| By Gabriella Telaroli
Her fingernails are yellow and worn short from picking and biting
The skin around her eyes is heavy and dark from no sleep
She’s scratching
Scratching
Scratching at her arms
She’s breathing far too rapidly
Squirming all around
“Don’t go,” she says to me. “They won’t even care if you’re not there”
“Okay I won’t,” I tell her, falling into her grasp
She leans in, her sharp white fangs grinning cruelly
“Coward,” She hisses in my ear, and I believe her
Guilt swallows me. I’m suddenly breathing fast just like her
“So… I should go?” I guess
My body starts to shake
I’m scared of her, even though I thought she only wanted to keep me safe
“No,” She growls, starling me, her voice harsh like venom
“You’ll look like an idiot
“They don’t even want you there. They don’t even like you
They only invited you because they feel sorry for you
“They aren’t really your ‘friends’”
The words sting like cold, jagged metal to my heart
I’m suddenly bleeding
I go. Idiot, idiot, idiot
I don’t go. Coward, coward, coward
The only person she wants to protect is herself