lacuna

Chapter Eleven

Eli's pov

"She's a rich snob".

"Did you know that her parents make around two thousand dollars a month?"

"She's so snappy and such a bitch".

"She also sucks up after teachers, who does she think she is?"

"I bet she even pays for those kinds of grades"

"That bitch probably throws around her money for fun, I mean, imagine how much she gets as an allowance"

"I wouldn't be surprised if she has her own bank account"

Five years. These were what characterised Fallon Campbell at Oak Tree High for five whole years.

Rich, emo, bitch, whore, teacher's slut, loser, freak.

But nobody said quiet, gentle, naive, or oddly sensitive. Nobody mentioned how she always avoided the lunch period and how much she loved coffee. Nobody considered the hair tie she would always wear on her wrist or the way she would blush at the smallest of things. And as my eyes followed her while she walked down that hallway, her head lowered, scrolling through her phone while the baggy, long-sleeved sweater she wore reached past her hips, I thought of how unfair it was. But I didn't want to be her; the odd one out. It was risky. If you associate with the odd ones out, you become one.

"...and that bitch had the nerve to slap me- Horace? You listening?" JT's baritone voice dragged me back to the conversation we were having.

"Huh? Oh, right. I was thinking about Fal-" I stopped myself, my mind panicking to build something up, as JT raised a confused eyebrow, "Fallon. I was thinking about Fallon and how I'll have to just suck up and get lectured by her later today. You know, Fallon Campbell?".

"Ah" JT nodded, "That rich whore".

I swallowed, "Yeah".

"Dude, I feel sorry for you, man" the dark-skinned guy gave me a hard pat on my arm.

I shifted my eyes to where I last saw Fallon, and she was gone.

"Yeah, me too".

Fallon's pov

My eyes ached but the hammering in my head was louder. I had downed an extra pill along with the ones I usually take before sinking under my blankets last night. The probability that they might work a bit more strongly if I do have surfaced on multiple occasions in my mind but last night was the only time I gave in to the urge.

You're not diagnosed. You're faking it.

Despite the number of pill bottles in the cabinet above the sink which was mostly antidepressants which I'd taken from a borrowed prescription back in February, I was never 'diagnosed' or confirmed to be a mentally ill person.

And that meant you weren't.

Shut up.

I could feel my mind starting to get too loud and my surroundings were blurring. But I couldn't stop it.

Shut. Up.

I had a good life with both my parents, good grades and all the other luxurious things I needed.

Do you know how many people out there have it worse?

Do you know how many people suffer in worse ways?

You have no right to be depressed.

You have-

SHUT UP-