Lavender Monarch has Exactly Thirteen Fears

32. piggy bank

Salty is on my bed again. I push her off with a sigh as she tries to nuzzle into me and lick my face. I'm not in the mood for snuggles.

Yesterday has hit me like a brick and all I want to do is curl up in a ball and hide under my blankets for the rest of eternity. I don't want anyone to see me like this. It's pathetic.

It's funny how these things work. I knew I should have trusted my instincts. Fear, supposedly, is a reaction to keep you safe. Safe from love and idiots like Patty Waters. If only I'd listened.

Even more so, I hate the small part of me that's just waiting for him to walk into my room. To kiss me and brush my hair back. To say he made a mistake and that he loves to me. To tell me it's okay.

I want to give him his present and walk holding hands down the street.

I hate myself for it. I hate it. I hate. I hate it.

"You okay?" I pull my blankets off my face and squint at the doorway. It's my sister. I groan and rollover. "Talk to me." The bed creaks as she sits down beside me and I feel her hand start to rub my back soothingly.

"I don't want to," I mumble.

"Okay. I'll leave then."

"No!" I call suddenly not wanting to be alone again. I shove a pillow behind my back and sit up. She smiles.

"Now what's up?" I don't even put together an answer. Instead, I just lean on her shoulder and cry. She tries to console me but I only sob harder.

I feel like an idiot for trusting him. For thinking he actually liked me. For letting my walls down.

Everyone always told me how great it was to fall in love but I was never warned about the heartbreak. It seems the lines of communication must've gotten tangled somewhere along the way.

Eventually, I find it in me to stand up and get dressed and brush my teeth. I need to put on a brave face. I don't want anyone to know how much he really hurt me.

I've always been like this. Saving face instead of showing how I really feel. I broke my arm when I was eight. On my bike at the park with some of the neighbour kids. I didn't want them to think I was a baby so I didn't let myself cry until I walked all the way home and shut the front door behind me.

I glance down at my desk and pick up the bag with the frame in it. I take it out and give it a final stare. I need to get rid of it. I grab an edge and start smashing it against the doorframe of my room. It's harder to break than I thought but I can feel the little nails bending off.

With another hard hit, one of the corners unhinges. I pull off the broken side with a smile. There we go.

It's then I notice my dad is standing in the hallway watching me with a look of confusion.

"Hi dad. Is it bin collection today?"

"Yes..." He says slowly and pauses to stare at me a little longer. "Are you okay there?"

"Fine," I say and whack the remaining parts of the frame against the doorway again. The rest of the frame snaps to pieces. I pick them up in satisfaction and walk past my bewildered dad and out to the street. I dump the pieces in the bin and dust my hands off. Done.

I must be great at this whole thing. I just had to have a good cry to get it out of my system.

My mum, however, doesn't agree. I heard her speaking to my father quietly when I came downstairs this morning. She was saying she was worried this all might be a 'trigger' for me and I should go see my therapist.

When I walked in, they both shut up and gave me the most charming smiles. I pretended I hadn't heard.

That's why I'm now in the car sitting next to my mum with a frown on my face.

"I told you I didn't need to go," I say. She looks at me and pulls her lips into a tight line.

"It might be helpful. Just give it a go - for me."

"I'm the one who broke up with him! It was my choice. I wasn't dumped like some neglected teddy bear."

"Honey, I never suggested that. It's just-"

"It might be a trigger?" At this, she gives me a sidelong glance.

"Don't say that like it's a bad word. Your father and I just care about you." I give up and look out the window.

The room is even cleaner than usual. A fresh box of tissues sits in the small table beside the vase. It seems her flowers of the weeks are pansies this time. Stupid pansies.

"Hello Lavender," she says and gives me that wide smile of hers. " Your mother tells me you've had a rough couple of days."

I bite my cheek and stay silent. Her stare makes me uncomfortable so I pick imaginary lint of my jeans to look busy.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Fine." I don't even look up at her.

"Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Nope." She places her clipboard on her desk and crosses her legs.

"You don't have to be here. You can leave whenever you like and you know I don't tell your parents. You don't have to talk, sitting in silence makes no difference to me. I want to help you. I can't do that if you won't open up to me and give me something to work with." I sigh below my breath.

"I like to imagine that game they have at fairs. The one where you have the hammer and hit it to see how strong you are. I like to pretend I'm at the top all the time, even when I'm actually at the bottom. I want people to see me as a strong man, not as a china doll." I feel a rush of embarrassment when I realise a tear is sliding down my cheek. She presses a tissue into the palm of my hand.

"You are strong, but it's okay to not be all the time."

Not be strong? But then everyone will know how pathetic I am with all my fears and how afraid I am of everything. Then they'll know how easily they can break me. Like Patty did.

"Lavender?" she asks and I realise I drifted off.

"Did you hear what I said?" I shake my head. "Imagine you're a piggy bank. Breaking is okay. Sometimes we have to be broken to work out who we really are inside."

It sounds like some cheesy quote you'd find online but it still strikes a chord with me. I imagine the shiny copper coins spilling out of me.

Maybe it is okay to be broken. Maybe it's okay to need someone else to help you pick up the pieces. Maybe that's just part of being human.