Kanika+Jain's+Short+Story

media type="custom" key="2991028"Kanika Jain 1B

My mind zoned out, or tried it’s hardest to. My eyes fixed on the wall, blurring slightly as I tried to fight back the wetness. Sitting on the cold, pure silk of my sheets on the edge of the bed, with my prada mini skirt, numbness shot throughout my body. My finger kept outlining my scar on my knee, not touching it, which was a habit in these situations. My door locked, and my ears still tried to deafen as much as they could. Crash! There goes the Armani vase. A fast current went up my spine, and I closed my eyes leaving with a crystal tear, wishing I could be //anywhere// but here. My body couldn’t move, no matter how hard I tried, mostly out of fear. The screams got louder, becoming more violent and threatening. My eyes burned as the hot tears took over, and my temples throbbed as I tried to fight back an upcoming headache. I couldn’t understand; I should have been used to this by now, seeing how I grew up with this. I loved my parents, I think, and they loved me back…I think, but I wish I was anyone else but myself at that moment because I knew I couldn’t handle the pain over and over again. More things crashed, and the yelling didn’t stop, yet I couldn’t move. Most of the time, I wish they would just get divorced and have it over with, just so I can have my own peace, but the thing that bothered me the most was that I had a gold plated cell phone on the side table filled with numbers of my friends, but I didn’t dare try to call a single one, never letting anyone ever know I would ever feel so vulnerable. I didn’t need “friends”, but //friends//. While I snapped out of my thoughts, I suddenly realized it was quiet in my house again. I sighed and picked up the tissue box, heading towards my mom, flashing my practice – perfect forced smile. My days went on like this, and I my friends noticed something wrong, but didn’t bother to ask, like always. It wasn’t the first time like this. //I have to snap out of it. Now concentrate Aliza. Don’t let this affect your life so much.// I told myself. One thing I was really good at was being simply perfect. I had everything, or at least it seemed to be. Rich, not spoiled, fit, blonde, smart, and popular, but that was just the outside personality, and that was all I let anyone see. My eyes kept flickering to my best friend Julie in AP physics. Today, for some reason, I felt more scared then ever, and couldn’t concentrate one bit. With Julie’s hazel, stiff eyes burning through the back of my head, I felt though as if she could see right through me. I took a deep breath to clear my head. I knew Julie long enough to know she was going to talk to me sooner or later. I quickly searched through my head for excuses, but for a split – second, I didn’t really want to. I realized I was tired of holding it back, but then my mind wandered back to the consequences of showing weakness. No one could be trusted in high school. The bell rang before I knew it, and I was caught off guard, my reflexes too slow to avoid Julie, who shot up from her seat immediately, heading towards me. “Hey Liza!” Julie pulled me to the side of the hallway and her voice suddenly became serious, and low, just enough for me to hear. “Listen, I’m not stupid. I don’t know what your problem is, and this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you like this. I know you enough that you probably don’t want to talk to me about it, but please get help. Like the counselor! I won’t tell anyone, I swear. You know me. I’m going to sound cliché for a moment, but I’m telling you this for your own good.” Julie patted me on the back; her voice was sincere, without giving me a chance to speak, probably because she already knew I didn’t want to. Smart. //Counselor?// I thought to myself throughout the whole day. I never thought of the idea before, but the thought of having to spill your soul out to a stranger who won’t tell anyone didn’t seem //that// bad. It was definitely better than telling those that I did know. My theory still remains the same: high school corrupts teenagers. I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it before, or I did, and the fear of anyone knowing everything about me was both scary, risky, mostly embarrassing, but at this point, I was ready for anything. Nothing could have made me feel worse then I already did, and I was at that breaking point. For so many years I put up with this, but just this moment, my maturity took over me, as I slowly headed towards the chestnut colored door labeled COUNSELOR. I took one deep breath, and relief started to kindle inside me. From the movies and all, counselors, therapists had one image set in my mind: it was being fat, ugly, wearing huge glasses, out-of-fashion wardrobe at cheap prices, their best friend, the clipboard, and a look on their face which made them look like they gave a crap. “Um, excuse me? I’m looking for Ms. Donald.” I choked out the words, while I noticed my body quivering badly. All of a sudden, she turned, and I stood there in awe. She looked about a few years older then me, about in her mid – twenties, perfect body, luscious dark - chocolate hair, flawless facial details, she should have been a model instead of being stuck in Windfelt High School. I didn’t expect that, but it wasn’t a disappointment at all. I immediately felt much more comfortable, which was nothing that I expected. “Yepp that’s me! Call me Sheryl, don’t make me feel…old. