![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
intheheartTitle: Lies
Rating: PG
Summary: So the thing is, I lie a lot.
Warnings: parental death.
Notes: Feline_scribe asked Lars on the Lint Roller "What could drastically change a part of your life, or a relationship you have, if this 'thing/situation/fact/truth' was discovered?"
So the thing is, I lie a lot.
Some of it's not so bad. White lies and stuff like that. "Of course you look nice in that." "No, I don't mind." "No, it doesn't bother me." Little things like that, that's maybe half of them. And it’s just lies. I don't steal, I don't hurt people. That's not what I do. Not really.
I think it started back when my mother got sick, the first time. People at school used to swarm over me at first, telling me how sorry they were and asking if she was all right. But it just went on and on and... people stopped being interested. The thing is I didn't even like it at first, the attention, but once it stopped, I felt like I needed it back. So I started lying.
At school, I told stories about things that never happened, things Anna didn't say or that the twins didn't do. I talked about Mom, said she was getting sicker when she wasn't, said she was getting better when she stayed the same. At home I lied about school. I talked about my friends. I didn't have a whole lot of those so I made up a few and pretended the others spent more time with me than they did. Stupid kid stuff. And the thing is sometimes people would pay attention—no, they'd care for a little while, and that was nice.
Sometimes I'd lie in bed and tell lies to myself. Mom's getting better. Your grades are fine. Dad will take us to the park tomorrow. And later—your friends care about you. You're doing well in school. Dad's okay.
Mom's not dead.
Yeah, I could never quite believe that one.
I don't even know why I'm still lying, because it's not like it matters that much. I've got real friends now, Aaron and Danny and Olivia and them, plus I've got Summer and she's a whole different level of mattering.
But the thing is, it's kind of hard to tell the truth anymore. I lie about how I'm feeling, and what I'm doing, and where I'm going. It's like, nobody needs to know, nobody wants to know. And maybe they do. They're good friends. They're good people. They care. they want to know. Maybe even my family wants to know, now that we're not all focused on my mom, sick and dying and then dead.
But the thing is... the thing is...
I still lie a lot.
I wish I knew why.
Rating: PG
Summary: So the thing is, I lie a lot.
Warnings: parental death.
Notes: Feline_scribe asked Lars on the Lint Roller "What could drastically change a part of your life, or a relationship you have, if this 'thing/situation/fact/truth' was discovered?"
So the thing is, I lie a lot.
Some of it's not so bad. White lies and stuff like that. "Of course you look nice in that." "No, I don't mind." "No, it doesn't bother me." Little things like that, that's maybe half of them. And it’s just lies. I don't steal, I don't hurt people. That's not what I do. Not really.
I think it started back when my mother got sick, the first time. People at school used to swarm over me at first, telling me how sorry they were and asking if she was all right. But it just went on and on and... people stopped being interested. The thing is I didn't even like it at first, the attention, but once it stopped, I felt like I needed it back. So I started lying.
At school, I told stories about things that never happened, things Anna didn't say or that the twins didn't do. I talked about Mom, said she was getting sicker when she wasn't, said she was getting better when she stayed the same. At home I lied about school. I talked about my friends. I didn't have a whole lot of those so I made up a few and pretended the others spent more time with me than they did. Stupid kid stuff. And the thing is sometimes people would pay attention—no, they'd care for a little while, and that was nice.
Sometimes I'd lie in bed and tell lies to myself. Mom's getting better. Your grades are fine. Dad will take us to the park tomorrow. And later—your friends care about you. You're doing well in school. Dad's okay.
Mom's not dead.
Yeah, I could never quite believe that one.
I don't even know why I'm still lying, because it's not like it matters that much. I've got real friends now, Aaron and Danny and Olivia and them, plus I've got Summer and she's a whole different level of mattering.
But the thing is, it's kind of hard to tell the truth anymore. I lie about how I'm feeling, and what I'm doing, and where I'm going. It's like, nobody needs to know, nobody wants to know. And maybe they do. They're good friends. They're good people. They care. they want to know. Maybe even my family wants to know, now that we're not all focused on my mom, sick and dying and then dead.
But the thing is... the thing is...
I still lie a lot.
I wish I knew why.
