cares too much, cares too little

prologue

"I still love the people I've loved, even if I cross the street to avoid them."

Uma Thurman

#

At school, academically, I was pretty good. Especially at mathematics. When I was in primary school, I used to help other kids. The nice gestures ended when I realized that they never gave me anything in return, and that I was practically wasting my time on them. I quickly learned to be a bit egoistic, because if I wasn't, I'd have been jerked from side to side.

That's why one day, I guess I was eight or nine, I got pretty mad at the boy sitting behind me. We were having an exam, and he just wouldn't stop pricking me with his pen to get my attention and make me help him. He was hopeless in English, and always tried to cheat - never accomplishing his attempts since he was pretty dumb and careless. I ignored him, but I was constantly moving my body due to the stabbing, so that the teacher finally got angry and told me to give her my exam. I did, obviously, and when I came back to my desk, I turned to the boy and cuffed the bitch. The teacher squealed. Or screamed, I don't remember clearly. She started shouting at me, but basically what she meant was to tell me that I had to go to the principal's office and wait for my parents to come for me. She opened a can of worms - I got even more angry and slapped the boy again. Only then I walked out of the class, accompannied by the classmates' clapping and laughs.

My point is, as long as I can remember nobody's ever been free to insult me, me friends, family or even a stranger. Since the said day in primary school I've never been stabbed with a pen during an exam or asked for help by anyone who wasn't my friend again. I've never let anyone fuck me like that, I learned that people usually want you only when they need help.

Guess that's pretty much the reason why I am on the ground for the second time in the span of a minute. My right cheek is on fire, my stomach and back will be black tomorrow, and my guts don't feel right at this moment. If I'm being honest, I feel like fainting or throwing up. Or both at once. Is puking when being unconscious even possible?

"Go away!" I cry out to the terrified boy standing a few steps away.

He's hesitant, but runs away gracelessly balancing between people on the sidewalk. Nobody seems to notice. It's Los Angeles. A lot of eyes, but little hearts.

"I called the police. You either leave or you'll end up in jail."

I look up at the person who intervened. The guy who was just about to kick me for like the twentieth time looks at his two friends, and it seems like they all wordlessly agree on fleeing because they disappear within two seconds.

"Are you alright?" the same voice asks when I attempt to crawl a bit on the ground.

I want to say yes, but the world begins to spin around in the moment I try to sit up.

"Shit."

That's the last thing I hear before I pass out. Did I  say that? Or maybe it was them? Was it a boy or a girl?

It's hard to say by only the green of the person's irises, as in that's the moment my mind flies away. The green is replaced by darkness and echoes.

#

I wonder if I manage to continue this story in the way I want it to go.

love. xx

[the cover: via mattxiv ig story]