Acting Out [Student/Teacher, GxG]

What We've Broken

"Give me a second!" I snapped, hoping my sharp tone would annoy Claire enough to make her leave me alone until I could collect myself. My eyeliner pen lay open on the floor next to me after I'd finally given up on trying to do my makeup; the reality that my hands were shaking too hard to finish the job making me feel pathetic in so many ways.

Looking up at the mirror from where I sat crumpled against the wall, my bare legs covered in gooseflesh from the cold tile floor. It felt like being back at the hospital all over again, my eyes bloodshot and lifeless, skin pale as a corpse. 

I took in the bruises I'd collected over the past few weeks, covering my legs in sickly yellow and green splotches; the newer ones standing out — large patches of deep purple and brownish-blue against my pallid complexion. Wincing, I carefully raised my shirt, seeing the same bruising decorating my ribcage and protruding hipbones. I couldn't remember getting any of them. 

I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. I hadn't gone out alone those weeks before the trial, but that was just about all I knew. If I'd tripped and fallen this many times, I couldn't imagine the state I'd been in in public. I pulled the shirt off in frustration, leaving myself in my white lingerie, looking like something out of a horror movie.

I'd known a girl in school who'd come to class every morning the way I looked now; dead behind the eyes and covered in bruises. One day she stopped coming entirely. I don't think I ever found out what happened to her, or maybe I'd just been too callous and self-absorbed to care. 

I rocked forward, slamming my head back against the wall with a loud thud, feeling splitting pain radiate through my skull. Ironically, there was a certain comfort in it — it was a tangible pain. A pain I could control. 'I'm the only one who's allowed to make me hurt', I wanted to scream from the rooftops. Not my parents, not anyone's expectations of me, not Claire and the way she continued to feign ignorance when it came to my feelings for her, and certainly not this God awful withdrawal that felt like it was rotting me from the inside out. 

I repeated the action, harder this time, gasping as my vision began to spin. I held my hands out in front of me, watching them tremble through unfocused eyes. Letting my head fall back, I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for whatever this was to pass. I just needed to get ready for the screen test. I just needed to do one fucking thing right for once. 

Without thinking, I found myself digging my nails into my ribcage, leaving behind little red half-moons. I wondered, as I watched small beads of blood blossom at the surface of my skin, if some of the bruises on my body had come from this; hurting myself in a desperate attempt to assert control over the pain that seemed to overpower me every time.

"Rowan?" Claire spoke cautiously from outside the closed door. Had she been there the whole time? I was afraid to know the answer.

I took a few shaking breaths, steadying myself, still unable to move from my crumpled position on the floor. I opened my mouth to reply but the words wouldn't come out.

"I'm coming in," She announced, her voice bordering on frantic.

"No!" I shrieked, and tried to brace myself on the wall and stand up, falling down hard with a sickening bang. Everything hurt. Everything fucking hurt.

Claire threw the door open, frozen in wide-eyed shock. "Rowan," She breathed, "What's happened?" Her gaze raked over me, not with desire, but with worry. Her brows were drawn together slightly, and she spoke quietly like she was afraid of startling me. Pity.

She's never going to want me; she pities me.

I wrapped my arms around my chest protectively, looking down at the floor. "I couldn't finish my eyeliner. My hands are too shaky."