The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (GirlXGirl)

Chapter 16: Hiding in Plane Sight

The courtyard felt colder now, like the sun had taken all its warmth and left me with nothing but a frozen heart. I was still perched on that weathered bench, arms wrapped tight around my knees, feeling like a sullen statue in a crumbling park. Once, this had been my escape, a pocket of peace amid the chaos of school. Now? It felt like a goddamn cage. Those high brick walls and overgrown vines, which had once hidden me from the world, now seemed to close in, squeezing the breath from my lungs.

Every word from AnnMarie played in my head on a loop, each one a tiny dagger plunging deeper into my psyche. Her voice, soft as a feather, pierced through my fortress like a goddamn Trojan horse. It was unsettling, really, how easily she slipped past my defenses. What the hell was wrong with me?

I glared up at the darkening sky, the vibrant sunset giving way to deep purples and blues that looked like a bruised ego. The first stars blinked into existence overhead, but there was no comfort to be found in their twinkling. Instead, my chest felt like it was packed with lead, the weight of the day crashing down like a bad hangover. It was exhausting—every damn day was a marathon of keeping everyone at arm's length, pretending I was fine while my insides churned like a blender set to high.

"Ugh, just breathe," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh that barely scratched the surface of my tension. Everything felt heavier lately—the act of pretending I was okay was like lifting weights without ever hitting the gym. My cynicism was supposed to be my armor, but it was starting to feel more like a prison.

And today? Today was a new level of awful. The laughter and snickers from the hallway that usually bounced off me like rubber bullets felt like arrows this time—sharp and relentless. The whispers that followed me felt like nails, each jab reminding me of how easy it was for others to see through my mask. And then there was AnnMarie, with her stupidly understanding eyes. No matter how hard I pushed, she just stood there, steadfast, as if she could see the storm brewing beneath my surface.

"Great, just what I need—a live-in therapist," I scoffed at the thought. The sound echoed back at me in the empty courtyard, bitter and hollow. But the truth was, I'd seen that look in her eyes—the way they softened like she was a freaking character in a movie trying to reach out to the tortured soul. It felt like staring into a mirror that showed me more than just my snarky reflection; it showed the cracks in my facade, the loneliness I thought I'd buried so deep it wouldn't resurface.

My fingers clenched into fists, my nails biting into my palms. Maybe if I squeezed hard enough, I could keep everything in. I'd learned long ago that feelings were a dangerous game. They made you weak, made you human. Vulnerability was something I swore off like a bad habit. But the cracks in my armor were growing, and I could feel it. The effort it took to keep everything bottled up was becoming unbearable, and soon it would be a matter of survival.

The sound of laughter drifted toward me, faint but distinct. A group of kids passed by the courtyard entrance, voices light and carefree. I watched them, a tiny part of me wishing I could snag some of that bliss. How the hell did people connect so easily? How did they share laughs and secrets without looking over their shoulders like they were plotting something? Trust was currency, and I was broke.

As the group faded around the corner, their laughter echoing into oblivion, a strange ache settled in my chest. I could almost hear the desire for connection whispering through the layers of sarcasm and indifference I'd so carefully wrapped around myself. I shoved it down again, locking it away like a forgotten diary.

The courtyard was getting darker, the only light now a flickering streetlamp that looked like it had seen better days. I knew I should drag my ass back to the dorms and barricade myself in my room, but my legs felt like lead weights, dragging me deeper into my own pit of despair.

Leaning back against the bench, I stared up at the now-dark sky, a blanket of stars twinkling coldly like they were judging me. Each distant point of light felt alien and unreachable, much like how I felt in this godforsaken world. They were so damn isolated, and part of me envied them for it.

My mind flickered back to AnnMarie, to the way she had looked at me with that irritating mix of concern and patience. No judgment, no pity—just a weird kind of understanding that sent shivers down my spine. For a brief second, I'd thought about letting her in, about ripping down the walls I'd painstakingly built. But then fear crept back in like a bad habit—the kind of fear that told me if I let someone in, they'd take my heart, hold it over a pit of fire, and laugh as they watched it burn.

"Not again," I muttered to myself, shaking my head as if that would banish the thought. Trust was a one-way ticket to heartbreak, and I was done being a frequent flyer.

But as I sat there, marooned in the darkness, the weight of my isolation started to smother me. I'd always thought keeping people at bay was my best option, but now it felt like a ball and chain I couldn't shake off. The cost of solitude was starting to feel like a bill I couldn't afford.

I closed my eyes, pressing my palms to my temples as if that would block out the wave of feelings threatening to drown me. The exhaustion—emotional, physical, mental—was like a monster breathing down my neck. I was running out of places to hide.

With a deep, shaky breath, I finally peeled myself off the bench, limbs stiff from the cold. The night air bit at my skin as I trudged toward the courtyard exit, each step heavier than the last. I wasn't ready to let anyone in, not now. Maybe not ever.

But a nagging thought crept in—the realization that I couldn't keep hiding forever. Sooner or later, the cracks in my defenses would shatter completely, and when they did, I wasn't sure if I'd be able to hold myself together.