Listen To Me

chapter 1 ⋆ listen to me

     "Hey- Noel!"

     A scrap of paper tossed at me. It bounces off my blazer and falls to the ground, curling pathetically. Honestly, I'd like to join it. I hate sitting here defencelessly, with my hands folded in my lap. The picture of a good girl.

     Snickers of laughter around me. I close my eyes and curl my hands into fists, trying to dissipate the irritation. But it rises nevertheless. I turn around and send the girl who threw the paper my most withering glare. She stops laughing behind her hand. I face the front again. I feel the blackness still festering inside, unsatisfied. I'm too used to this to feel hurt.

     It's not bullying, really. They only give me their attention when they're too bored to spend their mundane time doing anything else. Most of the time I'm just ignored, and I prefer it that way. I can at least sit on my own, pretending I don't exist. Like everyone else does.

     I feel a twinge of hurt, though, thinking about how I initially started in this place. People flocked to me because of how I looked. Maybe it's vain to call myself pretty, but I don't think that was the main factor. I conjured an aura around me, to attract people. 

     Confidence is a veil, at the end of the day. I feel like a spider in my web, drawing my prey in with promises of sweetness. I used to be the girl loved by everyone; admired for my ability to always stand out. Now I'm the girl that's universally hated, but also too boring to be noticed. It's a paradox in meaning.

     I made a mistake exactly one year ago, that sent me catapulting into the depths of social pariahcracy. I'm fine with being forgotten, because I don't want any part of this social hierarchy. Even if I'm at the bottom, crushed under the feet of thousands of people higher up than me.

     Because too late, I realised that there was too much sourness in this school. Too much poison. I couldn't deal with it, so I dropped everything I had. Lost it all, though perhaps not voluntarily then. Losing something implies that you wanted to keep it. Hold onto it. Some days I think I know whether I lost it or left it, and some I don't.

     And now here I am. Caged in this school. Locked in like an animal, but not physically. Really, I could leave any time I liked. But mentally? I know that I'm never going to leave. I'll always be forced to take a piece of my trials with me. Whether it helps or fails me, I don't know yet. The least I can hope for is that I developed some resilience because of it.

     I idly trace a line down my page, curling and coaxing the ink to wherever I please. I don't choose a uniform pattern, like we're forced to in geometry. Just an unfettered, uncalculated mess of nothing. I feel a savage pleasure at my freedom, being able to break at least one little rule.

     Suddenly, a hand comes into view right under my nose, and I gasp. It's our English teacher, whose name I still don't know, and she looks livid.

     "If you're not going to pay me an ounce of your attention today, Miss Jean, then I'm going to ask you to leave." she says. I feel humiliated because I've been caught. People are outright laughing now. They have no loyalties to me, why would they feel sorry? In fact, they revel in my downfall. Always did.

     I stuff my work in my bookbag and walk out. I turn my head up defiantly as people watch me leave, snickering. I don't look at anyone. I wish I could say something, anything to shut them up. To show who I really am, what my worth truly is.

     But that would be an unnecessary cause for consequence.

     Confidence. My last veil, until they finally see my face.

⋆

     I don't know what to believe. About getting out of here. I had tried; by god, I tried. But it's too late. No other school will accept me this far into my education. Me, on the stepping stone, the precipice of university.