Tiana POV

Trauma was always something each person dealt with differently. It's not something that's dealt with the same way universally. Sometimes, it could break a person. Kill them, turn them into a completely new person. Someone who isn't a person anymore. Sometimes, it can turn them angry. A monster like the monster they escaped. Sometimes it can turn them softer, sometimes it can turn them colder. There's a million different possibilities. The only thing that's constant is that trauma changes someone.

The way I dealt with trauma was by pretending it wasn't there, even as I lived through it. I painted my skin in scars I'm trying to forget, but other than that, nothing. I didn't look in the mirror because I knew there would be scars from the abuse. I didn't look in the mirror unless I had to. I didn't talk to anyone about it. I didn't acknowledge it. And it worked. It worked in a way that slowly, slowly killed me.

See, trauma changes people. And I didn't like change. Didn't like the fact that I could be changed. So I didn't. But I was empty as fuck.

And soon everything turned numb. See, people don't realise that, no matter how much it hurts to feel, it's always worse to feel numb. Numbness.... is nothing. It's absolutely nothing for days on end and you're tired and bored and sick of everything, but it's okay. You're numb. Whatever happens to you, whether you get beaten up or touched wrong, it won't matter. It won't matter because you're numb. And you try, you try, to be frustrated with yourself for being that way but you can't. You're numb. So it doesn't matter. But. But-

But then the smallest of things will happen. Maybe you can't find something. Maybe someone ate something that's yours. Maybe something minor, something so easily surmountable happens. And suddenly you're crying, raising your fist at the world, wondering why it creating you if it was going to absolutely ruin you in the end. You're in absolute pain. What's the point of living if you're just going to keep living in the pain? What's the point of anything at all?

See, everyone has different ways of dealing with trauma. I ignored mine. So it slowly pushed a dagger in me, twisted its way into my heart, and changed me as a person without my knowledge. And then it became too much and I took the final leap but I was stopped. I was stopped and now here I am, in the head counsellors room, forced to deal with the trauma I tried so so hard to forget.

"You're not going to gain anything by sitting there and staring at me," she says. I don't even know her name. I refuse to acknowledge she's real.

So, of course, I don't talk. And one part of my brain is screaming "change yourself! get better! this is your chance! tell her!" but that's a small part. That little part I tried to bury but stubbornly remains there. The rest of me just screams "NO THIS IS NOT OKAY YOU'RE NOT EQUIPPED TO DEAL WITH THIS LEAVE IMMEDIATELY" and I want to. I want to. But I can't. Because I promised I'd stay. I was so stupid, why did I think this was a good idea?

"Okay, if that's what you want, you can sit and stare at me. I give you full permission. Sometimes some people just want to be left alone and I 100% accept that," she says and I stop. My brain turns to static for a second.

Huh? I'm not used to that. I thought they'd force it out of me, force me to talk about something I don't want to talk about. What is going on?

"Don't give me that face. This isn't forced. I only listen to what you tell me and not what I want to hear. This is entirely your choice."

I don't like choices. I don't like choosing. I was never allowed to choose. Why should I start now? I don't like being given a choice. I'm not used to it. I hug the bag I'm holding to ground myself

"I-" I start to say, but my voice is croaked and wavering. I cover it up immediately.

"I don't want to talk about it," I say when I get my voice back.

She smiles, like she knew I would say that. It's gentler than the knowing gaze my father had. This one makes you feel calmer. This one makes you feel like she's proud of you. "Then we don't have to. We can talk about yourself. What're your favourite colour?"

I stare at her for sometime, looking at her carefully. She's young. Her face is warm and her eyes are soft. She looks like she's made of honey. She leans back, giving me space and I don't know if the gesture is intentional or not but I appreciate it. Not a lot of people give me that.

"Uh c-crimson," I say, my face hot. "You?"

She smiles again and I think of flowers. "I like yellow, it's such a happy colour!"

Something about that response seems to be so typically her that I almost snort. Thankfully I stop before I can embarrass myself.

"What's your favourite animal?" she asks and I think. What is my favourite animal?

