What If We Had It All

Shatter Me

"Shatter Me"

|10|

Kalíanna

I remind myself of glass.

See-through and fragile.

I have been an emotional person for as long as I've know myself. I'm what people refer to as sensitive and I can't deny that I am. I'm ok with portraying myself as a being with feelings. Maybe that's why I always find myself in situations where I end up hurt.

Putting those very feelings on display for insensitive people to toy with.

But when all is said and done, I will always accept this reality of my own, because that is exactly what it is reality.

People don't care for your feelings and they definitely don't care about you getting hurt.

It's the harsh truth.

I've always wanted to be like them, be one of those persons who didn't care. Be non-expressive, nonchalant, unfeeling; maybe then I wouldn't get hurt as much as I do.

Parents were meant to nurture their children, love them, watch them grow, teach them life lessons but the only lesson I've learnt from mine thus far is what parents should not be like.

I look down at the broken glass on the floor in front of me.

My father didn't control his rage like a grown man, instead he threw fits like a toddler.

"Yuh see that boy yuh keep running around with, I don't want him anywhere near this house." He shouts, pointing a finger downwards for emphasis.

I don't know what caused all of this.

I purse my lips hoping that the tears pooling in my eyes don't fall.

When I allowed them to, they didn't stop.

He stormed into the house earlier going on about being disrespected.

I look at him a final time before turning my back and attempting to walk away. A hand on wrist prevents that and he tugs me towards him.

I cringe at the feeling of glass piercing my foot.

"Yuh doh hear mi speaking to yuh? Yuh deaf now?" He let's out a humorless chuckle. I look at his hazel eyes that resemble my own, except his held no life. His gaze was cold. He looked at me with pure distaste, a way no parent should regard a child of their own-or any child for that matter.

"I'm sorry." I force out the apology even though a deeper part of me knew that I had nothing to apologize for.

But old habits die hard.

It's only then that he finally pushes me away.

I take the opportunity to leave.

I tended to my wound and now I was just focused on packing my things. I almost forgot that Javier had invited me out for the weekend.

A notification pops up on my phone as I zip my bag closed.

Javier Santos: I'm outside

My father had left a few minutes ago, thankfully.

He'll probably find some bar to go to.

I'm glad.

Otherwise I wasn't sure how I would make it out of the house.

My mother would come home to the mess he made and clean up after him, like she always did.

I descend the stairs with my duffle bag in my hand. A feeling of anxiety settled in my stomach just looking at the scene he left in the middle of the living room.

I shook my head, slipping my feet into my slides being careful not to hurt my bandaged foot.

I made it out of the house and into the car.

Javier seemed happy to see me and I felt sorry that I couldn't reciprocate that energy at the moment.

Any excitement I had left had gone as soon as my father stepped foot into the house a few hours ago.

Javier seems to realize the change in my mood but he doesn't question it.

Confiding in those around me is something I've found rather hard. Maybe if I spoke about my internal battles they wouldn't feel so consuming.

But at the end of the day it seems pointless because no one truly understands what one endures unless they're in the exact same position themselves.

Sympathy is not what I seek.

I want to be thoroughly understood.

I recline my seat as I make myself more comfortable.

I let out a yawn as I allow the comfort of Javier's presence lull me to sleep.