The morning sun streamed through my bedroom window, spilling its unforgiving light across the tangled sheets that lay crumpled on my bed. I stirred awake, the warmth of the sunlight almost too bright against the backdrop of my dark thoughts. For a fleeting moment, I hesitated, wishing to retreat back into the comforting depths of sleep where my worries could dissolve. But reality called, dragging me back to the surface like an anchor dragging through deep water.
With a heavy sigh, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the chill of the hardwood floor. The cold air wrapped around my ankles, jolting me fully awake. After a shower that offered little solace, I dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a faded band t-shirt, the fabric soft from countless washes but heavy with memories of better days. Staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror, I averted my gaze, unwilling to confront the person looking back at me—the one who felt lost, abandoned, and suffocated by my own silence.
At school, the bustling hallways were a cacophony of voices and laughter, but I felt like a specter drifting through the crowd, a ghost barely brushing the surface of reality. The air buzzed with the energy of youthful excitement, yet I walked through it as if encased in glass, each vibrant sound muted and distant. My heart thudded heavily in my chest as I navigated the maze of lockers and chattering students, my mind a storm of conflicting emotions—anxiety, frustration, and an overwhelming desire to disappear.
Settling into my usual seat at the back of the classroom, I pulled out my worn notebook, the pages filled with half-hearted doodles and scribbled thoughts. The familiar scent of chalk and paper enveloped me, grounding me in the present moment, yet my mind drifted. I scanned the room, catching glimpses of my classmates sharing jokes, trading stories, their faces alight with the ease of companionship. A pang of longing shot through me, but I quickly squashed it down. I didn't need friends. I didn't need anyone.
As the teacher droned on, my gaze wandered, eventually landing on a girl sitting two rows ahead. She had light brown hair that cascaded down her back in soft waves and hazel eyes that seemed to sparkle with curiosity. There was something in the way she looked around the room, her gaze thoughtful and observant, that caught my attention. She seemed to exist in her own world, unaffected by the noise that surrounded us. For a moment, I felt an inexplicable pull towards her—a flicker of recognition, perhaps, or a longing for the quiet strength she exuded.
But just as quickly, I dismissed the thought. Why would I waste my time on someone who likely wouldn't understand me? Vulnerability was a weakness, and I had no intention of showing any cracks in my carefully crafted facade. I was better off alone, detached from the noise and confusion of teenage life.
As the lesson dragged on, I couldn't shake the feeling of the girl's gaze lingering on me, a gentle tug that made my skin prickle. When our eyes met for a brief second, a spark of something flickered between us—an acknowledgment of shared solitude. But I quickly looked away, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Why did this girl care? What could she possibly see in me that was worth noticing?
When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the period, I stood abruptly, my chair scraping against the floor. I was eager to escape the classroom, the thoughts of the hazel-eyed girl swirling in my mind like a storm. As I pushed my way through the sea of students, I felt her gaze on me once more. This time, she looked hesitant, as if she wanted to say something—anything—but I wasn't interested in opening that door.
"Why are you staring at me?" I snapped, the words spilling from my lips before I could rein them in. The sharpness in my voice cut through the noise, and I could see her face blanch, her wide eyes filled with surprise and hurt.
"I—um," she stammered, her words faltering as she looked taken aback. The innocent question hung in the air, but I couldn't afford to let anyone see the vulnerability lurking beneath my hardened exterior.
YOU ARE READING
The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (GirlXGirl)
Teen Fiction--- In the dead of night, Dylan stands on the edge of a bridge, her mind heavy with the pain she's carried for years. The world around her feels as distant and cold as the dark waters below-a mirror to the weight of her broken family and lingering s...
