I had just gotten out of the hellhole that I like to call, high school. I swear to god, one more minute of those disgusting pricks and I would have snapped. At least my class isn’t bad. I actually like them, a lot.
Anyway, it was cold. But being the masochistic freak that I was, I refused to wear my sweater. I had on my short-sleeved uniform shirt, but the cool air was quick to make me wish I could control my conflicting emotions. It was obvious that my masochistic, self-harmful, side was winning.
Of course, I had come prepared for the rain. But of course being the crazy person I was, I refused to use it. Instead, I took great pleasure in hiding it under my sweater, which I was holding between my freezing cold hands. At least that way people passing by wouldn’t think I was an ungrateful little demon.
As I walked down the hill that led to my school, I mentally cursed my luck for having to walk so far away to get home. The rain hitting my face was as cold as can be. I wondered how much colder it had to get for it to become snow. People around me rushed to get home, they weren’t as fond of the rain, or the cold for that matter, as I was.
As I crossed the street, the cars splashed by, and the puddles of water, that I decided I didn’t care about, wet the soles of my shoes, and softened the hem of my uniform pants. I tightened my hold of my black umbrella. It felt as though it was aching to be used. I mentally laughed, stupid mocking umbrella. I knew it was trying to get through to my sane side, the side that wanted to use it and put my sweater on.
I stopped at the next stoplight, and waited for the cars to pass by. The rain became harsher; I still didn’t budge though. In fact, my grip around my hidden umbrella only tightened, if possible.
My hands fiddled with the cloth of my sweater. I must say it was an inviting, almost irresistible, warmth. However, at that point it was clear that I wasn’t planning on using my umbrella. If I did put on my sweater people would know that I had an umbrella, and would most likely think I was crazy. Even though I am, people don’t need to know that.
As I walked down the street, my skin was becoming unbearably cold. I didn’t do much to stop it though. I shifted my sweater on my hands so it covered more skin and the umbrella better. I continued on my merry way.
I neared the elementary school that always had a parking lot full of parents waiting for their children. This time, I noticed, they all had umbrellas above their lovely heads. It was quite a sight. I always wanted a pretty umbrella, yet here was a parking lot full of them. I smirked, lucky people. They allowed themselves to use an umbrella. It seemed as though they cared for their own health. That was something I tend lack.
As I neared the end of the street, I heard the soft splash of footsteps behind me. I refused to look back and be met with scolding eyes. As the crossing guard crossed me, I heard the person behind me cross as well. I was about to turn my head around, over my shoulder, when the increasing wet feeling on my head stopped. Someone was covering me with his or her umbrella.
“So you don’t get completely soaked,” the person said to my side. My eyes still wide with shock turned to the source of that ever so gentle voice. It was a lady. She had glasses and her hair pulled back in a tight bun. I couldn’t believe it. Some random lady felt bad enough to actually cover me. I was at a loss of words. But I knew I had to say something.
“Uh, thank you,” was all I could manage. I waited her to respond, to say it was all a sick joke. I waited for her to do something that clearly she was not going to do.
Her response wasn’t much. It was a small smile. A smile you would smile when you did something to deserve a peace prize.
We walked down the street in silence. All the while I clutched my umbrella under my sweater. I found myself praying to god she didn’t notice. The guilty feeling was becoming to overwhelming for me. How much longer could I go before I ripped my sweater off and showed her I had an umbrella after all, that it was a choice I made to make myself suffer? Then I realized something. Just where exactly was she heading?
“So where are you going?” she beat me to it. I hesitated a while.
“Home. Its just down this street and around the corner.” I said. I hope she wasn’t going out of her way to walk me home too. So I asked her, “Where are you heading?”
“Work. Down the street and around the other corner.” She smiled at me, a warm smile as though she knew me since forever. I smiled back, and then it was back to that insane silence, the silence that was making me feel like I was causing the world pain.
We walked down the street, and then came our departure. I turned sharply before I bumped into her. She smiled apologetically, and I had a guilty smile plastered on my face.
“Oh, you’re leaving so soon?” she asked even though she knew the answer. I nodded. “Okay. Take care of yourself now!” she said to me. And before she left I quickly said did something in an attempt to ease my guilt.
“Thank you!” It didn’t ease my guilt at all. She quickly nodded and turned on her heel. And she walked away.
I looked at her retrieving back until it blended in with the sky. I turned as well and walked the rest of the way home. I thought about a lot of things. I thought about my guilt and how it just wouldn’t go away. I thought about how this was all my masochistic self’s fault. I thought about how the cold rain suddenly felt like a new sensation. I thought about how much pain my now red skin felt. And worst of all, I thought about how at the moment I didn’t care if I died. I wanted to get rid of this horrible guilt. If it meant I had to die, than I would have to wait until I died.
I turned to my house, and I rang the doorbell since I had forgotten my keys. And my masochistic self finally let my sane side take control. I removed my umbrella from under my sweater and glared at it. Yet my masochistic self must have been doing some sort of happy dance. I grinned at my pain and sighed contently. It was good to know that people weren’t too bad these days. And it’s even better that they don’t notice what’s under my sweater.