❝Goddammit! I hate you! I hate you and your dumb voice! and your stupid muscles and your awfully attractive face!❞
❝You think I'm attractive?❞
❝Fuck no!❞
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Dangerous, wild and rebellious.
Calm, cool and collected.
Darya just wan...
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I am a different person to different people.
Annoying to one. Smart to another. Quiet to few. Irresponsible to a lot. But the thing is, what am I to myself?
The girl who once had mental peace, now only has stress and tension.
"Shit!" I stare blankly at my reflection in the mirror, my focus on the dark circles under my eyes. They seem to be getting worse, and it's surprising how my parents haven't even noticed or even mentioned them.
Snatching the concealer on my dressing table, I dab some under my eyes, covering the dark circles completely. After I was done with my makeup, I try to smile to my reflection. My smile looked strained and if anyone looked closer, they'd notice how tired I am.
Fuck it.
Standing up, I turn around to look at myself at the mirror on the closet, showing my outfit completely. Since my uniform wasn't ready, I had the opportunity to wear any cloth I want. The jeans I opted for was firm around my waist after much difficulty to make it fit. The end of my crop top stayed just inches above my jeans, showing a small amount of skin. Turning around to look at my ass, I give it a small smack, watching how it bounced back.
Nice.
I look good. I know that. I just want someone to see me for me. Not all pretty faces or beautiful girls are actually happy. I haven't met one who wasn't fucked in the head, especially me.
Pushing away all the negative thoughts in the dark corner of my mind, I grab my bag off the floor, heading downstairs.
"Mom I'm off to school." I announce, picking up an apple from the basket.
"Darya," my mom calls, poking her head out from the kitchen. "Take the car."
"Okay mom." I yell, looking around the living room for my brother. He was sitting on the couch with his tablet, eye trained on the device. "Bye buddy."
He just lifts his hand, waving me off and I just smile.
That's progress. I like to think of it like that.
Since my seven-year old brother has been born, he has been diagnosed with selective mutism. Even when we were told he'd speak with family members, it's a miracle if we can get him to say twenty words a day. The disorder makes it impossible for him to be around a lot of people and strangers, resulting to him being homeschooled and I feel bad for him.
Driving to school in order to make it to first period, someone drives so fast beside me, I had to double take so I was sure I wasn't seeing things.
What the—
Thinking nothing of it, I turn the engine of the car off when I finally got a spot in the school’s parking lot. Stepping out of the car, I was graced with the image of the finest looking bike I've ever seen.
