Like Gold

12.

12.

I LEANED OVER THE KITCHEN COUNTER, my hands flat against the cold granite and eyes trained on the window. It was sunny. Somehow, no matter how impossibly wrong it felt, it was sunny.

My entire body ached. All I wanted to do was stay home, stay in bed, keep my eyes shut and face buried in a pillow. Like that wouldn't be a neon sign, flashing the words: Send me to the hospital, Mom!

So, instead, I was here. Grimacing at the sunlight, ready to spend a day suffering in the prison that was school.

"Did you have breakfast?"

I turned to see my mother entering the kitchen, her curls swept back with a bandana. My father was behind her, scurrying from one end of the room to the other, fixing his tie and fishing in his pockets.

She paused in front of me, rolling an apple across the counter. I caught it, tossing it between my hands hesitantly. My appetite had been missing for the better half of the week and just the thought of food sent my stomach turning.

I offered her a small smile, handing the apple back. "I'll pick something up on the way to school."

She pursed her lips, momentarily eyeing me before reaching over and planting a kiss on my forehead. Her mouth tilted in the unsure way they did when she wanted to say something but knew it was better left unsaid.

"Alright, but make sure it's something healthy, okay? Maybe a sandwich from the café on the corner?"

"Leave her alone, Layla," my dad said. She turned to catch his teasing look. "She's a kid, let her eat her junk food while she's young."

My mom rolled her eyes, facing me once more. "Don't listen to your father."

Though, over her shoulder, he wiggled his brows at me and shot me a wide grin. I released a sharp breath, my lips twitching. "Yes, Mom."

I stood, hiking my backpack over my shoulder, when my mom paused, her hands coming to rest on my arms. I stilled, already sensing the words that were to leave her lips.

"Jasmine," she said softly. "I know that this week must be a tough one for you, but you need to remember –"

"I'm fine, Mom," I said quickly, moving towards the door. "I'm late for school, I've got to go."

"Okay, just – Tomorrow is October 12th and –"

"I know, Mom."

"– if you want to talk, or if anything happens, I have Dr Imogen's number –"

"I'm fine."

"– and the school can call me, or you can talk to the counsellor there –"

I spun on my heel, shooting my mother a firm look. "I'm okay, Mom. Really. It was a year ago. I'm going to school now, okay?"

She frowned, but nodded, stepping back unsurely. I pulled on my shoes, ignoring the tense silence that had swallowed us.

It wasn't until I had grabbed the doorknob that she spoke again.

"I just worry about you, habibti."

Like I didn't know that I was a burden on her. Like the guilt didn't eat at me every day, and I didn't already try my best to get better, or at the very least appear normal, for her.

Nothing really mattered anymore. Not since Amber left me. Not since my last words to her were lies. Fucking lies. Like our friendship was nothing. Those final seconds together, she probably hated me. And who could blame her? I hated myself too.