“There she goes again. The martyr.” Marilyn sneered. She met everyone’s eyes for confirmation, only to find herself alone in her opinion. Their sympathetic attempt at understanding unnerved me—I felt the threads come loose as everything I tried to hide overflowed.
Unlike Marilyn, each one of my family could see in their own way how much her accusation was unfounded. It was clear to Claire in my vacant eyes that held no hope; Jack couldn’t get past the rail thin bones of my wrists. Gordy heard my unintentional calls of distress clearly—I could see his vow to help me in the determined squint of his eye.
Simon was the only one who could give first hand testament to the meanings behind my behavior. He understood that I was no claimless victim vying for attention. It was clear to him in the most obvious way; in the way that he ignored because it frightened his pragmatic nature, causing him to question everything he ever believed.
He saw the frightening truth behind my sorrow in the way I yearned to die.
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