Writing became a daily activity, like breathing. I may have been no good at it, but it didn’t matter, it made me feel a little better, a little safer, and a little calmer. They were my thoughts, my feeling, my emotions. Those writings were pieces of me.

"You write?" She asked obnoxiously. I turned around. Her very face had arrogance painted on it, but also truth. I nodded in reply. "Cool." She said, smiling, "mind if I have a look?"

It wasn't something I did...I didn't allow people to read what I wrote. And yet I allowed her. It was like a compulsion. Usually, I smacked anyone who'd ask to read, with the book on the head, but her tone, that commanding voice literally forced me to.
She peaked up her spectacles, and read.

"Mind if I correct spellings?" She asked.

"Nope." I answered. She took my pen, and scrawled out page after page of spellings. Closing the book, she looked at me and smiled. All trace of arrogance had faded away into nothingness.

"I’m the way." She said. I smiled in reply. "And you're pretty good...though...your spellings are god awful!" I couldn't help but snigger. "Really, I thought I was the only outcaste in this school who bothered to write anything...everyone else looks like they've barely ever opened a book let alone written one!" 

"Yeah!" I laughed. "Highly true."

She was one of those people you couldn't judge on first impressions. You'd take it in all wrong. She was tall, had sweet, almost perfectly arranged features, and was slightly plump. A regal, headstrong woman with a can do attitude and a vicious temper. I spent most of my days having her correct my work, or talking to Kiruba (the choir girl with the voice of an angel). But nothing compared to having them both to just sit and chat, about absolutely nothing of consequence. It was like therapy, except without the creepy nurses and medicines.  Finally, I could be myself. Just, relax. They opened me up just like they opened out my stories, let my heart flood and my head empty. They made it all just...feel right.

Two weeks past, I hadn't seen Tatianna. On the start of the
third week, she stormed into the library like a hurricane. "What is
up with you?" She asked, "Why are you hanging out with this loser?"Her hand hung loosely from her hips.
“OH! Reading Guinness book of Records are you!” She sniggered at Madhuri, as she shut the book we had been reading.
“You’ll find yourself under worlds weirdest”

"And you under the definition of annorexia.” Madhuri muttered

"Because...I want to." I replied.

"So why won’t you hang with us anymore. We too 'low'
for you?" She had an expression of annoyance.

"No..." I said. "I just..."

"So that’s it, huh?" she asked, "Ring me for
all I have, and then leave me out to dry, take it all when you need it, when
you’re in tears, then just leave me, because now you don't need me to help you
anymore?" She said walking off. I couldn't watch her leave, not now, I had
to speak. I caught her by the arm.

"Stop bringing it up." I ordered.

"What up?" She looked at me puzzled.

"You know what. It hurts, more than your little brain
can imagine, ok? I don’t like the tension, and I don’t need it. So stop."

"Oh..." She softened. "I said I’m sorry,
really, if it upset you so much, I won’t."

"Promise me..." I asked, "Promise me you will
never tell a soul, promise me you will keep it to yourself, everything, the
conversations, the crying, everything. If the people of this school found

Well, if they did, I was going to be more ostracized then I was now. This
wasn't normal for my school, see. People who "hurt" did not exist.
Suicide was a joke, and self-mutilation was gothic and "freaky".
People didn't get anything beyond makeup and reputation.

"Yeah, yeah, I know I promise." She said.

"And I promise you, the day you tell a soul, the day
you mention it to anyone, I will never look at you again. I will hate you
forever. I promise." I was speaking. I was actually speaking.

"Yeah...I promise." She muttered. We walked on.

I whispered my goodbyes, I walked away, leaving Madhuri
annoyed and angry.


The End

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