The Girl Who Was Supposed to Die (GirlXGirl)

Chapter 22: The Sarcastic Bond

I woke up the next morning to the relentless buzz of my alarm, groaning as I rolled over and mercilessly silenced it. Sunlight streamed through the curtains, spilling into my room like a bad cliché, illuminating the chaos I'd come to call home. With a reluctant sigh, I forced myself out of bed, feeling like a zombie dragged out of a grave. My morning routine felt as monotonous as a death march. After yanking on a pair of frayed jeans and a faded band T-shirt that had seen better days—like, the day it was made—I trudged to the bathroom.

Staring into the mirror, I wrestled with my messy hair like it was a rabid raccoon. The reflection staring back was all too familiar—a slightly disheveled creature with dark circles under her eyes, a scowl permanently etched on my face. Who the hell was that girl? She looked like someone who should be living in a horror movie.

"Ready to face the world, or just your usual slice of hell?" I muttered to my reflection, trying to muster a hint of optimism. Yeah, right.

Breakfast was a hasty affair—if you could even call it that. I shoved a piece of toast in my mouth, jam hastily smeared over one corner, and sipped the cold, bitter coffee I'd forgotten to finish the night before. The clock ticked ominously, and anxiety twisted in my gut like a knife. Grabbing my backpack, I headed out the door, taking a deep breath to shake off the weight of whatever hell awaited me at school.

The walk to school was uneventful. The sidewalks were dotted with students glued to their phones, probably scrolling through TikTok like it was a lifeline. As I walked, my thoughts drifted, contemplating the day ahead and trying to muster some semblance of enthusiasm. I pushed through the front doors, the sound of chatter and laughter echoing around me like some twisted party I wasn't invited to—a reminder of the normalcy that always felt just out of reach.

As I twisted the combination lock of my locker, the routine provided a momentary distraction—a sense of familiarity in the otherwise overwhelming atmosphere of the school. I could hear the distant sounds of laughter blending into a background hum, comforting yet alien. But as soon as I swung the locker door open, a familiar voice cut through the chaos like a knife.

"Good morning, sunshine!" AnnMarie exclaimed, leaning casually against the adjacent locker with a grin that could light up a damn cave.

I shot her a sideways glance, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. "Well, well, if it isn't the self-appointed cheerleader. I was just thinking my morning could use more relentless optimism."

"Hey, someone has to bring a little brightness to your dark, brooding aura," she shot back, unfazed by my sharp remarks.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help the corners of my lips twitching into a reluctant smile. "And what do you think that entails? Overly enthusiastic pep talks? Because I'm not sure I can handle that level of positivity before first period."

"Only if you need one," she replied, crossing her arms with a mock-serious expression. "But I can tone it down if you'd prefer. I wouldn't want to induce a coma or something."

"Please do. I'd like to keep my breakfast down," I quipped, slamming my locker shut with more force than necessary.

The humor was my shield, the armor I had honed to perfection over the years. But it felt different with AnnMarie—almost comfortable. Instead of retreating from my jabs, she engaged with them, throwing back playful banter without taking offense.

"So, about last night," AnnMarie began, her tone shifting to something more genuine, a hint of seriousness threading through her playful demeanor. "I know we left things a bit open-ended. You said some things that hit a little hard."

"Did I? I thought I was just having a meltdown," I replied, my voice slightly defensive as I leaned against my locker, arms crossed tightly over my chest. "You know, the whole 'snarky outsider' routine. It's my brand, and I'm not looking to change it."

"Yeah, but it sounded like it came from somewhere deeper," she countered, her green eyes steady and focused, like she was trying to read my twisted mind. "Like you're carrying a lot more than just random irritations."

I shifted uncomfortably, my defenses rising at the weight of her observation. "Maybe I was just in a mood," I deflected, but there was a pull to clarify. "You know how it is—some days feel heavier than others. Like I'm trudging through quicksand."

"True," she said, nodding thoughtfully. "But you don't have to pretend around me. If something's bothering you, I'm not going to shove advice down your throat. Just listening is enough."

I regarded her, the sincerity in her voice disarming. "I appreciate that, Marie. But it's complicated. I've got a lot of baggage, and I'm not sure I want to unload it on you. You know, you're cute and all, but I'm not sure I want to be the freak show at the carnival."

"Who doesn't?" she replied with a casual shrug, her demeanor relaxed. "It's what makes us interesting. Besides, everyone has their own mess; we just carry it differently. Like, I might have a dumpster fire, and you've got a whole hellscape. We're practically soulmates."

I quirked an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "Interesting? You mean like a weird puzzle that no one wants to solve?"

"Exactly! Who doesn't love a good challenge?" AnnMarie shot back, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Besides, it's the puzzle pieces that don't fit that make things more fun. Just think of it as a team effort, like going on a twisted scavenger hunt through our psyches."

I let out a low laugh, surprised at how easily AnnMarie had shifted the mood. "You're impossible," I said, shaking my head. Yet I felt a flicker of warmth at our banter, a small spark of connection amidst the ordinary routine of school.

"Yeah, but you keep talking to me. So, who's really the one losing here?" she teased, her expression playful and light.

"Touché," I admitted, a smirk tugging at my lips. "But you know, just because I tolerate you doesn't mean I'm going to start calling you 'Bestie' or anything. You're not getting a membership card to my tragic life."

"Just 'Marie' works for me," she replied, her grin widening. "You can keep your dry humor; I think it suits you."

"Marie, huh?" I mused, rolling the name around in my mind. It felt less formal, more personal, and I found myself testing it. "Okay, but don't get too used to it. It's just a change of pace. I have to keep you on your toes, you know?"

"Understood," she replied, her expression light and teasing. "I'll take what I can get. And if you ever need to vent, I'm here. I have a PhD in listening to other people's trainwrecks."

As we chatted, I felt the defenses I had built up slowly beginning to chip away, our conversation flowing with an easy rhythm. Each playful jab and shared laugh deepened the bond between us, and for the first time, I could feel the urge to share creeping in—a desire to let her see the raw, messy parts of me. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"Okay, okay, don't look so surprised," I said, rolling my eyes to mask my vulnerability. "I might, just might, let you in on a couple of secrets. But don't go spreading them like a tabloid, got it? I can't have everyone knowing I'm not the ice queen I pretend to be."

"Your secrets are safe with me, I promise," she said, her grin widening. "I'll even throw in a cupcake as a bribe if it helps."

I let out a laugh, surprised at how easily I could be coaxed. "You're lucky I have a soft spot for cupcakes. Fine, but only if they're chocolate. Otherwise, you're getting an earful about my existential dread, and nobody wants that."

"Deal! I'll bring the cupcakes," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

As the bell rang, signaling the start of first class, AnnMarie waved goodbye, a bright smile lingering on her face. I stood there for a moment, staring after her, the mingled feelings of anxiety and anticipation swirling in my chest like a tornado.

With a shake of my head, I turned and headed to class, the usual dread feeling slightly lighter. For the first time in a long while, there was a hint of curiosity about what the day might bring. Maybe a meteor shower or a zombie apocalypse.

As I settled into my seat, I found myself glancing toward the door, half-expecting to see AnnMarie pop in with that infectious grin. Instead, I focused on the teacher droning on about some historical event that I couldn't care less about. Yet, in the back of my mind, I was reminded of our conversation—the unexpected warmth that had bloomed between us—and it left me with a strange sense of hope.

Maybe this year wouldn't be so terrible after all.