The Mask

As I ran through the icy woods, now painted in a canvas of grey from the absence of the leaves, my heart pounded wildly amid the silence of my feet hitting the earth. He followed closely behind me, a persistent comfort to my unease, although I knew not why. My breath stuck against the black scarf that laid gently against my face and neck, reminding me that my instability was hidden well. My hood laid securely over my head, keeping my nearly tear-filled eyes hidden from view, but who I was hiding them from, I didn't know. We arrived at the frozen lake faster than I anticipated, gripping my wooden bow upon its sight. Despite the cold, I could still shoot, at least that's what I told myself. As an elegant doe pranced in front of me, I silently steadied my bow, aiming in my usual fashion. As I drew the string, my arms quaked. I lowered the bow, unsure of what had happened. As I looked down, I felt a light weight on my shoulder. "What happened?" came a gentle melodious tone I had grown used to. Immediately turning, I tried to maintain the unbreakable, noble image that had been placed upon me. "I don't know" I replied, now meeting his eyes. "I must have gotten tired." Maybe it was the way I spoke, but he was not satisfied. I quickly looked down, feeling the mask breaking. He gently took my hand in his, so I became afraid. I turned away, but my hand in his, he gently pulled me back. "No, what happened to you? You have been off since we left." "Nothing!" I replied as panic began to seep into my words. I felt him let go of my hand. As I had begun to quietly sigh, I felt my hood slightly move. My breath caught in my throat as I watched him gently pull my hood down. I only watched, stunned. I felt his callused but gentle hands rest against the sides of my face as my tear-filled eyes were revealed. My dark hair fell into my face, and moving it out of the way, he whispered, "I knew something was wrong," My mask of steadiness was gone. Surely, he would now see how much I was hurting and falling apart and feel revolted. But instead, he gently pulled down my scarf, revealing my panicked breath. Where I had expected disgust, he looked at me with a kind pity. He pulled me into a warm embrace, my face now against his soft shirt. As I felt his hand gently stroke through my hair, I began to feel a strange sense of peace. "Thank you," was the only thing I could think to say, but I knew it ran much deeper. He was the only one that had seen the real me, and he still chose to be there for me. He was no longer my companion or even friend. He was so much more.