At 6AM, her hands are cold and stiff, crawling out from under the bedsheets to seize her phone. Alarm off - no snooze, no sleep, awake, awake.
She pulls herself from bed like a puppet, mechanic and slow, reaching for the ironed uniform hanging from her cupboard handle. While holding the shower head to her chest, trying to warm the cold lump around her heart, she mulls over the day's potentials with a clenched jaw.
The panic begins when she leaves her bedroom for the kitchen, and she reaches for a mandarin on the counter. It's enough. It's enough to keep her going.
Her icy fingers leech the warmth from her tea as she inhales sweet citrus and swallows hard the pulp. The morning news show runs on TV as per usual, drowning out her thoughts with and now, the weather -
She fastens her coat buttons and slings her bag over her shoulder, heading for the door. She meets no one's eyes on the way to the station. If she meets their eyes, she'll stop being invisible, and she needs to at least be invisible, at least.
The last or first carriage are her favourite spots. Even when she's sandwiched against the wall, if she can see out the conductor window, the world stops spinning. Her mind may be drowning, but if she can keep her eyes in one place, it's easier to be calm.
School sits on a hill, a slow ascend, just like her heart drumming against her chest. She presses her lips together, a split moment she thinks her breakfast might retrace its steps. Calm. Calm. Stay calm. You're calm.
She breathes the cool morning air, hoping to freeze her insides. Her heart is in her feet; a struggle to drag along the pavement, heavy and numb.
At 8AM, she makes the front gates, her fingers digging deep into the palms of her hands. No one turns their heads, takes any notice, and that's good, that's good, she's still invisible - still invisible for now.
Then begins the climb of stairs to her classroom, up the hall and to the right, to her desk in the middle, to the safety of her seat. She unloads her bag, hanging it under the table, and sorts through her things for the day.
A split moment of fear strikes her as she realises something's missing, something important, a beat before -
"Good morning, Rin!"
She blinks back her tears and glances up to see a familiar face. Gumi. The girl tucks a strand of green hair behind her ear.
"Oh. You surprised me. Good morning."
Gumi grins wide, a row of crooked teeth, but they're somewhat charming, and Rin has never figured out why. "Have you seen Miku this morning?" she asks.
Rin glances down, watching her trembling fingers. "No. Not yet. Why?"
"Oh, just wondering if she's here yet. Apparently she got a haircut yesterday, and was gushing to me about how short it is -" Gumi rolls her eyes, "- but you know Miku, her hair probably isn't even that short. It's probably not even an inch shorter than it was yesterday."
"Yeah…"
An elbow slides onto the desk, a centimetre or so from knocking her pencil case off. "So how'd you go with study for the Maths exam today?"
"O-oh. I didn't go so well," Rin says, her voice slow. Gumi raises an eyebrow, disbelieving. "Nothing seemed to be soaking in so… I just slept. I tried to memorise on the train today, but I'm sure I'll forget everything come the exam."
"You'll probably be fine," Gumi says. "You always are."
Rin sets her papers down to crack her knuckles. "Mmm." She pauses, a breath, before trying, "Hey, I'm sorry to ask this, but did you do the homework for English?"
Her friend rubs her chin. "I think so. The one about that weird plant festival in Cuba or whatever, right?"
She nods.
"Yeah. I did. Why?"
"I… must've left it at home in the rush, or something, I don't know, I can't find it - but can I copy your questions so I can redo it at lunch?"
"Sure." Gumi then glances up at the classroom door just as Miku waltzes in. "Oh look! There's Miku," she says, as if Rin doesn't have eyes.
The pair have a strange connection - a second sense for each other, or something.
Gumi waves Miku down and she spots them, toddling over. As predicted, her so-called 'short haircut' is no different to her previous hairstyle. But Miku tries to make a big thing out of it, despite Gumi's persistent denial.
Rin sighs, clenching her hands into fists. An intrusive voice is making home in her mind, and she desperately wants it out.
At 12PM, she picks at her lunch in between each homework question, chewing down on her bottom lip.
"Rin, we're going down to the cafeteria to buy some bread. Want to come?" Miku asks, pausing at her desk to place a hand on her arm.
Rin shakes her head. "No. It's fine. I have to finish this."
"Do you want us to grab to anything, then?" Gumi pipes up from behind Miku.
She gestures to her lunchbox and says, "I'm good. Thanks, though."
I'll leave you two to talk about me, to forget about me.
Her fingers clench around her pencil, turning pale. I'm sure that's not the case, a rational part of her reassures. What is there to talk about me, anyway?
Who am I kidding? They probably go on and on about how horrible I am. And how annoying it is that I have to copy Gumi's questions. I'm probably too boring and self-centred to them.
She takes a breath, realising she'd been staring at one question for five minutes.
Regardless if they do talk about me or not, what am I to do anyway? I don't have any redeeming qualities.
She sets her pencil down and reaches for her chopsticks, picking a piece of broccoli from her lunchbox. As she pops it in her mouth, she has the urge to spit it out - to gag - but she forces herself to chew and swallow, washing it down with a mouthful of tea from her water bottle.
Her chest hurts; a long, lonely ache. She can't figure out how to make it go away.
experimenting with style (I hate the result) + I don't know how to finish this so eh.
inspired by My Best Friend, Anxiety.