Philophobia (Anger is Bliss)

chapter 2

I'm staring at my ceiling. I'm thinking.

I'm so bored.

School was bad. And it was only the first day. I have multiple months to survive, I'm exhausted just thinking about it.

I zone out.

How is this year going to turn out? Last year was not great. It was either boring or straight-up bad. But at least, no one paid attention to me today. So what is awaiting me?

What if it all starts again? Is something going to change my life at least a little? Am I going to think about right now and be able to say that things got better? Will my life be the tiniest bit more entertaining??

At this point, something horrible could happen and I would still be thankful. I hate wasting my time, and I hate it when things are too stable and too weirdly immobile.

Don't make it too horrible though. Please. I'm begging.

I sit up a bit too fast and feel dizzy. Fun fact, I almost died because of an iron deficiency in middle school. Feeling dizzy like this was one of the effects of said deficiency. I always felt like I was falling when I stood up.

I still sometimes feel like I am falling. Into a tunnel. Falling toward the light. And the light is getting away from me. That is what my life feels like.

Falling into a black hole.

This obsession is getting annoying.

I groan. I'll just end up disappointed if I keep thinking. It never happened before, there's no reason for it to happen now. I should sleep it off. And I'm trying to. But.

I'm tired yet I can't fall asleep. I'm listening to music again. But it's okay. This time, I'll be very careful and charge my phone. I don't want it to die on me again today.

My headphones, too, I need some music to start well with my day tomorrow.

I take them off and place them on my desk. I go back to bed and try to fall asleep again. I hear the loud silence filling the room, surrounding me. I open my eyes and check if anyone's there. Just like a paranoid kid afraid of the dark—which I surprisingly (or not) am—I turn around after checking quickly and close my eyes again in relief.

The irony.

My eyes open to an immense corridor. Leading to other long, endless corridors. There are doors everywhere. Too many doors to even bother trying to focus on a single one. I hear a noise that startles me behind me. It gets louder and nearer. So I run.

I open as many doors as I can, I don't even bother reading what's written on them. I just run and try to get rid of that horrible sound coming after me.

I open a door with the number eleven written on it. It's my favorite number. I frown and I close it behind me, and when I turn around, I bump into someone. He takes me in his arms. Then he looks at me, holding my hand.

Those eyes. I know those eyes.

"You."

"Me?"

Does he recognize me? I have no idea who he is. Have I seen him before?

"Have we..."

"I've seen you before," he tells me.

I look at him more. Then, around me. The sound stopped.

"Are we out of the building?"

He looks around as well. Then back at me. Such pretty eyes.

"Was it you?"

I frown, "what?"

"Was it you I had to find?"

My face relaxes and I realize. So we had to find each other to be able to get out. Has he been here for long? I look into his eyes more. Our hands still together.

He pulls me closer to him and our faces are close. One of his hands is on my back, wrapped around me, the other is on my cheek. And when our foreheads reunite, the world collapses.

Did the world really just choose to destroy itself rather than watch me find peace?

There's red fire, the ground is shaking under my feet, I'm suffocating, looking everywhere for him, screaming for him to come back and find me.

But no.

I wake up in a cold sweat.

What was the dream about again? Ugh. I hate it when this happens.

It's 6:11. I get up, brush my teeth, get dressed, fix my hair, spread some perfume and I'm done.

I woke up to the number eleven again. I've always sort of seen it, but lately, I see it everywhere.

I take a book about numerology a weird lady gave to me once. I search for her note again.

Connection to a higher source of wisdom. Intuitive to the point of being psychic, channeling its knowledge and meaning from a spiritual source.

She had told me eleven and two were kindred, I think. Something about a connection. Probably because if you add the ones from eleven, you get two. I don't know.

I go to the number's page. I read a word here and there.

Luck. Coincidence. New beginnings.

That lady was creepy anyway.

I place the book back to wherever it was and walk to my desk.

Today feels weird. I have a feeling it will be different. What can it be?

"Oh, right," I say out loud, putting my stuff in my bag and having a conversation with myself I hope my sister won't hear.

We usually go out to eat on the first day of school, every year. But we didn't go yesterday because of how exhausted we were.

My mother said we would go tonight instead. It's sort of a tradition in our household. Since my sister and I hate school, we asked to go to the restaurant to—kind of—eat the anxiety of the day away and talk about our first day, so we just kept doing that ever since every single year.

Mine has been very boring. Nothing happened. I ended up in a class without anyone I knew or liked, which I was already aware of because we could check the class we were in the night before.

And it's not like I have any friends anyway.

Everything is knowledgeable, everything is predictable, nothing leaves any room for change in my life.

Oh. There was one thing.

This girl, whatever her name is, doesn't like me at all. But I'm used to that so I didn't think about it more than that. It seemed she didn't like anyone...except guys. So I'm pretty sure it doesn't have much to do with me.

Realizing I got lost in my thoughts, I look at my phone and it's 6:59. I run to the door with my bag in one hand, my keys in the other, my bus card and my phone in my pocket.

I feel like I'm forgetting something.

Headphones.

"Fuck." I run to my bedroom and get them quickly, then run back to the door and get out of my house as fast as I can.

I hurry to my bus stop, hoping the bus didn't leave me there, hoping I didn't miss it. I look at my phone, 7:04.

7:04. Doesn't that equal to eleven? Am I looking into it too much?

Doesn't matter. I'm one minute early. The bus is usually late of a few minutes.

If it isn't late today, I'll have to take the bus after that which is full of people, and wait thirty minutes in the pouring rain for it to arrive. Wait, no umbrella again? I close my eyes. I ignore the voice in my head and the stress and everything else. But I feel like nothing else is important because of it, which makes it hard to forget.

If I pretend not to think about it, I'll eventually stop thinking about it, right?

Wait. I feel observed. Again.

You know what? Let's just ignore that, too.