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in my office. Well, anyway, I got time. What’s your name?” Sheryl flashed a natural grin that many women take years to perfect. “A-Aliza Sherwood. Yeah, it’s my fist time here.” I stuttered a little, but quickly regained my confidence to show no weakness. “Well your very much welcome anytime here. I’m definitely not like one of those stuffy old women who only look like they care. I’m all ears. What’s been bothering you?” She sat down on a comfy black leather chair and offered me one. I searched for the clipboard, the bored look, but she had complete attention on me. I started to relax my tightened muscles as I got comfortable, and her youth made it sort of easy to relate to with her. I started off with when the problem started and my childhood to now. It was the hardest thing I had ever done, but her advice was exactly what I needed. I was shocked to see hot tears starting to pour out on its own; I didn’t know I was even //that// sensitive on these issues. My temples started to throb and my checks flushed cranberry red from the embarrassment, but Sheryl didn’t seem to mind a bit. My finger started to outline my scar again, out of habit, and she immediately put all her attention to that. I explained to her that when I was younger, there was a day where I tried to run away, the only time, and tripped on a patch of broken glass where my knee slit open, more then a healthy amount of blood started to pour, and I had to call my friends to take me to the hospital, while my parents were too busy making everyone’s lives more miserable. “From that day on, I became more and more independent. I really am a self – made person.” I tried to show her my strengths, but I became vulnerable again, but she already knew too much, so the damage was already done. Sheryl’s brows relaxed and then put on a comforting smile. She started to explain how I was much stronger internally and much more mature for my age. I felt though as if she were my true friend that I needed, I could relate to her so much because she went through her parents divorce at a younger age then mine. I rubbed my hurting eyes from crying for a while, and became surprisingly tired. Pulling out my phone, I checked the time, gasped and yawned at the same time to see that I had been sitting on my black leather armchair for more then three hours. “Its 5:45! I’m so sorry!” Guilt spread over me, seeing how I would have wasted her time with my sobbing stories, and yet I still noticed no clipboard. I knew for sure my parents didn’t care, and I would take any chance staying away from my house as long as possible. “Don’t ever apologize. I’ve never met a more mature and outstanding girl like you. You will come back tomorrow. I’ll make sure of it.” Sheryl held the door for me, and gave me her comforting smile. //A new friend, my counselor?// I thought to myself while leaving the wretched school. I sucked in the cool crisp air through my nose and lay in my car for a moment, smiling, before I started my Porsche. I felt though I had been floating and my smile won’t leave me face. For the first time, I felt though as if nothing really mattered enough to hurt me, and I never wanted this feeling to go away. I snuck though the back of my house, avoiding my parents, but that didn’t last long when I saw my mother curled up, her eyes fixed on the wall, and dark red circles under her eyes. I snapped to break her zone. “Your father… l-left. I'm so sorry.” My mother broke into tears, digging her head into my chest. My eyes started to well up, but they had already hurt from Sheryl’s office. I hugged my mother tightly for what seemed like years that we had a connection. I slept with my mother that night, and she didn’t let go of me throughout. I couldn’t sleep, but just wondered about now and later. It felt as if were a beginning to me, a part of me was insanely depressed as knowing I lost my father, but the greater part was a relief that it was over. The war was over, and I could finally hear myself again, and knew I should start letting those people in my phone know too. I felt like a kid all over again, as I grasped my vulnerable mother tighter then ever.

Feedback: I loved your story. I also loved the line "No one could be trusted in high school," because it is so true of stereotypical high schools. The line about Aliza describing typical counselors was so funny. There were a few grammatical errors, but other than that, I liked it. The one thing (I think it was a typo), in the last paragraph, the mom says "...I-left." I think you meant "He left" because you were talking about the father.