I spend my days locked in a haze, stumbling in and out of every day. Music turned on to the max, I sway a little. Somehow the artists just sum up your life in a short 4 minute music video in the form of a catchy, meaningless song, because the minute they step out of the studio they aren't the depressed, heartbroken person they sang. They're waving at the fans and carpe diem whenever they feel like it.
"You okay?" someone asks. I'm a little surprised at someone noticing, and I realized I let my guard down for a moment there.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I zone out a lot." I say, as if that solves the issue, as if that's the end of it. I take off my earbuds and try to focus. I type a few words, do a little work, and decide I'm not in the mood and I'll do it at home.
Lies. I accuse. You're never in the mood. Why should you be then?
Good point.
I don't even know why I stopped caring. I don't know why I'm so depressed, why I don't care anymore, why I wish the world would just shut up and listen. Why I don't tell anyone.
I guess I should be happy.
Teachers love me because I'm the genius going to the nation science fair, the violin master, the mathematician solving the world's cyber security problems.
But I'm not.
I have nothing causing it: no heartbreak, no nothing. Just a sudden realization that the world is so fake and hates my guts.
I zone back in. Listen., I tell myself. Actually, I command myself. Note the word choice.
"Why do we write?" asks the english teacher.
"To express ourselves," answers a kid, the know-it-all.
"Because we're told to." jokes another. It's funny how you can tell so much about someone by just being quiet and observing.
"To trap our soul in a paper."I hear so many answers, I loose track of their personalities.
"To free ourselves." says the boy sitting across from me, the one that asked me if I was okay. He said it almost carefully, like he was afraid to say something wrong. Somehow, he doesn't seem the type. He is wearing all black and shrinks among the shadows. I glance down at my own attire, which is similar to his. He probably wants to look tough. I want to disappear.
I add him to my mental list, the odd ones out. The ones that aren't all competing to me the most popular, the ones who don't want the hottest date. I lean a little forward, secretly studying him. My 'friends' have tried (and failed) to match me up with someone, so I guess I check him out a little. For some reason, I'm not that into him. He's more friend material, I decide.
The bell rings and I hurry to be in the exact middle of the crowd in the hallway: the ones not infested by possible people to talk to. Suddenly, I feel a firm hand on my shoulder.
"You sure?" the same boy asks. I nod and walk away before any more dialogue can happen.
But not before he tells me his name, and I tell him his.
"Ash. That's a pretty name." he says, but I know what he's thinking. It's not my fault there wasn't any less depressing nickname for Ashley. I mutter a quick thanks and walk outside. I still have to go to study hall, but no one takes attendance so I leave to my 'spot'- a giant rock a little into the forest behind my school. I lay down, facing the place I belong. The sky.
Before I can get up, a silhouette emerges from the shadows.
Will.
"What the hell, Ash?" he half-screams. "And I thought you were a teachers pet, skipping like that." he murmurs, so soft I can barely hear it over the gentle breeze. The breeze rustles his curly brown hair and I inspincly get up and move my long brown hair away from my face.
I know I look a little stunned, mostly because he noticed and he bothered to follow me. Also partially because I don't know how to explain why the heck I'm here in the first place.
"I, uh," I start, but he cuts me off.
"Whatever. It doesn't matter." he says, a little less surprised and more… caring, and warm. He sits on a small corner of the rock, and before I know it, I scoot over enough for him to lay beside me.
"Luckily it's study hall. We won't get caught skipping." he jokes. He's attempting to small talk, I realize. "So, um, you like programming, huh?"
"Yeah. Hacking." I rely by default. Too late, I realized what I said and grimaced.
"Oh, so you're the creepy hacker that steals people's credit card numbers?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, smiling a little.
"No, not like that." I correct myself, heat rushing to my face. "Like, ethical hacking."
"I get it. I program a little, but not like you do. You know, a little SQL here and there." I sigh and exhale a breath I didn't know I was holding. So, Will was a little like me. Before it was a stranger laying next me. Now it's the boy with the chocolate brown eyes who is the only ones who can look through my leather-clad looks and into my soul.
I guess I like him, I have to admit. The boy I met only a few hours ago.
You are so stupid, Ash.
And that's when I get it. The feeling. The feeling that I feel that I hate. That.
When I freeze and feel possessed, and I feel like I can't move. When there's a little battle in my brain that I always win. