Page 159 of Bring You Back

YOU’RE NOT QUITE WHAT WE’RE LOOKING FOR RIGHT NOW.

SUBMIT AGAIN NEXT YEAR.

What’s the point?

What’s the point in working so hard when people look right over me?

What’s the point in putting colors onto canvas when I’m left shaded in blues?

I’mgood.

But not good enough.

I feel a smudge of dried paint on my palm from earlier today when I’d tried to work through my feelings the best way I know how, and I scrape it off.

What if I give up?

My feet stop moving when they touch the end of my driveway. There’s a car parked that’s not my mom’s. Hers isn’t even here. Many of the windows show light in the house, and it’s not unlike her to leave them on. It’s also not unlike a guy to walk in while she’s out, creep through the house while he waits for her to come home.

I’ve been here alone a few times that’s happened. My mom dismissed my fears, my pleas for her to at least keep them outside until she got home. I was beingPARANOID. Everything wasFINE.

I’m supposed to tell Julian when this happens. I’m supposed to go to him, or to Tommy. I’m not supposed to consider going inside, finding the man, letting him paw on me if he so chooses.

Don’t be stupid.

I am stupid, though.

An ache in my chest stunts my breathing, pushes a lump into my throat. I duck my head, thank the night for its shade, and clench my eyes against fresh tears as I dash past the house, away from the temptation.

I’m such a crybaby.So SENSITIVE.

YOU SHOW YOUR PROBLEMS, BUT YOU DON’T OVERCOME THEM.

I overcame you,I think back, reminding myself that Camille—everyone has to showcase mystrengthsto conceal their weaknesses. I’mstrong. Another part of me that’s trying to stay when all I want to be is weak. I’m fighting with myself, against myself to not be closed-off, to not do whatever it’ll take to feel better.

. . .feel less.

. . .care less.

In a sense, I’m free. No more ties. So why do I feel so chained?

My feet stop moving for the second time at the caves.STAY AWAY FROM THE CAVES.

The smell of alcohol and weed reaches my nose the closer I drift, the pants and moans from people hooking up pulse louder in my ears. A laugh scoffs out of me. When I wander lost, I end up at the two places I could shed pain with quick, temporary fixes.

Iama body. A shell, looking to quench the hollow.

I am my mother.

I’ve already lost the fight.

YOU’RE NOT LITTLE MISS PERFECT HERE.

No, I’m not. I’m down, with little energy to pull myself back up. Little reasons to keep being me when being me hurts.

I want tostop.

I want the voices to leave me alone, to stop reminding me, to stop taunting me. I need something … to find some silence in my head, that spinning, euphoric silence I could touch the one night I yielded to intoxication.

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