Swords and pens

three

When You Can't Fall Asleep at Night

Cassandra's reality was one of sleepy eyes, cigarettes smoked into the filter, bruised knuckles from fighting off her demons, and most prominent: fear.

Fear of all those who had hurt her as well as those who had yet to do so. Fear of the world, the people, and if she was ever honest enough, herself. She feared herself the most, the way she reacts, the way she harms herself almost involuntarily. The same way you blink or yawn.

Blink,

cigarette burn,

yawn,

picked skin,

sneeze,

chewed lip.

They say you pick up other people's habits, well they seem to have a habit of harming her. She was only practicing what she was taught to be true. She deserved pain. She needed it.

She was startled out of those very self destructive thoughts by something tapping her right shoulder. She looked that way and remembered there was only a wall. She was a little worried about how unaware she had just been.

This classroom was her favorite because of the small poems written on the board everyday. Mrs. Winters was her favorite teacher as well. She knew how many chairs were in the room, what each poster said down to the letter. She needed to focus. Don't let things creep up on you, Cassandra, she would remind herself constantly.

She looked to her left, to see a bored looking Rachel Connors, who wouldn't give Cassandra the time of day. Finally turning around she was met by that annoying grin that clouded her mind on many occasions and in his hand was no other than-yes-her pen, the blue one. She wanted to heave in frustration. What was his game?

Not in the mood to play, she gritted her teeth and demanded for it back, in a voice quiet enough not to draw attention, but firm enough for him to know she meant business.

"I'm hurt that you care about that pen more than me," his giant blue eyes seemed to grow even more.

"How'd you even get that?" She asked more out of needless cautiousness than curiosity. His smugness remained, as he tucked the pen behind his ear, standing out greatly in contrast to his sandy brown hair.

"I just took it. You were zoning out pretty hard," Cassandra could almost count his bright white teeth with him smiling like that.

She rolled her eyes, attempting to grab it from him. He pulled back, like the child he seemed to be. His light brown hair reminded her of youth for a reason we won't go into, but none the less, he definitely needed some maturing.

This time she did heave a sigh. His grin got impossibly larger, as it seems to do.

"What do you want?" She was tired of fighting, not him but just in general.

"A name would be nice."

"Cassandra," she said, holding out an eager hand. Why was the this anxious over a fucking pen? Why was her stomach boiling with nervous energy? Maybe it was that he reminded her of a since buried memory, which was endlessly frustrating in and of itself.

"I'm Greer," he replied with pride, earning an eye roll from the raven haired girl. He sighed and seemed to give up fighting too.

As he handed her the pen something strange happened, their hands brushed for just a second and Cassandra swears he could've heard her heartbeat and seen the chills that made their way to her very core.

She cleared her throat,turning away. It was nothing. Absolutely nothing.