Tears (A short story)

I am so excited to finally be sharing some of my flash fiction! This is one I wrote during NaNoWriMo last year.

The tears wouldn’t come. I had tried pressing my eyes closed, willing myself to let the pain seep out, but I couldn’t. It was the last straw. The last bit of my sanity fading. One by one all my avenues of escape had been cut off. All the ways to let the pain release had been ripped away from me. I wasn’t allowed to speak. I wasn’t allowed to read. I couldn’t go outside. 

And now my tears had abandoned me too. 

Years of shouting had taught me to stop crying when commanded. They never told me I wouldn’t be able to start again. 

I blinked up at the bottom of my bed. My one place I felt safe. No one had ever found me here. I was alone. 

It wasn’t the escape I so desperately wanted, but it was something. Some shred of sanity I could hold onto. 

Footsteps came from nearby and I dug my fingers into the flattened carpet beneath me. I blinked up at the wooden slats. Time had taught me not to cry out. Not to breathe too hard. If it was one of the Prats, they would leave soon enough when they didn’t see me. 

But the footsteps stopped just in front of my bed. I swallowed. I had made sure the sheet was hanging over the edges of the bed, but what if they found me anyway?  

There was a thud, but I didn’t jump. I couldn’t. I was too scared. Too afraid that I was about to get chewed out for being under here. 

The blanket moved on the other side of the bed and I inwardly braced myself.  

“Cali?” 

I let out a shaky breath as Jake appeared. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out. 

He didn’t say anything either, just scooted further under the bed, the quilt dropping down behind him. 

I swallowed, forcing the lump in my throat down. I needed to speak. But he didn’t force me. Jake just laid there, putting his hand on top of mine. 

I stared at his hand, trying to figure out what to say. Or if I even could say anything. 

Jake squeezed my hand. He was here. Not leaving. The message was clear. 

And as I looked up at met his brown-eyed gaze, I knew he meant it. He cared. 

In all this time he had never left, and he had never told me what to do. He had supported me and given me a way to get out if I needed it. He had found a family willing to help me. Which was more than anyone had given me. 

For five years the only thing he had ever asked of me is that he be allowed to be my friend. To text when I needed to talk. To sit with me at lunch. To give me a hand to hold. He had given up friends to be with me. He had always been here. 

He scooted closer, wrapping his arms around me. 

At that moment I knew I needed to leave this place.

And that’s when tears began coursing down my cheeks.