The school day dragged on like a snail in molasses, each minute stretching longer than the last, as if the universe was enjoying my suffering. I slouched in my usual spot at the back of the classroom, pretending to pay attention while my mind was busy plotting its escape. AnnMarie sat just a few rows ahead, her light brown hair catching the sunlight like a goddamn spotlight, turning her into some sort of ethereal being. Every so often, I caught her glancing back at me, a flicker of something in those hazel eyes that sent an unexpected jolt through my carefully constructed walls.
As the lunch bell rang, I lingered at my desk, watching the other students file out of the room like cattle on their way to the slaughterhouse. The noise in the hallway surged like a tidal wave—laughter, chatter, the kind of crap that made me want to slam my head into a locker. Instead of joining the mindless herd, I slipped into the bathroom, my usual refuge from the world. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering slightly as if they were as over it as I was. I splashed cold water on my face, the shock momentarily waking me up from the stupor that had settled in.
After a few moments of pretending to wash away my existential dread, I returned to the hallway, trying to blend into the walls like a ghost haunting the place. As I passed the cafeteria, I spotted AnnMarie sitting alone at a table, her gaze glued to her phone. I hesitated, a strange mix of curiosity and reluctance bubbling within me. She had this aura that intrigued me, yet every fiber of my being screamed to keep my distance.
Just as I was about to turn away and save myself the hassle, AnnMarie looked up, our eyes locking for a brief moment. I felt a flutter in my chest, a sensation I quickly dismissed with a roll of my eyes, as if that'd do the trick. With a huff, I turned on my heel and headed toward the exit, my defenses ready to shield me from any probing conversations.
That afternoon, I tried to focus in class, but my mind kept drifting back to AnnMarie. Why did she have to look at me like that? Like I was some freaky puzzle just begging to be solved? I was so intent on my thoughts that I barely noticed when the bell rang, signaling the end of the day.
As I stepped outside, the cool air hit me like a slap in the face, invigorating yet grounding. I took a deep breath, the scent of damp earth and grass filling my lungs. Instead of heading home directly, I wandered aimlessly, my feet carrying me to the edge of town. The late afternoon sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the pavement, like my life—full of looming darkness.
My thoughts spiraled, oscillating between irritation and intrigue regarding AnnMarie. The girl seemed harmless enough, but vulnerability was a risk I couldn't afford. Whenever our paths crossed, I noticed how she seemed to observe me, like I was some freak show at a carnival. "Why can't she just leave me alone?" I muttered under my breath, frustration bubbling up.
But deep down, I knew it wasn't just AnnMarie's persistence that bothered me; it was the unsettling feeling of being seen.
That night, after another painfully long day at school, I retreated to my room, my personal fortress of solitude. The space was small and cluttered, a reflection of my chaotic mind. Posters of bands I used to love adorned the walls, while clothes lay strewn across the floor—my own personal landfill. I flopped onto my bed, staring at the ceiling like it was about to provide some cosmic wisdom, the silence enveloping me, punctuated only by the distant sound of my father's footsteps as he navigated the minefield of our home.
As I lay there, I replayed the earlier encounter with AnnMarie in my mind. "Why are you always hiding?" Her voice had sliced through my thoughts, an unexpected intrusion that left me reeling. My defenses had kicked in, sharp and immediate, as I snapped back, "Not hiding. Just enjoying some peace and quiet away from the noise."
AnnMarie had smiled, a teasing yet gentle expression that felt like a double-edged sword."Looks more like you're avoiding something." The way she studied me made my skin prickle, a sensation that mingled with irritation.
"And you're an expert on avoidance, are you?" I had retorted, my words flowing effortlessly, like the crap I spewed whenever I wanted to deflect. Yet even as I spoke, I sensed the flicker of truth in AnnMarie's words, a piercing insight that made my stomach churn. "Well, maybe I just enjoy being alone," I had defended, though it felt like a weak protest, like trying to convince myself I didn't need food while staring at a buffet.
"Sure," she had replied, stepping closer, those hazel eyes searching for something I was reluctant to reveal. "But do you really?"
I had opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat. For a fleeting moment, I had felt exposed under AnnMarie's gaze, like a deer in headlights—vulnerable and frozen.
"I don't need anyone," I had finally managed, though it sounded more like a plea than a declaration, like I was trying to convince myself rather than her.
"You don't have to carry that weight alone, you know." With that, AnnMarie had turned and walked away, leaving me standing there, the weight of my own thoughts crashing down around me like a ton of bricks.
Now, lying on my bed, the silence felt heavier than before. The thoughts spiraling in my head became a torrent of doubt and uncertainty. The solitude around me was comforting yet suffocating, reminding me of the emotional isolation I had cultivated over the years. I stared at the ceiling, feeling the familiar pang of loneliness gnawing at my insides, like a rat in a cage trying to escape.
I closed my eyes, trying to will away the emotions threatening to surface. The anger, the sadness, the longing for connection—all of it felt like a storm brewing within me, a tempest I struggled to contain. In that moment, I was caught in the familiar tug-of-war between the desire for isolation and the aching need for companionship, like a sick joke life was playing on me.
"Get it together, Dylan," I whispered to myself, the words echoing in the silence, a mantra against the chaos. I was determined to hold on to my defenses, to maintain the cold mask I had perfected over the years. But with every fleeting thought of AnnMarie, the cracks in my facade felt more pronounced, and the question lingered in my mind: Was I really okay being alone, or was I simply afraid to let anyone in?
The night stretched on, and I lay awake, wrestling with my thoughts, the flicker of connection I felt with AnnMarie haunting me like a ghost, a reminder of the life I could have if only I dared to reach out. But for now, I buried those thoughts deep, shielding myself with laughter and quick remarks, determined to protect my scarred soul from the vulnerability that awaited just beyond the surface.
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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...
