Autophobia |VOLUME 1| [EN]

3

As I climb the third floor of that hell of a building, I have to stop on the mezzanines and get oxygen to my lungs.
Since the school was painted during the holidays, I inhale more chemicals, after which I cough.

After opening the door with a gold sign IV.C, my heart breaks.

My last but one year.

A year to finally get out of my shell.

I glance at the redhead sitting under the huge bulletin board. My attention is drawn to a cartoon character in a pink dress with a clip that I represent.

They see me as a sweet, innocent girl.

I am, but I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of being nice to all, to say yes to everyone, to help and satisfy everyone.

I'm tired of it. Both, mentally and physically.

My classmate greets me and I nod my head.

"Do you have math homework?"

"Yeah," I tell her and start pulling a notebook with stones on the cover from my purse.

"Nice bag."

My gaze wanders at the wine red bag my mother brought me yesterday from Copenhagen.

"How much did it cost?"

If I told her the amount the shop assistant asks in a shop known as Michael Kros, she would shake her head and say something like "Such a waste of money."

I just let go of the silent: "I don't know."