"Cats. They're really c-cute. I love dogs too, they're so jumpy. And dolphins. And horses. Are unicorns animals?" I say and I stop myself from talking. I'm so embarrassing.

She laughs and there are laugh lines on her cheeks and near her eyes. She just radiates.... yellow.

"Don't stop yourself, dear. This is a safe space. I'm not going to judge you for liking animals. They're adorable! Now, what do you do when you're bored?"

"Oh uh I uh, write? A little? I play the guitar too. And I draw sometimes. Well I used to. It's been a long time since I've done either, though I did play and sing for friend recently. But she forced me to so," I say.

It's weird to talk after years of keeping it in. It results in word vomit, it results in a sort of need to please the person I'm talking to. Maybe that's messed up. I don't really care. Maybe I'm also desperate for appreciation and that's pathetic but I don't care. I'll care about it later

She laughs again and I smile back. I have the burning itch to take the hoodie off but I'm scared so I don't. God, I'm being so overdramatic.

"That's a friend for ya. Biggest pain in the butt, best shoulder to lean on."

And then I whisper slowly, slowly, "I wouldn't have known until a month ago."

"Oh?" she says and she's looking at me with eyes like cotton candy and a smile like honey and I don't know what to do.

"They- um... they're the ones that found me when I... ya know. Well one of them did. The others visited though," I say and-

I can't, I can't what am I doing what am I doing you don't even know her name shut up shut up shut the fuck up

"How long would you have known them by then?" she asks and I wince.

"I didn't. The one that found me made a bet to sleep with me. I thought... I thought I could feel what being cared for meant before doing.. that. So I played along. I- uh... I got scared 'cause I thought what he kept telling me was real. And I thought he'd leave and I thought he'd change my initial decision to do it so I... yeah. He found me laying in the bathtub. We only bonded after that."

Fuck, the word vomit is real. Why can't I just keep my mouth shut. Oh God, I'm such an embarrassment to nature.

"You seem to be talking about only one person here. Can I know how that is?" she asks and she reminds me of waves on a beach.

"Tyson," I say. "He uh... he helped. A lot. I guess." I give her a small smile. Feeling hot, I pull the hoodie down. It doesn't have to be something big.

Her eyes widen a little, just a little, before they go back to normal. I have a few scars here and there from past encounters. I don't know where. I don't really think about them much. They're barely noticeable unless you look closely. But they're there.

"And what do you feel when you think of him?" she asks.

"I don't know. Something. Fear. Uncertainty. A lot of guilt. Lots of things," I say.

"Where does this guilt stem from?" she asks. She looks at me like she already knows the answer. Then why did she have to ask?

"From... from him seeing me. Almost dead in a bathtub filled with my blood," I say. There's no masking that.

"Okay," she says and I know she has more to say but she doesn't say it.

"Tell me about your other friends," she says.

"Well there's Amanda. She's this girl that everyone sees as one thing but is actually another. I think she's just lonely. She acts tough but she isn't. She doesn't know what to put up as her image and she's confused but she's getting there. She'll get there. And then there's Xavier. He's soft with a little bit of sarcasm for good measure. He's going through a lot right now and is still trying to figure out deal with liking both boys and girls but, ya know, he'll get through it too," I say. Jesus Christ I didn't know just how stressful word vomit is until now.

"Why do you always get so embarrassed after you talk a lot?" she ask and I wince.

"Because I'm embarrassing. It's embarrassing."

"You're allowed to take up space," she says. "You're allowed to make yourself noticeable. It's not embarrassing to be expressive. It's just... you."

I pause, my mind spinning, before saying, "Yeah but it's not normal. You can say that I can but it's not normal."

She raises an eyebrow. "Can you define 'normal' for me then?"

"You know... something everybody does."

"Then do you see everybody walking around in subdued tones, whispering to each other? There are all kinds of people. Normal is what you define it to be."

I don't know why but I angry.

"Look, I'm not normal and I'm never going to be," I say. Irrational anger floats through me and I don't know what to do. I already know what's going to happen. I only wish I could stop it.

