Page 8 of Tortured Whispers
His energy was soothing.
It pushed the water away.
Nobody had ever pushed the water out of my head before. I got it to go away with music or cutting but not a person. He was like a savior. I hated that I was so fucking tongue-tied and couldn’t express that to him. Not the way I wanted to.
I wanted to tell him that I missed him and I wished he were around more when I was growing up. I wanted to tell him that he’d be good for my father too because as much as he thought I was in my head, he was in his own world too.
My stupid mouth would never allow me to say all that without sounding like a goddamn toddler with an accent though. Anger pumped through my veins making my heart thump wildly. Why was it so hard just to exist?
My bottom lip wobbled, heavy with anxiety and emotion that was too thick to consume and swallow the way I normally did. For once, I wanted to talk to someone. For once I wanted to ask someone to please see me, or hear me, please don’t turn away.
Instead, I was lying on my bedroom floor with two ears full of tears while I listened to early eighties music. Sometimes, I had dreams of smashing my head against the wall and pulling out the part of my brain that jumbled the connection between my head and my mouth.
I wanted to burn that part of me. It was stupid and pointless.
“Brooklyn, come eat dinner!” Dad called out. I smelled chicken tenders when I opened my door. I was tired of nuggets and tenders and tater tots but maybe dinner would be different with Uncle Caesar at the table.
Maybe for once, I wouldn’t feel like water was sloshing around in my head threatening to leak out any moment. I scrambled to my feet and rushed to my bathroom to check my face. I wanted to make sure I didn’t look like I’d been crying. I couldn’t handle the concern from my dad.
He always wracked his brain trying to figure out how to get me to open up but I don’t think he understood exactly how broken I was. Shit, even if I could open up I wouldn’t want to. Nobody should see all the tortured thoughts in my mind. All the different ways I hated myself.
I splashed cold water on my face and dried it on a fluffy towel before heading down the hall and to the kitchen. Dad’s brown eyes found mine and he studied me as I sat beside Cease at the table, pulling my arms around myself. I knew he was waiting for me to grab my plate and scurry back to my room like I always did when we had company.
