Die Without You - L.P

Miss Dillard

This chapter is boring. But Liam will be in the next one. So yay.

The sofa was unusually heavy this morning. Or maybe she was just abnormally weak today. Her limbs felt like licorice, bending and twisting into no distinctive shape. She could feel her muscles straining taut underneath her skin. It was glowing, thanks to the moisturizer Sara had lent her the other day. Unlike her poor, poor soul.

Sara hadn't left until six in the morning, after which Amy had promptly fallen asleep for a single measly hour. Thankfully, she hadn't slept deeply enough to get into any real nightmares. Then, she'd literally tumbled into the shower and hastily dressed herself. She had no idea what she was even wearing, really and couldn't be bothered to care.

Now, she was shifting the furniture in her den to... well, she wasn't sure why. All she knew was that it partially soothed some yearning deep within her.

Finally, she shoved the couch into the right position. It looked a bit out of place, resting right next to the bookshelf. But she'd done her job and the place barely resembled the place it used to be. Satisfied, at least for now, she yawned soundlessly and glanced at the digital clock on the microwave. 7:50.

She was late. School officially started at 8:05. It took at least twenty minutes to make it there, and traffic was unbearable at this time of day. Sighing, she grabbed her weighty, violet tote bag and headed out the door, closing it with a soft click behind her.

The trek to the pub always felt miles shorter in the soft rays of dawn. Beams of early sunlight washed over her face, illuminating her ebony skin. She brushed a hand through her unruly curls and attempted to smooth them down to no avail. People were strolling down the streets, shouting greetings to one another. The corners of their mouths were turned towards the periwinkle sky, and their eyes were crinkled in delight at the beginning of a new day.

She tried to recall a time when she'd felt this way. A time when the sunrise made her smile with glee, and she actually wanted to chat with every person she passed on her way to work. A time when grief didn't wrap its icy fingers around her fluttering heart.

The pub was empty of course at this early hour. Except for the lanky George. He stood behind the counter wiping the wooden surface in small circles. She watched the damp rag leave traces of moisture that quickly evaporated into the stagnant air before stepping up to the bar and holding out her hand.

At first, he didn't glance up to acknowledge her. He stopped cleaning, and his large hands clutched the fabric tightly. Then he sighed shakily and extracted her keys from his pocket.

He opened his mouth, and she assumed he would say nothing like always.

"This isn't healthy," he said gruffly, but she could hear the concern in his voice.

"I'm not doing this to be healthy." She was vaguely surprised that he'd even spoken to her.

"Then why are you doing it?"

Now, she was at a loss for a words. Nothing could accurately sum up her reasoning for behaving this way. The answer seemed simple, but she knew better than anyone that nothing in life was truly that straightforward.

"Are you trying to kill yourself or something?"

Everyone seemed to think she was suicidal, and it irked her to no end. Of course, she wouldn't really mind dying at this point, but she didn't want it to be on her own terms. She didn't trust herself enough for that.

"No," she snapped. "I'm a grown woman. I can do whatever the hell I want."

"Doesn't mean you should," he muttered.

Anger began to swirl in her chest, stirring up the waves in her heart. A tsunami of rage was brewing inside her. She lunged for the keys in his palm and snatched them up with a piercing glare. George didn't even flinch. He watched her stomp to the door and shut it with a bang, an echo of somewhat misplaced guilt ringing in his mind.

She jabbed the keys into the ignition and waited for the dormant car to growl to life. She made it to the school at 8:03. Her driving wasn't exactly legal, but that was irrelevant. She was on time and wouldn't have to face the principal's fiery wrath.

She practically sprinted down the hallways, almost slipping on the slick linoleum floors as she rounded a corner. Thankful that she'd opted for her comfy flats, she dashed into her classroom and plopped into her chair a second before the initial bell rang. The sound was shrill and familiar, signaling the beginning of the day.

The students tricked in slowly, no set pattern to their entrances. She watched them all scurry in with their oversized backpacks and wide grins exposing missing teeth. They sat at their desks and chatted about whatever went on in seven year old minds. The remaining kid raced in at the last minute, slamming his little body into his seat and smiling innocently at her as the bell screeched over their heads.

She stood up slowly and surveyed the classroom. For the slightest of moments, she felt something flickering in her chest, something akin to happiness. She adored children, and although this job could be exhausting, it was one of the few dim lights in her shady life.

"Good morning, class," she said softly, but somehow they all managed to hear her.

"Good morning, Miss Dillard," they chirped back. Their faces were eager and unaware of the utter turmoil that life would one day toss them into. She envied them for that.

"How are you guys today?" She leaned back on her desk and waited for the chorus of voices that would pipe up.

Once that was over with, she picked up a vivid turquoise dry erase marker and popped the cap off.

"Spelling time," she cheered enthusiastically. As always, there were mixed reactions from them. Squeals and claps mingled with groans and boos, creating a cacophony inside her classroom. There was always noise in here, and she loved it, for it drowned out the incessant screaming in her mind.

She slowly wrote a word onto the board in large, neat print. As always, she began with the easiest word and cautiously worked her way up.

"Who knows what this word is?" She eyed them all expectantly, waiting for someone to volunteer an answer, whether it was right or wrong. They were always like this at first, shy and quiet and unwilling.

"Park," declared a shaggy haired boy sitting in the back. He grinned at her confidently.

"Very good, Jonathan. But we always raise our hands." She shot him a pointed look, and he blushed deeply, making his numerous freckles stand out prominently. She heard faint titters in the back of the room and raised a finger to her lips.

She wrote down another word. The day was underway.