Ebullience

1 | Edward

Study.

Eat.

Sleep.

Repeat.

Sometimes I couldn't sleep. Sometimes it felt illegal to, a key weapon in destroying the crumbling tower of hard work with a meaningless purpose.

I didn't have a purpose, but sometimes I liked attempting to convince myself.

It never worked.

The alarm's screeching interrupted my thoughtful silence. I didn't know why I had an alarm. I never used it. Without looking, I slammed the side of my fist down on the snooze button and hauled myself to my feet.

Nobody greeted me on my way down. There was no breakfast waiting for me on the dining table, no compliments waiting for me in my mother's mouth. She spared me a glance, and her lips twitched upwards.

Not in a smile- but in distaste.

I pulled at the grey sweater I wore self-consciously, wondering what the fault of my appearance was this time. Sometimes it was as small as the sleeves being too crinkled, or the fabric hanging too loose off my shoulders.

Sometimes she just didn't like looking at me- which was okay, since I didn't like looking at myself either.

Flo joined me on my way out. My little sister always looked older than me in the morning and younger than me in the afternoon. Her blue eyes were ringed with dark circles, her skin was drained of colour. Her hair was piled in a messy bun upon her head.

Judging by the way she was fiddling with the strap of her bag, she endured a nightmare during the night and couldn't fall back asleep.

I didn't ask about it.

I never asked about it. It was just too painful.

"Have you eaten?" I asked. Flo shrugged.

"Not hungry. You?"

"No."
I walked her to the gate of her school. Some of her friends swarmed around her, eagerly ushering her in. Flo didn't complain. She never complained, at least not since Alex.

Alex.

It's been three years, but it feels like only yesterday when the car collided with the tree and his forehead smacked against the wheel. Time is unchanging when you're sad.

Nobody greeted me on my way into the school. Some looked at me, debating whether they should talk to me or not. But by the time that they decided I was already too far gone for them to act upon their decision.

I sat at my usual spot in the library, at a table hidden between shelves and comforted by the embrace of a stack of old books. I scowled at the person sitting on the other side.

Everyday since I started going here, she'd been sitting there, peering down at the same book but never really reading. We never talked.

I saw her glance up at me when I dropped my bag on to the surface of the table and began to pull out my textbooks.

Her name was Bronte Jansen.

Everybody knew her name. Everybody knew her for her sunny smile and unwavering positivity. Her kindness.

Her stupidity.

She was a terrible liar, too. If she thought she was fooling anybody with the book she hid behind, then she was dumber than I assumed her to be. She seemed to have a consistent fascination with me. With everything about me. Her eyes asked questions that her words never spoke.