I cared so, so much. I couldn’t stop. I cared so much that it was killing me.


But I kept my head down.


Four.


Four actions.


Stand. Look. Blink. Run.


I stood. I looked at them, all looking back at me. I blinked, to clear the haze over my eyes. And then I ran.


I wished, I wished so hard for a hand to reach out to me, like they always did in the books I read everyday. I wanted to clasp it, and let it pull me back. But everything around me is shifting, it changes, little by little with time passing, through every sentence, word, question or action. I couldn’t trust what I saw, I couldn’t trust what I believed. And I have no book with me.


I counted.


One.


Two.


Three.


Four.