"And that's okay. There's nothing wr-"

"Look, you can't sit there with your yellow personality and your yellow clothing and tell me 'hey be normal, it's okay' alright!"

I shouldn't be so angry
She has no right to tell me to be normal

"You can't sit there and pretend you know what I'm going through! You can't tell me what to do when it so hard for me to do!"

When was I standing? Why am I standing? Why is my bag on the floor?

"No one can just sit there and tell you 'hey just trust people! Hey just redefine normal! Just do it!' okay! You can't tell me that when you don't fucking know what it's like. You just sit there all superior to me and tell me it's a-okay to not be normal but it's NOT okay. It's not. I'm the one that has to live like this and you can't just sit there and tell me to get over it. I can't."

And then I start crying and I don't know how to stop. My mouth won't close.

"I'm the one that can't trust anyone even if I want to. I'm the one that feels paranoid when I'm at school. I'm the one who has to deal with nightmares. I'm the one that has to deal with all this shit and you can't just sit there and tell me it's alright, okay? It's not. It's not. You have no idea how hard it is. I try so hard to tell myself that it's okay for people to touch me but sometimes it feels like it's burning and I can't-I can't breathe. Okay?"

And she's staring at me and I'm crying and my heart is beating and my eyes are burning and everything's going wrong. Nothing's going right. Why is she still staring at me?

I just want to go home. I don't know where that is but that's all I want. I just want to feel safe. I just want to feel comfortable. I just want some place where I can rest.

I watch as she gets up from her chair and walks towards me.

No no no get away get away don't come next to me

"Tiana, it's okay," she says, touching my shoulder and I pushed her had away like it burnt me. It did. I hate touching.

"I'm tired okay," I say. I sit on the ground, holding my head in my hands and staring at the floor as I taste my tears. "I'm tired of living like this. I'm tired of missing something I've never experienced. I'm tired of seeing a room full of people and dying a little inside. I'm tired of looking in the mirror and not knowing who I'm looking at. I'm tired of nightmares. I'm tired of feeling two seconds away from crying every second but being unable to. I'm tired of this. All of this. You ever just ache for a home? Some place to be safe? That's all I want, that's all I'm searching for. I just want some place to be safe but I can't. I can't feel safe and it just kills me, okay?"

She looks at me and something in her eyes looks so killing that I look away. This isn't what was supposed to happen. I wasn't even supposed to talk. I still don't know what her name is.

"You know, I feel like this is misplaced anger. Is there anyone you're angry with at this moment?" she asks and, in this moment, I'm mad at myself.

"I'm not mad at anyone," I say, though even I know I sound defensive.

"It's okay if you are. It's normal," she says and I sigh.

"Reassuring me isn't really going to help."

"Good thing I'm not then, huh? I'm just telling you what you need to know."

"I'm mad at my dad," I say quietly after it's silent for a while. "I'm mad that he did that to me knowing just how much it affects me. I hate that he still controls my life even when he shouldn't. I'm mad at my m-mother, for not being there for me when I needed her to be. I'm mad at myself for keeping it all in for so long that the minute the topic's brought up I spill everything to a stranger. I'm mad at my friends for tiptoeing around it and not talking about it like it never happened while still babying me for it. I'm mad at life for showing me stuff it protects a lot of other people from and... I'm mad at Tyson for saving me when I could've been done with this."

I didn't know I was so angry until now. I didn't know I was mad at Tyson until now. Maybe I always was but suppressed it. I don't know.

By the end of my rant, my finger are dug deep into my arms. The only reason they're not bleeding is because I've bitten them down till they're ugly and small.

I can feel it, that destruction I'm trying to get away from catching up to me. But I couldn't bear give a shit. I just want an out from this. It's destroying me, living like this. Getting my hopes only to have everything shoved on my face again. Thinking things are going to get better only to have it get destroyed by myself. I hate this. I don't know how many times I've said it, but I hate this.

This isn't the life I was supposed to have.

After the burst of anger, all that remains is numbness. It's like I've overworked myself and now I've shut down. I just want to go back to my room.

