Chrysanthemum || An ATLA Fanfiction

Before the Storm

Willow kept running and running without looking where she was going, she didn't care; she just wanted to be as far away as she can be from him. The few tears that she had been desperately holding moments ago were now freely making their way down her face. Her previous anger had all vanished and now a sense of betrayal had taken its place. Willow didn't care that Damian didn't return her feelings. What hurt her the most was the way he treated her, the way he just brushed her off so he could talk to the girl he had feelings for when minutes, no moments before he was supposedly concerned about her. "How could he treat me like this? Even if I'm not Rachel I'm his best friend, right? I've always listened, I've always cared, I've always been there for him. This is so unfair", Willow thought bitterly. This is why she hated crushes and avoided them at all costs, she knew this would happen, but she was stupid enough to listen to her heart instead of her head.

Willow finally stopped running, realizing she is outside the girls' bathroom, so she quickly entered, not wanting anyone to witness her pitiful state. She made her way to the furthest sink from the door, contemplating whether to look at her reflection in the mirror in front of her -she knew she looked how she felt, like a goddamn mess- but in the end, she wanted to see how pathetic she looked right now. Willow slowly lifted her head and looked straight at herself. Her normally bright russet eyes were red along with her nose from the constant rubbing, and the dimples that usually appeared on her cheeks were now replaced with an endless stream of tears.

She regretted looking, so she quickly turned around and entered the stall behind her. Willow put her back against the cold bathroom wall and while sinking down to the floor she curled herself into a ball. Her legs against her chest and her head heavily resting on her knees. Uneven gulps of air entered her lungs while small sobs exited her quivering lips. Willow was desperately trying to stop her tears, she felt disgusted by herself. "Willow, you're fucking pathetic, crying in a stall of a bathroom at your school like you're in a Hollywood movie.", she angrily whispered her voice hoarse from all the crying.

She hated crying -no, she loathed it- because it showed weakness. From a young age, she was taught that crying meant you are weak; you are being unnecessarily emotional and stupid. So Willow, who as a small child cried at the smallest things, developed the notion that she was all those. Thus, she never cried in front of people, she could handle being pathetic by herself but never with others. She was ashamed of this side of her, she was supposed to be the strong one, the confident one, the reliable one and not this sobbing mess of a person.

With these thoughts swimming in her head she slowly but surely stopped. She knew she was overreacting. Instead of running away, she should've stayed there and most of all should've given Damian a piece of her mind. But she didn't. She was weak and pathetic. If anyone saw her, they would just laugh at the stupid little girl with a stupid little crush. So stupid, in fact, she thought she could finally accomplish something without messing up. And the primary reason she was a mess right now was all because of a boy. "Wow, if that isn't pathetic then I don't know what is. God damn it, I shouldn't be here. I should've said something. No, I should've done something- anything! A punch would feel amazing right now honestly!", she thought while looking at the terribly painted ceiling of the bathroom. A pregnant pause fell in the room, only water dripping from the faulty faucets could be heard.

"I wish this was all just a dream"

The silence was interrupted by the slow heavy thuds of what Willow presumed to be boots echoing in the bathroom. The sound was slowly but surely getting closer. Now said boots were standing just outside her stall. She could barely see them because of the bad lighting the school bathroom offered. They were very simplistic, made of black leather and tied with black laces. The pair of boots looked awfully familiar, but before she could continue that thought, a familiar pressure rested on her chest making it difficult to breathe. She started to sweat and a feeling of impending doom hit her.