Alex Goldrest. Stupid name, she thinks. Never going to be like other high school girls, the thoughts taunt her everyday. Didn't have a boyfriend till she was 16! Now the boyfriend she has is a happy go lucky kiddo who loves to get into trouble. Alex...
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Alex's POV
It started raining outside during lunch, adding to my anxieties. I hated being in the cafeteria as it was, and once the thunder started roaring outside, triggering the post traumatic stress disorder or two, I decided enough was enough.
First, I had to head to the girls bathroom to wash off some of my newer wounds that decide to bleed at the most random moments. Some of them were slightly infected causing bleeding and puss. Others just had fresh scabs that broke every time my arm grazed a wall. Long sleeves were a safety rope, my blue jacket a caution, and my black leather cover up a 'just in case' option.
Second, I head to the library. At the moment I'm reading a book about a girl who uses swimming to cope with death. Oh, how I wish I could just jump in the indoor pool open in the spring near our house. Get in a nice swimsuit instead of my stuffy sleeves. Enjoy the cool air, my stress leaving with the chilling water as I float around.
That's all just a fantasy though. I'll never be able to go swimming in public. My siblings and mother taunt me enough. Last thing I need is to be the center of a talk circle with all eyes on my monstrous scars.
No, not right now. When I get home I can think about my problems. When I get home, I can just sit in a corner far away from my locked bedroom door with my music so loud I can't hear my siblings. When I get home, I can feel a little more safe and confide in my imaginary world and characters from my favorite books. Until then, I'm at school where I have to at least try and fit in. I have to stay strong, remain numb, and refuse to let anyone see any side to me other than that tough outer shell.
The bell rings, telling me it's time to go back to the second half of fifth period history. My work is done in that class, so I can use the extra time to get a drink from the vending machine and look at my reviews on my most recent fanfictions. The history teacher, Ms. Casandra, doesn't really notice me much, so she won't care that I'm on my phone.
Grabbing my backpack which is far to heavy for my sore arms, I put my phone away and speed walk to history. High school sucked for sure, but I'd much rather be in this building with overloads of work than be at home where I'm hurt on a daily basis and no one understands the hell I go through. Age sixteen sucks, and hurts at the same time. God help me when summer break roles around.
