I sat with my legs across Jazz’s lap in the back of the bus. We were sitting in a seat only meant for one person, but that did not matter to us. We talked about how our days went and then for about ten minutes we sat in an awkward silence, enjoying the warmth of each other’s body.
I do not have a clue to what he may have been thinking about, I hope it was about me. But as I sat staring out the window with my hair blowing in my face, I watched the energy in the sky dance around and the static fill the areas inside the clouds. I listened to my own voice in my head, humming a pretty song.
Eventually, we started making small talk again, and the topic of multiple personality disorder came up, and this time I did not joke about it.
You see, everyone has a different way of dealing with things. When I had a secret, I used to scar myself. Now, I deal with it completely the opposite. Instead of holding it inside I joke about and let anyone know the things most people would not tell their closest friends. It is to the point right now, that I cannot handle the stress of holding everything inside. I usually tell people the reasoning behind my actions is because I do not want rumors to start, from only telling one person, then others overhear and get a completely different story. I say I just want to lay it all down on the table. That is a complete lie. If I kept everything inside I would have hundreds more scars.
Just because I tell people almost everything does not mean I tell them how I truly feel about a certain subject. But today, for some reason or another, I decided to tell Jazz.
I looked at him in the eyes, “You know, it really sucks having Multiple Personality Disorder,” he nodded and I continued, “I would do anything to be normal, I mean, I hate going to this school where almost everyone is normal.” I pulled up my jacket, revealing my scars, “Really, look at this.” I said as he ran his fingers over my skin. “Who in their right mind would do this to themselves? Look at all these little lines, the ones you have to be close to see, thousands of them up my arm and across my stomach, and it used to be littered in words like ‘worthless’ ‘fuck up’ ‘screw up’ ‘bitch’.”
“But Jane, you know you are none of those things right?” Jazz said, his eyes revealed his empathy, my heart skipped a beat, I did not want anyone to know my pain. I did not want to upset someone with my problems. But the words kept on spilling out of my mouth. I could not look at him, I felt too ashamed, so I kept a steady stare out the window.
“Jazz, I am a fuck up, I see things that aren’t real. Like over there all those little dots. You don’t see them, only I do. That itself is fucked up, and there’s nothing I can do about it, and it just really sucks.”
“But Jane,” he said. I sensed he wanted a further explanation.
“I was raped at seven years old. That’s what cause all of this to happen. Maybe if it didn’t I would be normal. But no, I’m a dirty disgusting whore. But it isn’t my fault, that’s what everyone says. But that’s so hard to believe.”
“I was a good little girl, I loved Jesus, I did what my parents told me to do. But that bastard still got his hands on my and took away my innocence. It just shouldn’t of happened to me. I mean why me? I was a good girl.” I said, I was starting to get repetitive, as I often do when I get emotional.
“There is always a chance to move on,” Jazz said, trying to pull me out of the hole I just dug for myself.
“You’re right, and I realized that. We went to the park together, me and the kid that raped me and another kid named Alex. But I don’t know, should I trust him? He seems like he changed, but I don’t know. I really just don’t know.”
“Maybe Jane, you should just try to forget about it, that way, I think you can be happier,” Jazz was completely right, but that was no easy task.
I gave up there, “You’re right, and you know that you’re the only person in this school that knows this stuff, right? The reason I make a joke out of it is because I can’t keep it inside. I do stupid things when I keep secrets. But you’re the only one who knows how I really feel. Are you still my friend? My mom said I would have no friends if I was always depressed, thats why I pretend to be happy.”
Jazz pulled me in for a long tight hug, and I melted in his arms. “I’m still your friend Jane.” I almost cried right then and there, but I held myself back. I was really starting to fall for him, and for the first time when it came to boys, I felt like I was making the best and most perfect decision. This would be good for me.
For the rest of the ride I sat with my head on his shoulder, my legs still resting over his lap. He held onto me and he squeezed my hand every now and then, I felt like someone really cared.
A bunch of other kids asked if we were dating and we just shook our heads. For the longest time everyone has always known we liked each other, and they urged us to get together.
When we got to his bus stop he gave me a long hug then got up to leave. Christian looked at him and said, “You’re not going to give her a goodbye kiss?”
I added, “Do you want a kiss?”
He looked around nervously and said something like, “Maybe later Jane.”
I was a bit disappointed, but I tried not to show it. “Take the kiss, dipshit!” Christian yelled at him, but Jazz just kept on walking.
I stretched my legs out over the seat, and thought about him the rest of the way home. I looked down at my phone and saw a text message from Jazz.
I’m so sorry Jane, I just got so nervous, I didn’t know what to do.
I sent back:
It’s okay, there’s always tomorrow.