Page 36 of Landon & Shay: Part One

“Okay, Monica. I think we’re done here.”

I started walking off, and she shouted toward me. “Yeah that’s right—walk away! Walk away from the truth. I just hope you know you’re going to lose your stupid bet, because no one could love someone like you. You got those scars to prove just how unlovable you really are.”

My hands clenched together at her words, and I hated how she had the power to make my chest instantly light on fire. I didn’t respond to her, though. I didn’t look back in her direction, but she didn’t have to look me in the eyes to know her words burned. She knew how to hit me, where to strike to cause the most pain.

I skipped my next class. I went to the football field—which was covered in snow—without a jacket and stood underneath the bleachers to get away from everything, from everyone.

My chest was tight, and each breath I took in felt frozen like the Illinois air, harsh and intense.

I knew what was happening. I’d had my fair share of panic attacks over the past year. I knew there was no getting around it. Once my body decided it was going to fall apart, all I could do was allow it to crash.

Sometimes, the panics came through me fast, and other times it felt like they lasted for days. I pushed up my sleeves and revealed the scars of my past sadness, the markings of my mind spinning out of control. The first time Monica saw my scars, she called me dramatic. “You didn’t even cut the right way to end your life. You just cut for attention,” she barked. But, I knew she was wrong. I never wanted people to see my scars. I was ashamed of them. It was why I wore long-sleeved shirts every single day. I wasn’t proud of what I did, and it damn sure wasn’t for attention. It wasn’t for suicide either, though. It was for me to feel something more than empty inside. I was desperate to feel anything, because for the most part, my mind seemed so worn down.

I hadn’t cut myself in a while. I was trying my best to find other ways to feel outside of cutting.

My hands trembled, and I held on to the iced-over railing of the bleachers as I lowered my head to try to keep from throwing up. My hands burned from the chilled bar in my grip, but I was thankful for that. I was thankful to feel something, even if it hurt.

Feeling any kind of pain meant I was still alive.

That had to count for something.

* * *

I thinkI was born with a hole in my heart.

It doesn’t beat like it’s supposed to, and I don’t know if that makes it unworthy of love.

What kind of person would want to love a broken heart?

What kind of person would take the time to listen to the heartbeats of something so damaged?

I just hope broken hearts can receive love, too.

I think us broken hearts need love the most.

-L

* * *

After my breakdown,I headed back into school, straight for Mrs. Levi’s office. We didn’t have a meeting scheduled, but I was thankful that there was no one sitting in her office taking up her time.

I didn’t know where to go, and honestly, a part of me wanted to man up and just get over myself and my breakdowns, but I wasn’t that strong. I didn’t know how to move past my own thoughts and be okay.

“Landon.” Mrs. Levi looked up from her desk and smiled like always, but her grin had a bit of concern. With good reason. I doubted people came to her office just to talk about the latest high school fashion trends or other mindless topics. “Are you okay?”

I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “Yeah.”

That was all I could push out.

She raised an eyebrow, and I looked away from her, somewhat embarrassed by the fact that she could tell I was damaged goods just by looking at me.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” she asked.

“Probably,” I replied.

Silence fell over the room, and I glanced up at the photographs of her family upon the wall. They all looked so happy, so connected.

I wondered if she knew how lucky she was.

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