I heard you, you know.

"I hate flowers,

my favourite gift I've ever received is a copy of Jane Eyre given to me by my mom when I was nine,

and my real favourite colour is grey."

You just looked at me as if I was absolutely crazy. My face hardened almost imperceptibly.

"Never mind." I sighed. I barely uttered the words before you were walking away again.

- - -

"She's clueless; the entire time we were together she never told me one thing about herself…"

Am I so clueless? Was it so wrong to pretend, to lie, to ignore?

Should I have told you anything at all? Would you have wanted to know?

Tell me, did you want to hear that I used to cut my arms and each time wonder

how much harder I'd have to press for the blood to flow harder,

how much wider, how much lower I'd have to slice to make the world just shut up forever?

Did you want to hear that I thought about suicide more times in a day than I thought about my hunger?

Did you want to know that I hated my parents because

I loved them so much and they just couldn't, wouldn't love me back?

Did you want to know that I hated myself so much that starvation wasn't a scary prospect anymore?

Did you want to hear me say that every time I finished eating,

the washroom was a sanctuary for me in which I had total control?

It was the only aspect of my life that I felt I had any control,

and I clung to it. And no one could take it away.

Except they could, they did. What was there left in me but fear, then?

I was a further disappointment.

And now I couldn't even grasp hold of that one tiny piece of my existence.

Did I ever like myself? Did I ever like the way I looked,

like my skill on a horse, my good grades?

No, no, never. I couldn't.

Not good enough, not pretty enough, not thin enough, not anything.


You would have judged me, I know you. You would have thought me spoilt and melodramatic and stupid.

Better for you to find me an air head with saw dust for brains.

Better for you to think I had the attention span of a gold fish.

Better for you to assume that I really was as much of an insubstantial fairy princess

as everyone seemed to think.

I'm shallow, immature, my problems are nothing compared to everyone else's.

What hardships? Daddy #1 and #2 have more than enough money to get me through life

without working a day in my life. I'm privileged.

Why didn't I tell you?

Sometimes secrets are safer held inside.

I didn't want you to push me away.

You liked me for all my fairy princess qualities, remember?

I didn't want you to push me away.

Juliette has no layers.

Juliette is pathetic. Juliette is useless. Juliette is forgettable.

Shelby is strong. Shelby is witty. Shelby is pretty and tough and hard to get and respectable.

Juliette isn't Shelby. Shelby isn't Juliette.

You didn't tell me about Elaine.

You didn't tell me anything, either.

In all the time we were together…

I knew you liked football.

I knew you liked to kiss,

I knew you had a short fuse.

I knew what you thought of me.

You didn't want to know me.

I was inconsequential.

You were Scott.

You needed to keep up appearances;

you needed a pretty girl on your arm.

You used me.

I didn't mind.

- - -

Remember that day, outside the dorm?

It was after group, you were with me.

We had just begun dating, if you can call what we did dating.

"What's your favourite colour?" I had asked you.

"What kind of a question is that?" You laughed. It was a mean, mocking laugh. "Blue."

"I like purple."

"That's interesting."

"If you could live with your mom or dad, who would you live with?" I spoke again.

"Neither. Both." You smiled.

Did you think you were being cute?

You were avoiding answering anything.

My expression was not happy. You noticed this, at least. "What about you?"

"My dad. I hate my mom." I boldly stated, expecting a prodding of why.

"I did kind of have you pegged as a daddy's girl." You grinned instead.

I wanted to talk more. You noticed, again, and quickly grabbed my hand and kissed me to shut me up.

- - -

You didn't care about me. Didn't really want to know me. Didn't want me to know you.

Don't say that I didn't tell you anything. You wouldn't have listened anyways.

AN: It popped into my head, and I really didn't want to write my english assignments. Higher Ground isn't mine.