Fixing A Broken Compass

Beanies and Normalcy: Part 2

"My own death does not frighten me. But yours? Oh that is my greatest, deepest, dear."

                                 Miles POV

The hallway is loud.

Too loud.

He hated how congested this school could be overpacked, overcrowded, too much.

The public school experience.

He rubbed at his chest. Shouldering past a group standing in the middle of the hall, muttering a low sorry.

He heard a few hi Miles as he passed but he barely managed a greeting in response.

He should have stayed home today.

His fingers twitched around the strap of his backpack, heart doing this uneven thing not fast exactly, but sharp.

Was he having a heart attack? Most days it felt like it...

He can feel the edges of a headache forming behind his right eye, and of course, he didn't remember to bring water.

Again.

How many Red Bulls had he had this morning? He was fine for another. Probably. Maybe? His chest was tight.

The walk to the library feels longer than it should.

Head low, shoulders down, he didn't want any human contact today.

He kinda wished he were a worm.

But worms were kinda gross and squiggly.

Walk.

Library.

Halfway through the day.

He knows the route left at the science wing, past the vending machines, through the glass doors that creak like they're protesting their own existence but his brain insists on dragging it out.

Step by step.

Thought by thought, twist.

Ms. Jane's gonna be on her phone the whole time again. Pretending to help. Pretending to care.

She probably doesn't even know his name.

Did she know his name? She had to right?

Just a few more hours. Then he can go home. Then he can breathe.

He couldn't really though could he?

He needed to go to the store.

Homework.

Dinner.

Baths.

Bedtime.

The twins had soccer practice. He twisted his rings as his lips twisted into a deeper frown.

He rounded the corner and saw the edge of the library doors ahead.

He was panicking.

Not panic exactly, but that low-simmering kind of dread that's been following him around all day.

It's not just the session.

Although a big part of it was, he hated needing an aide. Hated not being able to do it on his own. Hated that he was so stupid he couldn't figure it out and-

And it was worse because Ms. Jane was of no help at all. It just made him feel pathetic.

It's the feeling of being seen and yet ignored in the same breath, sitting there while someone flips through Instagram and occasionally asks if he's "getting it now?" like he isn't drowning in it.