The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (GirlXGirl)

Chapter 18: The Beginning of a Connection

The days that followed felt heavy, like I was dragging myself through the hours, my mind still thick with the haunting remnants of the past. My dreams were tangled with memories of my mother—some soft, others dark—and in the quiet moments between classes or in the solitude of my room, I felt that old, familiar weight settle in my chest. It was like wearing a lead vest that suffocated any chance of joy.

I was used to it by now, this feeling of being trapped beneath the surface. Most people couldn't see it, didn't notice how I avoided eye contact or slipped out of conversations before they could get too personal. It was easier to stay in the background, to let the world pass by while I remained unseen. Just like a shadow, but a hell of a lot more depressing.

But AnnMarie had started to notice.

It began in small ways—too subtle for me to fully grasp at first. We shared the same classes, moved in the same circles, but we were hardly close. Yet lately, AnnMarie's presence felt more persistent. Not in an intrusive way, but in the quiet moments, when I was alone or on the verge of retreating into myself, she would be there. Not saying much, not pressing, but just... there. Like a stray dog that refuses to leave your side.

One afternoon, after another draining day of navigating the maze of school halls, I slipped out into the courtyard again. The same small, overgrown corner of the school where I often went to find some semblance of peace. It was hidden enough that most students didn't bother coming out there, and I liked it that way. The brick walls, the creeping vines, the rough bench—it was a place where I could disappear for a while.

Today, though, I wasn't alone.

AnnMarie was already there, sitting on the edge of the weathered bench, her hands resting in her lap, her head tilted slightly as she gazed at the sky. The sight startled me for a moment—this was my place, my sanctuary. I paused just before entering the courtyard, my first instinct to turn around and leave before AnnMarie saw me.

But it was too late.

AnnMarie glanced over, her eyes catching mine just as I turned. She didn't smile, didn't wave, but there was something in the way she looked—steady, calm, like she was waiting for me to decide whether to stay or go. A goddamn statue waiting for a tourist to snap a photo.

I hesitated, my heart racing for reasons I didn't fully understand. I should leave. I didn't want company, didn't want someone else intruding on my space, my silence. But something in AnnMarie's gaze, in the stillness of the moment, made me pause.

Without a word, I walked over and sat down on the opposite end of the bench, leaving a safe distance between us. The silence stretched out, thick and uncomfortable at first, but then, gradually, it began to settle.

Neither of us spoke. AnnMarie didn't try to force a conversation, didn't push for anything. She simply remained there, quietly existing in the same space as me, her presence neither overwhelming nor distant. Just... there.

The minutes passed, the quiet interrupted only by the faint rustling of the wind through the leaves. I found myself relaxing despite my initial tension, my body slowly easing into the bench, my arms no longer wrapped tightly around myself. There was something about this shared silence that felt different, not suffocating like it usually did. It wasn't empty. It wasn't lonely. And that scared the living shit out of me.

I glanced sideways at AnnMarie, watching her out of the corner of my eye. She wasn't staring at me, wasn't even really acknowledging my presence beyond the fact that we were sitting together. She looked calm, as if she had all the time in the world, as if she had expected me to come, and now we were simply sharing this space, this moment.

My fingers tightened against the edge of the bench. I hated this feeling, the unfamiliarity of it, the way my walls seemed to waver just by being in proximity to someone else. I wasn't used to this—not to someone who didn't demand anything from me, didn't try to probe beneath the surface.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, AnnMarie spoke, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.

"You come here a lot, don't you?"

I blinked, my heart skipping a beat at the sudden break in silence. I opened my mouth to say something sharp, to push back with my usual defenses, but the words didn't come. Instead, I found myself nodding, a simple acknowledgment that felt far more intimate than I intended.

AnnMarie didn't press further. She just nodded too, her eyes drifting back to the sky. "It's a nice spot," she added after a beat. "Quiet. I like it."

I wanted to ask why she was there, why she had chosen *my* place to come and sit. But the question felt too direct, too personal, so I swallowed it down. Instead, I let the silence stretch again, and this time, it felt a little easier.

A few more minutes passed, and I found myself watching AnnMarie, studying the calmness in her expression, the way her shoulders were relaxed, like she wasn't afraid of the quiet like I always had been. It was strange to think that someone else could be so at peace with the thing that had always haunted me.

Without meaning to, I let out a small sigh. It wasn't loud, barely a sound at all, but AnnMarie must have heard it. She turned her head slightly, her hazel eyes flicking over to me. There was no judgment there, no expectation—just quiet understanding.

"You don't have to talk," AnnMarie said, her voice gentle, as if sensing the internal battle I was fighting. "But if you ever want to... I'm here."

The words hung in the air, weighty in their simplicity. My chest tightened, and I swallowed hard, the urge to retreat tugging at me.

"I don't need anyone," I mumbled, my voice barely audible, a half-hearted attempt at clinging to my defenses. It sounded weak, even to my own ears.

AnnMarie didn't react to my words the way others might have. She didn't argue, didn't try to convince me otherwise. She just gave a small nod, as if to say *I hear you,* and left it at that.

We sat in silence for a while longer, the wind picking up as the sun began to dip lower in the sky. I wasn't sure how long we stayed like that, two figures sharing a bench in a forgotten corner of the world. But for the first time in a long time, the silence wasn't unbearable.

As the evening light lengthened and the air grew cooler, I stood up, my movements slow, hesitant. AnnMarie glanced up but didn't say anything, just offered me a small, knowing smile.

"See you around," AnnMarie said quietly, her words a gentle invitation rather than an expectation.

I didn't respond, didn't look back as I walked away. But as I left the courtyard and made my way through the fading light, something had shifted inside me—something small, something fragile.

A tiny crack in my armor.