Underneath My Smile

Typical Thursday. You sweep up your stuff and mosey out the door after the bell rings and meet up with your best bud. After a friendly exchange of doodles you wait for your other few friends before walking off en-masse towards the club room. Naturally, you exchange some banter back and forth, as friends are prone to teasing each other. You let off a certain remark that seemed to hit the wrong button and one of your friends spins around and shouts at you. They were prone to small explosions of temper, so it wasn't out of the ordinary, but your heart sank as their tone brought back memories you'd tried so hard to put behind you.

Images flashed in your mind's eye, a hand rushing to meet with your face, red scratches on your legs and skin under your nails, that grimace on 'her' face that was only accompanied by pain and self-loathing. You had believed what she'd said. You were trash. A waste of space, nobody would want you in their life. You were vile.

you took a silent, sharp intake of breath and dropped back a little as you watched your miffed friend huff and turn to catch up with the rest of the group. you looked down at your feet so no one could see your face. No-one could see you like this. You can't let them see this side of you. They can't know that you are weak. as the group begins to pass the restroom you pause and announce you need to use the John. God, you hope they didn't notice your voice waver at the end of that sentence. They all nod and continue down the hall, as the room wasn't far. You go on in and hastily lock yourself in a stall.

Damnit. Damn it all. why were you so worked up by that? That was five fucking years ago. You should be over this shit by now, right? But here you are, pulling some fucking moaning-Myrtle bullshit, trying to stop the inevitable flow of tears and quiet, shaky breathing. It was over but it still haunts you. It follows you like a shadow. the years of your life that were stolen away by that bitch, the childhood you never had. Fuck. You slammed a fist into the brick wall beside you and covered your face with a hand. Images and 'her' voice replaying over and over like a shitty 80's horror film. You were angry and sad and scared. You had no reason to be, but you were. and that infuriated you even more. You're weak, and you hate that. you hate it more than anything else about you. your friends see a cheery, silly, and kinda creepy-but-in-a-joking-way buddy. You never let them see the tortured soul on the inside. And you never intend to show them.

After a few moments you've finally calmed down and leave the stall. you wipe your face and check the mirror to make sure it didn't look like you'd been crying. Thankfully, no. you flash yourself the stupid grin you always ware around your friends and chuckle a little. They're probably wondering why you took so long, best not to keep them waiting much longer.