Her Broken Mask

As she said this she looked up at me, the mask she wore was cracking. She wasn’t afraid of getting caught again, she was afraid of breaking.

I moved a moldy pizza box and sat beside her, “Hannah," I didn’t know what to say, “I know why you want this so bad, but you need to take care of yourself. I know you need to be strong; I even know you want to be strong for me.”

She didn’t say anything so I went on, “Hiding your fears does not mean you aren’t feeling them, I’m your best friend, I can see the pain inside you.” I turned to look at her, her eyes were shut and her hand was clamped onto her leg.

“You’re right about one thing,” she finally spoke, “I have to be strong.” I was hoping she would say more but her mask had healed and fire sparkled from within her eyes.

I pried her hand off her leg and wiped the blood from her nails.

Did she really think I was that soft? She couldn’t be thinking that, or else she wouldn’t try so hard to keep me with her. Either way, it’s about time I’m strong for her.

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