As It Was (COMPLETED) (wattys2023)

Cold

The slow ticking of the clock could learn a thing or two from my racing heart. I'd been staring at the bold-faced circle for over an hour, holding my breath every few seconds, my legs bouncing with anxiety. Every click of a lead pencil, thud of a textbook closing, tapping of a foot, had me spiraling. I tried to reassure myself as Dr. Bellecourt had suggested, using breathing techniques and mentally checking off a list of reasons why I was safe, but it didn't do much. I could still feel the tingling starting in my fingertips and found it difficult at various times throughout the day to catch my breath: the makings of a panic attack. I'd had my fair share of them the last two months, and they'd ended as brutally as the one I had waking up in the hospital the day after the massacre. I'd been here a week, and hadn't done much to drawn attention to myself, and planned on keeping it that way. A panic attack would ensure the very opposite.

The shrill screech of the last bell should have relaxed me, but I couldn't bring myself to gather my things and head for the door the rest of the class was pouring out of. My mind told me to stand, to get out of this prison before it could trap me, but my legs wouldn't budge. The same legs that always hung out from underneath my desk, ready to take off toward the door or throw myself out a window at any second. The Art teacher, Mr. Andrews, glanced toward me in the back of the classroom as soon as his door shut behind the last student, thin blonde eyebrows drawing in confusion as to why I hadn't budged.

I had liked Mr. Andrews the second Garrett had dropped me off at this classroom Monday. Not just because of his abstract art and easygoing, carefree attitude, but because he had made it a point to not draw attention to me. Garrett had introduced me before the bell, and instead of making me stand before the entire class, he made sure that I was at the back of the classroom so eyes wouldn't find me as easily. He was wearing a loose grey shirt speckled with black paint and a pair of jeans, nothing like the strict, boring dress code his coworkers had been sporting since I walked through the front door. His hair was as long as mine, though a few shades lighter, the color of straw. With his light beard and attire, it was hard to tell if he was trying to go for a hipster nomad or a Jesus kind of look.

"Everly." he says now, drawing my attention to him. He had crossed the room and seated himself on the table in front of me. Like his clothes, his black work shoes were splattered with a variety of different colored paints, planted on the blue surface of the hard plastic as if it were tile.

He was the only teacher that had referred to me by my first name and it had felt nice. To not be a Rodgers for once, but Everly. To be my own person. "I'm glad you stayed behind actually. I wanted to talk to you about the drawing you turned in Tuesday."

The project had been to draw how we felt at that very moment in time. I'd been terrified at first, not knowing how to express the hurricane of emotions that were at war with one another inside me. He'd been so encouraging that I'd finally just let my hands move across the paper, even if my mind couldn't quite process what I was doing until I had finished it.

"The small candle in the darkness was brilliant." he praised, making gestures with his longer, slender fingers. "The metaphor, the artistry, was incredible. I'm not supposed to say this, but you're definitely one of the most promising students I've had in years, and I can't wait to see more of your work."

Averting my eyes, I looked down at the brown laminate under my elbows, not sure if a nod would be appropriate in this situation but didn't want to try and risk speaking and having the teacher loose his chill factor and start worrying. I hadn't spoken since Monday morning, and though Garrett had insisted we hung outside on the brick wall at lunch every day, he was comfortable with my silence and had managed to fill it with all his endless rants about how shitty the cafeteria food was for a school our parents paid so much for.