FAUX REAL

23

Bloody hell she's fast. What in the fuck did that twat say to her?

I've seen her cry. I've seen her on the verge of crumbling a couple of times. But this time it's different. She's not just crying. She's hurt. And I fucking hate that.

"Lisa!" I shout, running through the quad as I try to catch up with her. "Lisa, stop!"

"Go away!" she wails, latching onto the railing of the staircase as she heaves to catch her breath. "Go away!"

"No," I say, walking down the stairs towards her, the crescent moon hanging above our heads. "I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me."

"I don't want to talk," she whispers, sinking down on the dirty steps.

"Fine," I say, sitting down beside her. "Then we'll just sit until you're ready to talk."

She rests her forehead on her knees, quietly weeping as silence surrounds us. She has no reason to tell me, no reason to confide, and yet, I need to know.

"What happened?" I whisper after a few minutes, sidling closer to her and putting my arm around her shoulder. "What did he say to you?"'

She expels a trembling breath, craning her neck toward me, her eyes bloodshot, tired, fucking devastated. I clench my jaw. He sure did a number on her. I should go back and sock him in the face.

"He- he said I have no heart," she cries, her voice hoarse. "He said that I never prioritized him, that I never put him first, that I-" She closes her eyes, letting out a whimper. "I tried, I tried but he doesn't get it, he doesn't understand."

"What doesn't he understand?" I ask, tightening my grip around her body.

No heart? What a wanker. She's got more heart than anyone I know.

"It's so hard," she sniffles. "No one understands. I'm only one person. There are only so many hours in the day. How am I supposed to make everyone happy? How am I supposed to be at three places at once? How?"

"It's impossible," I say. "You can't make everyone happy, no one can." I pause, playing with a strand of her loose hair that's flowing down her back. "But sometimes, it's good to take a break, you can't be 'on' twenty-four seven."

"I can't take a break," she whispers, shaking her head. "I need to keep busy, I need to keep going, keep working, keep studying. I can't stop, I can't."

"Why?" I ask as she looks up at me, her make-up rolling down her face. "It's only school, it's not everything. There's so much more to life than textbooks and reports and essays."

"No, there isn't," she says.

"Of course there is, love," I say, caressing her shoulder. "There's a whole world outside of the classroom and you should be enjoying it while you can."

"I can't," she says, biting her quivering lip. "I have nothing to enjoy."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, my brows knitting together in confusion. "Nothing to enjoy?"

"I'm not like you, I don't have hobbies, I don't have anything that makes me happy," she cries, wiping under her eyes. "I'm only good at one thing and that's school. If I stop, if I take a break, if I give myself time to think about it-" Her face contorts in such deep pain that I feel it in my gut. "I'm scared I'll realize just how fucking miserable I am."