Locked Away

                                                            Locked Away

Part 1: 

“Let’s just laugh it off, okay? It was a one time ‘I’m kind of curious’ sort of thing, right?” She asked, pulling her sleeve down.

“Mhmmm.” I responded numbly, nodding my head for good measure.

Seeming convinced, she stood up and slung her backpack over her shoulder and said,” Well, I’ve gotta go. Homework and stuff. See yah.”

She slunk out the door and I lay back on my bed, purposely avoiding the touch of my comforter. If the tears weren’t already streaming down my face, I knew they’d arrive soon.

Part 2:

She ran up, slipping in beside me and flashing me one of her signature full-toothed smiles.

“What was that about?” I asked, the boldness of the subtle accusation shocking me momentarily.

“Oh, nothing. I just sometimes eat too much… or too fast and then well, yah.” She responded, her shoulders slumping slightly.

“I don’t think that’s how it works…” I murmured before she started to chatter on about the reviews of the film we were about to see.

Part 3:

I ground my teeth and clenched my fists simultaneously as I dug my bare toes into the rug below me. Strangers gossiped and laughed obnoxiously around me. I closed my eyes for a moment to calm my frustration-driven quirks. Just as they began to sub-side she called my name, forcing my eyes to pop open instinctively.

“Hey-y!” She slurred, stumbling toward me, arms flailing in numerous directions.

I swallowed the anger-laced words that played upon my tongue and greeted her solemnly.

“You have to st-stop being SUCH a pansy. Really, it’s your most unattractive quality.” She spat, her over-expressive arm movements causing her drink to slosh upon the rug below us.

My breath caught at her accusation and I just gave her the customary and protective response: “ I just don’t know these … people.”

“Don’t be such a bitch or I won’t bring you along next time. I feel like your fucking babysitter.”

Her parting words silenced me as I fell back into the shadows of the party.

Part 4:

The oddest part was that she had only minutes ago been dancing and living more passionately than anyone I had ever seen.

She was pale and shockingly still, not a single breath had been able to escape those blued lips for at least two minutes. Her chestnut-colored hair was sprawled across the hardwood floor, her arms stretched awkwardly above her head. Despite the number of times differing people shook her she still didn’t stir.

Instead of moving closer to help, I was locked to the spot, chained down by my own drunken stupor mixed with the fear-filled bile that was creeping up my already abused esophagus.

And yet somehow I felt relieved.