The Girl Who Never Stopped Smiling - A SoTam Story

Chapter 4

TRIGGER WARNING: VAGUE MENTIONS OF PANIC ATTACK

Sophie felt like screaming. She had been lying in bed, staring at the white ceiling for hours. 4 hours and 23 minutes to be precise. She begrudgingly rolled over and looked at her alarm clock. 2.30am. She couldn't do this anymore. The walls felt like they were closing in on her, crushing her lungs and drawing every tiny breath out of them. She had to get out. Every Riot Grrrl and Murderino {AN: any other murderinos here? No? Just me? ok. :( Everyone please go listen to the My Favourite  Murder podcast its great} instinct told her this was a terrible idea, but the pressure on her lungs forced her to slip silently out of bed to her desk. She grabbed a sheet of paper and quickly scrawled out her message. "Gone for some fresh air. Don't worry, brought pepper spray. If I'm not back by morning, call the police -Sophie." She was praying they wouldn't notice her absence, but just in case she didn't want them to panic. This wasn't a habit she would like to share, thank you very much. She was halfway across the room when she realized she had forgotten something. As quickly as possible, she tiptoed back across the room and clambered up to her bed. Shoving her hand down into the gap between the wall and the mattress, she searched around frantically for a few seconds until her hands curled around her prize. Clutching the small notebook to her chest, she once again made her way across the room. As she neared the door, she grabbed her beloved Doc Martens. She didn't put them on yet, not wanting to make any noise with the chunky boots. She closed the door behind her softly behind herself and pulled on her boots. Something about their familiar, solid weight made her feel better, more grounded. They were her anchor as she made her way through the silent hallways, chuckling silently to herself at the thought of someone's reaction to the state she was in right now. Believe it or not, pyjama shorts, baggy long sleeved shirts, Doc Martens, bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep and crazy hair is not a great look. As Sophie neared the exit, she realised she wasn't entirely sure where she planning on going, so, instead she focused on her erratic breathing and dull, rythmical thud of her footsteps, as she was led off to some unknown location. It was as if her body was on auto-pilot. She finally made it out of the building, that was rapidly feeling more and more like a prison. The air outside was bitingly cold, and whisked away the breath in her lungs, but she didn't even shiver. Her body and mind felt completely numb, and Sophie already knew what was coming. She let herself be guided by the moonlight, her feet finally leading her to the tranquil lake. She watched as the swans dipped and cavorted gracefully in the water. Sophie had always loved swans. They always looked so fragile and beautiful, yet they were immensely strong and powerful. She tore her eyes away form the serene creatures and wrippling water, and picked up her journal. These journals were her only release, well, healthy release. She had written for as long as she could remember. Through highs and lows, happiness and gut-wrenching sadness, through comfort and pain and most of all, through life and death. It was always there. Even if she didn't write for months on end, it wouldn't desert her, wouldn't judge her. The pen and paper would welcome her back with open arms, ready to carry her precious words for all of eternity. She could write tantalising fantasy tales to escape her world or enticing romances to fill her with hope. She could write herself friends who would always help her and understand her,  she could write characters just like herself to keep her company when everyone else felt like a different species. But above all else, she wrote for a release. A place for all her hopes and fears and everything in between to be stored and acknowledged and brooded over. Nobody ever saw her writing, every journal would be put in a box and kept under lock and key as soon as it was full with her ramblings. As she picked up her pen, it felt like the entire world came crashing down onto her frail shoulders. Her chest constricted and her breathing quickened. Tears began to trickle down her cheeks as she curled up into a tiny ball. Her breathing quickened even more, she was full blown hyperventilating now. Tears poured down her face harder, as her vision blurred. Footsteps. Footsteps were coming towards her. Oh god no/ Not now. Anytime but now.

{800 words. I haven't slept in 48 hours. I'm going to go die now. I have no idea if any of that chapter made sense, but hey! Its an adventure- ThatIkeaShark}