No longer in control, her hands instinctively gripped the fabric of her seat, her shoulder blades hit the back of her seat, and her eyes opened again as she felt the bus start to move.
It was an escape, but she was fearful.
// the unknowns ; exten...
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• • •
Grace's POV
Grace became accustomed to the clanking sound of the bus as she moved further away from home. This wasn't her first time on a bus, but it was her first time on a bus ride that would last 5 hours.
Surrounding her were other passengers' muffled conversations, and, again, she felt isolated in a forest. She stood by herself, small and alone, as everyone else were tall trees blurring her vision. Around her, everyone was rising, taking up more space in the universe, making an impact, following their passion.
And then there lied Grace—a small particle, never evolving, never learning, never changing. She remained silenced. In her forest, there weren't even other animals. It was her against nature, the world.
Or it was just the fog she created in her mind that fainted her vision.
Her mind was racing again and once Grace became conscious of the fact, she took some deep breaths.
"Practice deep breathing every morning," she remembered her physician recommending to her when she was a freshman in college. "It's performance anxiety, but I don't think you'll need any prescriptions unless it gets more severe."
To this day, Grace has never mentioned her stress or worries about the future to another individual except for her closest friends. She's thought of talking with therapists and seeking for help, but she's never brought herself to actually pursue those actions.
Always, she thought, I can take care of myself. This will all pass, everything will be fine once it's over. Was it wrong, though? College is now over, yet, if anything, she feels more anxious, more confused, more lost than ever.
Deep breath in.
Deep breath out.
In.
Out.
She returned to the present. Still lost within her mind, however, she began doing the one and only thing she promised herself she would do during this escape: journal; write out her thoughts and feelings whenever she could.
For years, Grace heard the benefits of journaling, controlling your thoughts, being conscious, which is why she purchased her bullet journal to begin with. But, she's never once opened it or used it. She couldn't bring herself to write. She didn't know what to write.
This is different, though. I can't get any worse from here, might at least try. It doesn't have to make sense. Grace reassured herself as she took out her journal. Maybe it's the action of collecting your thoughts that's healing.
With her journal in one hand, she used her free, right hand to reach into her backpack's small pocket. Gently, Grace pulled her pen out of the pocket it was snuggled in—ironic because when her mind was the clearest, her backpack was the messiet. However, today, her mind was a mess and her backpack was the cleanest it has ever been.
Her light grip, though, was her mistake. The bus came to an abrupt stop, thrusting the passengers, including Grace, forward. Instinctively, as she brought her dominant, right hand to press the seat in front of her, her pen slipped between her fingers.
Damn it. Grace groaned at her misfortune. She knew it wasn't her fault, but since everything was crashing down on her, she took the blame. Criticizing herself for something beyond her control, Grace not only regretted taking her pen out a second too fast, but also regretted only packing one pen.
The Gods don't want me to f⸺ing clear my head, right? I should live forever as a depressed, anxious, useless individual? God damn it.
She deeply sighed at the scenario she now found herself. Knocking her head on the back of the seat in front of her, Grace was drained of energy.
She wanted to give up, again.
Everything is hopeless. I can't even complete simple tasks anymore. I'm not made for this world. I hate this, I hate life, I hate what I've become.
Her thoughts, though, were disturbed by a man's tap on her shoulder from behind. She didn't know something as simple as a tap could halt her thoughts, and, instinctively, turned around to see who was tapping her.
Unlike how he spoke on the phone earlier, his face didn't hold a rough expression. He didn't look egotistical, self-centered, and aloof like how Grace perceived him to be given how arrogantly he spoke on the phone.
Instead, he greeted Grace with a comforting smile. And a feeling all too familiar to Grace, she saw how his eyes were trying to fight back the stress he was experiencing internally. Yet, for a quick moment, Grace fell for the mask he was wearing; his brown eyes softly reassured Grace, they glistened and though it was short-lived, she felt hopeful, for a few seconds.
"Take my pen," he said gently.
Looking at the pen, then at his eyes again, Grace was hesitant to accept it though she knew she could just return the pen before parting ways from the man after reaching their destination.
He's going through something, himself. Again, Grace was prioritizing others' well-being above her own. What if this was his only pen? What if I forget to return it? It looks expensive, what if it slips out of my hand, again?
"Don't worry, I have other pens and pencils myself. Plus, count this as an apology," he reassured Grace after acknowledging her hesitance and silence. "For running over your toes earlier today. Truly, it's the least I can do since your pen decided to have a mind of its own."
He reached his arm out further so Grace wouldn't have to stretch as much before taking the pen. "It writes really well," he smiled while pushing the pen closer to Grace.
Simply put, his kindness was catching Grace off-guard. "Thanks," Grace mustered before quickly taking the pen and turning around.
The best thing one person can do for another is be kind. Grace just didn't know there existed another person who could bury his/her own hardships to better another individual, a stranger.
* * *
Grayson's POV
5 hours to ride to NYC. It'll be 11 PM when we arrive at best. Doing simple arithmetic in his mind, Grayson calculated how many hours he had before the board meeting at 10 AM the following day.
The bus can be slow and there will likely be traffic given that it's rush hour, let's assume we arrive at 12 AM. 6 hours. Plus 10. 16 hours before chaos.
Grayson knew, in his mind, that the rightful thing to do would be prepare for the meeting to the best of his ability. To maintain his position in the company, to protect the work he has been doing for years, to accomplish the goals he set for himself as a young, naive undergraduate, he should spend the next 16 hours wisely.
Yet, his heart was telling him different. He's been dealing with the same thing for years, thrown around by his coworkers, he wanted to live a little. 16 hours of bliss, ignoring all other responsibilities? That is the more attractive option—to live for myself. For once.
• • •
a/n: eee we getting some interactions now. :) on a different note, however, my school starts again tomorrow and woo wee, i'll be entering some of the most stressful weeks with club applications again. yay. heh. hopefully it's better than last semester & i can still update this story at least weekly?
thank you for all the support i've been receiving recently. it truly means the world to me <3
