Library — Thursday 4:51 pm

I type the last sentence of my paper and hit save. It's not going to win any awards but finishing it feels good—like I'm accomplishing something.

I glance at my friend. She's on her phone. I think she's texting that guy. They've been hanging out a lot. She doesn't bother to invite me out with her anymore. She knows I'll say no.

I print out my paper and staple it together.

"You finally finish?" she asks. "Want me to look it over?"

As I get up and stretch over the table, my arm peeks out from under my long sleeve shirt. The bruise on my wrist is fading but I can still see the marks of his fingers. Horrified, I drop my hand, letting the sleeve fall to my fingers. How can I be so careless? I should know better. I do know better. So then why did I make such a stupid mistake?

I pause.

Is it a mistake?

I wait for her to say something but instead she takes the paper. I don't know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

She reads through it quickly and hands the paper back. "Looks good. You heading out?"

I don't have anything else to work on so I guess I should go home. I stand and carefully gather my things, making sure everything is in the right spot.

I know I'm moving slow. Deep down, it's because I want to give her time. I want her to notice.

I want her to ask.

Seeing that bruise makes me realize the words, which have stayed hidden for so long, are ready to be revealed.

I'm ready to be revealed.

But she doesn't say anything. She just throws me a smile and jaunty wave goodbye.

I leave. But not before I give her one last look. Please ask. Please notice.

My silent cry goes unnoticed.