Behind the Hollow Eyes (REWRITE IN PROGRESS)

Chapter 4: The Unfinished Face

I put the notebook under my pillow-not because I don't want anyone to find it. Not because I needed it close but because I didn't know where else to put it. It didn't feel right to be placed in a drawer like its secrets were too big.

I didn't open it that night, not the next morning, but I felt it every time I moved, like a headache I just couldn't ignore.

At school, everything looked the same. Lockers clanged, and someone laughed a little too loud. The hallway smells like old pizza and fresh paint from the art class not too far away. But I wasn't moving the same. I kept glancing sideways, behind me and at the corners where people lingered. I started to wonder how often I'd been seen. Not just by him but by anyone.

I see Jason by his locker, a black half-zipped hoodie over his favourite navy t-shirt, the one with the faded logo and worn jeans. He smiled when he saw me, small and nervous but it didn't last. Guilt pulled his face down too quickly. I still can't bear to look at him in the eyes.

The art room door was propped open when I passed it. I wasn't planning to stop. But the smell hit me—paint, paper, that weird chemical bite of turpentine and glue. It made something in my chest twist. I used to love that smell. Used to stand right there at the sinks with paint up my forearms and charcoal on my face and not care who was watching. Used to lose whole hours sketching things that didn't exist. Used to feel like I was making something real.

Now I barely even touched my pencils. My fingers itched, like they missed something. Like maybe I wanted to draw again, even if I didn't know what for.

I didn't go inside.

Just stood in the doorway until someone asked if I needed something. I shook my head and left.

In Math, everything was foggy. The teacher's voice didn't land right—just a dull murmur, like underwater static. But from the corner of my eye, I swear he looked at me a little too long.

At lunch, everything was so loud all I wanted was to cover my ears and scream to drown out the noise. Not bothering to throw my lunch out I quickly walk to the library-silence. Relief. I found an empty table in the back of the library. The kind where no one asked questions. I pull out my math notebook- might as well get something done.

But I didn't do math, I sketched for the first time in a long time. I didn't know what at first.

I sketched the desk. Then a girl. Legs crossed under the chair. One knee bouncing. Her head tilted to one side like she was listening like she cared. But her face- I stopped. Just looked at it. I hadn't drawn her eyes yet, I didn't know how. Because I didn't know what expression she was supposed to have. Blank? Tired? Scared? I didn't know if she was me or someone I made up to look like me.

Eventually, I gave her my hoodie. The one I wore when I wanted to disappear. I shaded the sleeves too long like they were when I tugged them down over my hands. I left the eyes empty.

I closed the notebook. Slid it back into my bag. I didn't want anyone to see it. Not even me.

I left the library five minutes before the bell, enough time to avoid the usual crowd. Enough time to disappear before anyone noticed I was gone.

I didn't check my locker. Didn't speak to anyone. The notebook in my bad. Silent, patient.

At home, I didn't eat dinner, just told my mom I wasn't hungry. She didn't press she almost never does.

I showered. Let the water run for too long. Tried to make my body feel like mine again. It didn't work.

Later, in the dark of my room, I sat on my bed and stared at the wall. I could feel both notebooks.

Mine.

His.

One in my bag. One is still under my pillow. I reached for his. Slowly like it might bite. I opened to a random page.

April 4 – 3:12 PM
Outside the art wing.

She flinched when someone called her name.
Then smiled like it hadn't happened.
Like she didn't notice.
But her hands were shaking.

I blinked. I didn't remember that. But I knew it was true. Then I saw it- the entry. The one I didn't want to see it again.

June 5 – 8:07 AM

Turtleneck. Too hot.
Wouldn't meet anyone's eyes. Flinched at touch.
Bruises, maybe.

I turned the page fast. Faster than I needed to. But it didn't matter. It was already there. Under my skin. Like it had been waiting. I closed the notebook and placed it beside me this time. Not under my pillow. Not hidden. Just there.
The drawing I made earlier flickered in my mind—sleeves too long, face unfinished.

And I thought, maybe he wasn't wrong. Maybe I really do look like that. Maybe I always have.

I lay back. Stared at the ceiling. Let the silence stretch. That's when I saw it. Something white was sticking out of the front pocket of my backpack. Folded paper, creased down the middle, like it had been slid in without sound.

My heart beat harder. I reached for it slowly. Unfolded it. Just one line, written in the same steady, careful handwriting as before:

You're not invisible. You never were.

No name. No explanation.

Just that. I didn't cry. But I wanted to.