Colors (bxb) [DISCONTINUED]

more than a crush

"Color my life with the chaos of trouble."

🔵🔴⚫️⚪️🔘

It doesn't take very long before the bell disrupts Ms. Duval's lecture -- and my sleep.

I jump awake, my eyes blurry and my arm covered in slobber. Wiping the spit onto my pants leg, I look around a bit dazedly at the students all getting up to go to their next class, the colors floating around in a rather mystifying way. The blues swirl with the greens, while the reds twirl around and envelop the oranges. It's pretty. And totally not giving me a headache, as it usually does.

Maybe today won't be as painful as I imagined?

From the corner of my eye, I see Tamara packing her papers into her backpack, that permanent smile still etched into her cocoa-brown features. She catches me looking as she zips the bag up and slings it around her shoulder, and the smile seems to get impossibly bigger.

"You missed a good lesson today," she remarks, reaching out to touch my cheek.

I swat her hand away, frowning. "You were listening to music."

"Yeah, for the first thirty minutes. I just needed a little time to myself," she responds, still smiling. It kinda pisses me off; it's like she knows something that I don't, and it's irritating. "I would have woken you up, but you just looked so cute and peaceful. I didn't want to disturb you. Your eyebrows are always furrowed, Krissy-poo, so I thought it'd be nice to let you rest easy for a bit. Aren't I such a great person?"

Your eyebrows are always furrowed. I let that sink in for a little, the words practically vibrating in my head. I always thought that I did a good job in keeping my inner emotions to myself. Do I usually look as horrible as I feel? Is Tamara the only person that notices my emotional turmoil?

Maybe it's the fact that I'm in the closet. No matter what, I'm always self-consciously taking note of whatever I do, desperately trying to make sure that I don't appear too . . . bent. It's hard being happy when, in the back of your mind, you know that it'll all go away with just one simple reveal. The closet is dark, terrifying, alone -- and I'm not happy.

I'm not happy.

"You're the best, Tamara," I mumble, quickly getting out of my seat. Not happy.

Trying to fight back against the depression that clouds my mind, I grab my backpack and mutter a goodbye, before rushing to the door. Before I can walk out, however, someone grabs my arm and gently pulls me back -- back to reality. I turn around, confused, and lock eyes with . . . Ava. She stares at me in even more confusion, and a little bit of hurt added to the mix.

"A-Are you okay?" she asks me, letting go of my arm. "You were just about to leave without saying anything, and we always walk to class together. You even almost forgot to get your phone."

My phone. Eyes widening, I struggle to reply . . . but eventually just give up, shaking my head. I don't have anything to say that'll excuse my behavior. I just want to be alone right now. For some reason, my mood has plummeted to record-low levels, and I can barely manage to blink without releasing the tears that threaten to pour out of my eyes.

I'm not happy. I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm so, so very alone.

I slide past Ava and walk over to Ms. Duval, who's typing something on her laptop at her desk. She sees me coming, and I can clearly see the way her lips twitch into a slight frown at the sight of me. I try not to be offended, though it's hard.

"What do you need, Mr. Simmons?" she asks, closing her laptop and crossing her arms.

I point at the crappy phone on her desk -- my crappy phone. "Can I get it back?"