I hope you're happy.

Your face falls, your smile shattering to the floor into countless shards, a perfect imitation of what has happened inside you.

"Aww. That's sweet," you say into the phone, forcing a smile. It comes out as a grimace.

Words from one of your favourite songs come to mind.

Now all that's left of me is what I pretend to be,
Sewn together, but so broken up inside.

"Oh I know, eh? He's so cute!" giggles your friend in reply.

"Yeah, well that's him," you say, fighting tears. You won't cry now. Not yet. You won't burst her bubble. "Listen," you say. "I have to go. It was nice talking to you again." I'm amazed that your voice doesn't crack.

"So soon?" she asks.

"Yeah. I still have homework to do," you lie. I love it when you lie. You're such a perfect liar.

"Okay, talk to you later," she says. It's plain in her tone that she'd wanted to tell you more. Things you wouldn't be able to handle.

"Yeah. Talk to you later." And you hang up the phone.

You stand there for a moment, frozen. Then you run into your room and pull the bed away from the wall, crawling into the space it's created. Pulling your knees up to your stomach, you wrap your arms around your shins.

With your forehead resting on one knee, the tears fall freely. Sobs shudder through your body, your throat and chest constrict, making it hard for you to breathe. You poor, poor child.

I come around the corner of your bed and sit on the floor, watching you cry. Little tufts of my shedded fur that had accumulated under the bed now swirl around your feet like tumbleweeds.

Your sobs are needles to my audits. I approach you quietly. After a few moments, you notice me and lean forward to scoop me into your arms, sliding down the wall enough for me to lay across your chest.

I love you, dear, but I really must say that this position is quite uncomfortable.

I stay anyway, looking into your eyes. I see your pain. I feel your pain.

The tears keep falling.

"Don't cry," I tell you quietly. You don't understand me. As usual.

You scratch behind my ear. I purr quietly.

Another tear slides down your cheek. I reach out a paw, and, touching it to your face, I trap the tear beneath it like a bug. You smile. I'd smile back, if I knew how to.

"Why?" you whisper. So simple. So painful.

"There's a huge hole in my chest," you tell me. "The edges burn." You wince. The fingers of your right hand flutter from my back to your chest, as though you expect to be able to put your hand through to the other side. You can't, of course. Your hand moves back to my head, thumb moving back and forth against my fur.

You look up at the ceiling, as if the answer to all your questions would appear there. I follow your gaze, but see nothing. You look down at me again and run your finger under my chin.

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

You sigh and scoop me into your arms, straightening to your feet. You put me down on the bed and pick up the phone.

"Hullo?" you croak.

"It's Mom... You okay?"

"Yeah." You sniffle. "I just read a sad part in my book." Another beautiful lie.

"Well I'll be home soon."

"Okay."

"The traffic's pretty light. I'll be there in a few minutes."

"Okay," you repeat, slightly annoyed.

You hang up the phone before going into the washroom to wash off the mascara that had bled down your cheeks.

I stare after you, auds swiveling at the sound of your rummaging through the drawers.

I curl into a ball at the foot of the bed, silently scolding the boy behind your tears before falling asleep.

"I hope you're happy."

© Kelly Clarkson, "Behind These Hazel Eyes"

I wrote this in 8 months ago, then dug it up and changed it to first/second person.

Review me & I review you.