WHEN BEAUTY NO LONGER EXISTS

5

a/n: you guys have remained mostly respectful through the duration of this book, and i would love for it to remain that way. these words are very important and personal to me, so, like, i don't want to hear about any references you think im making or any jokes of any kind, or i will not hesistate to freak out. im not one to get upset over comments, but this is me, in this goddamn story. okay? tyler and i hang in the same boat.

thank you for your consideration.

***

Despite being aware of the fact that I should've felt safe, every inch of my space seemed to be drenched with undeniable panic.

Paranoia and guilt were known as the maximum security prisons, and I was laying comfortably in the firm company of the first one. There was obvious apprehension in my chest, to go along with it, and it was hovering like a rain cloud, and then you had Dakota, walking on his tip-toes around me, like I would shatter like fine china if he did anything different. He was a breathing reminder that I looked like cracked glass to anyone that glanced, and there was nothing that felt worse, than knowing you looked as pathetic as you felt. You could clearly see his reluctance to reach out and pat my back, or ruffle my hair, or speak, like he wasn't fond of the idea of doing simple things around me. As if his breathing too loud was going to set something else off. He was terrified of the possibility of him further terrifying me.

What I wanted to say, was that it wouldn't matter if he walked around the same way. It wouldn't matter if he was boisterous and expressive and walked around with no clothes on, because I was going to panic anyway. The choice on whether or not to freak out, was just not there.

I looked around, through the window, at the world I hadn't stepped in to since it happened, and thought about how everything would set me off. If I could barely handle being inside the apartment (that once felt like a home to me a handful of hours back) but was now a goddamn box that shrunk with every breath I took), how would I ever be able to go back out again?

After the breakfast I didn't touch all that much, I went and sat dormant by the window, so that I could at least allow myself small peeks at something I may never venture towards again. The cars moved and honked and people walked, talking on their phones and bumping each other, arms accidentally pushing against backs and skimming more intimate places, and my heart tightened, like someone balled in into a fist, in my chest. The light streaming through the glass did nothing to warm me, and just allowed the dust particles floating around to become more visible to the eyes that belonged to me that I almost didn't feel like using, making a world that prides itself on making small things invisible, more known to me. Small things like myself, at that moment, overlooking a universe that didn't want anything to do with me, either. It felt like everything was really working to force me completely out of the equation, and, really, I didn't mind.

Life was supposed to be something delicate and gentle and balanced, and maybe the way to get fired from it, was to tip that balance over. Which I liked to think I'd done.

"You want a book, or something? Or the TV on?"

Shakily, I turned my head to look at my best friend, who held a small white mug in his hand and was motioning to the remote sitting on the coffee table, staring me straight in the face. Everything was looking at me, and I took a heavy breath with my teeth clenched in my mouth, an ache bouncing through my jaw, trying not to start crying all over again. It felt like such an invasion of my space, being exposed and silent in my living room.

"Tyler? I don't mean to worry you," he started out, an apology seemingly stuck on the tip of his tongue, as of recent, and I gave a short, breathy cough. His words were choppy, like he was splitting them apart (except it was only in my mind) but I listened. "But your parents are supposed to be coming over for that dinner tonight."