He wasn’t the one who told me to stop, she was. I still refused to listen.
Her smile returns and she playfully bumps her shoulder against Papa. Maybe it’s due to the fact that they were childhood friends and have known each other all their lives, but every time I talk to them, I’m in awe of their subtle teasing and the way they look at each other.
“She said she doesn’t.”
“She’s lying. Did you see the way she rubbed her nose just now?”
“I felt like I was going to sneeze,” I lie through my teeth, but really, I don’t do that when I’m lying, only when I’m embarrassed.
“Yeah, right. I raised you, honeybee.”
“Papa!”
“Stop teasing her, Xan,” Mum chastises. “And if she does have a boyfriend, she’ll tell us, right, Cecy?”
“You might have to wait a long time. I have no plans for that.”
“See, Kim? She’shidinghim.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Maybe this is exactly why she doesn’t want to tell us.” Mum pinches his shoulder. “You’re too much.”
“Oh, come on. I can’t believe you’re taking the little traitor’s side, Green.”
My heart swells whenever Papa calls her that. Green. It’s a homage to how she likes everything green, from the color to pistachio ice cream to green M&M’s. It’s become a part of her personality.
“I can’t let you bully my daughter.” She snatches the phone and smiles at me. “You doing okay, Cecy?”
I lift my index finger to the side of my nose, then force it to drop back down. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s great.”
She watches me with those imploring eyes again, and I’m surprised I don’t flounder and burn under their weight.
I’m surprised my chest doesn’t rip open and confess everything to her right this instant.
When she speaks, her voice comes out gentle. “Cecy, honey, it’s okay if everything’s not great and if some days are worse than others. You know that, right? Your papa and I are here to listen.”
I choke on the unsaid words that burn in my throat, but I nod. “I know.”
Papa snatches the phone, and that knot gradually disappears as we talk until they eventually hang up.
Leaving me alone with my thoughts.
My cancerous, damning thoughts.
I hate how much they consume me lately, how being inside my own head is torturous and how I find myself there more often than not.
Still, I force myself to get up in the morning, wash my face, eat, and go to school.
I force myself to study, to go out with the guys, and take comfort in the idea that I’m alive.
If I don’t, I’ll be caught in a loop of my own making that no one will be able to save me from.
I’ve been trying so hard to come to terms with my actions, my choices, and how low I’ve fallen—and keep failing miserably.
Maybe it’s a pride thing.