Silence, she thought. When you’re hiding, tucking yourself into the smallest space you can find, silence is all you want- every squeak of a sneaker or creak of a joist may give you away. She could still fit in her favorite hiding spot, but it involved contorting herself quite a bit, and after a little while, her knees and back began to complain about the forces that were being exerted on them.
Other times, she thought, you hated silence- the hush that falls over a table when you’ve said something inappropriate, or the emptiness of a room with no one there that allows your inner monologue to take over and dominate your thoughts. Hiding here, tucked away, the house made little moans and shivers when the wind blew, but other than that, she heard nothing but the incessant chatter in her head.
“Nobody likes you,” her brain said. “You’re too fat. You’re ugly, you’re worthless. Nobody will ever love you. You should have never been born. Nobody cares about you. You can’t do anything right. Clothes don’t fit you right, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because nobody looks at you.”
She looked down at the hardwood floor between her knees, looking at the red droplets that faded to a darker, purplish hue as the wood soaked them up. In the end, she thought, silence is all there is.