"I want to go," I say softly, gently gently dying.

She sighs. "I'm not supposed to do this, by do you want me to call someone to pick you up?"

"No, I'll walk."

"I don't think you should be alone," she says.

"I want to be."

"Want and need are two different things."

"I'm too tired for philosophy now. Just... please."

"Are you staying with anyone?" she asks and I sigh again.

"Amanda... something. I never got her last name."

"Amanda... Kear?" she enquires.

"I think? I don't know."

"Blonde? Nice girl? Good grades? Cheerleader?"

"Yeah, her," I say, my hands sweating.

I need to get out of here.

"Do you want me to call her?"

"Yeah. I'll wait outside."

"You'll still be there, right?" she asks with an eyebrow raised and I sigh.

"Yeah I will. Don't worry."

After that riveting conversation, I get up from the ground, take my bag and walk out of the room, sitting on one of the waiting chairs outside. I hold my head in my hands and pull my hair slightly. I don't know why I'm going crazy. I don't know. I just want it to stop. I just want all of this to stop.

"Hey, she'll be here any minute," the counsellor says, peeking from inside the room.

"Okay."

I hear the door closing. After some time, I hear footsteps. Hoping it'll go away, I continue to hold my head in my hands.

"Pretending I'm not here is not going to make me go away," I hear a voice say and I look up to see Amanda looking down at me. I don't say anything in response, I just take my bag and get up. Amanda sighs.

"Follow me, then."

The walk to her car is silent and a small part of me feels guilty for it. As we strap ourself in and drive out of the parking lot, I say, "I'm just tired of always being on the two opposite ends, never letting myself be stable."

"You went through something bad, it's okay," she says and I laugh humourlessly.

"It isn't about it being okay. It's about it being fucking annoying."

"Then why don't you talk about it?" she asks and I sigh.

"Don't act like you care. You fuck around with your words and tell me you'll be there but in the end of it all you're too busy wrapped up in yourselves to care, okay? It's always been like that. You've got your own shit to deal with and I'm just in the way. I'm in everyone's way."

She glares at the road, her grip on the wheel tightening. "What the fuck makes you think that? What makes you think I'll leave just like that?"

"You've known me for less than a month. What doesn't make me think like that? I'm not important enough and we both know it."

"You can't just make the fact that I care for you irrelevant!" she says. She sounds angry and it spurs me on.

"What care? We live in the same house and we barely talk."

"I was giving you space."

I drop my head into my hands again. "Sometimes I don't need space. Sometimes I just need someone."

"You never tell me." Her voice sounds softer.

"And I'm never going to."

It goes quiet for a while before Amanda sighs.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I am too."

"I shouldn't have gotten so angry," she says, worrying her lip.

"It was my fault. I'm sorry for bringing you to that place."

"You don't have to be sorry. It's understandable," she says, giving me a quick smile before looking back at the road.

"So that's what an argument is like," I say and she laughs.

"Well, it was small but yeah basically."

We laugh before it goes silent again. But the silence is more comfortable than before. She stops at the red light.

"You know, I really am glad to know you. I guess I haven't been that close to other girls so just having you around made me latch onto you. I am really fond of you," she says, looking out the window.

"Thanks. It's sort of the same for you," I say, looking out my own window. The light turns green and she pushes ignition. Suddenly, a car speeds in front of her. It almost crashed into us.

"Fuck that was close," she says, looking at me.

"Yeah," I say. One part of me is glad it didn't hit us and another wishes it did. She starts the car and my mind is a mess.

"Don't tell the boys," she says and I give her a small smile.

I'm glad they can't read my mind.
———————————
Honestly time. I was gonna make the car bang into them. Oops.

I'm a mess right now. Big mess. But hey at least I got this out?

Also, my exams are done and I no longer have to go to school. Fuck, people, you guys need to, like, have fun in school and stuff. You're really gonna miss your friends. Like I went back to school one final time and I honestly felt like crying. I took a few pictures of the place. My friends and I went around talking to all the teachers. I know school might suck but, looking back, it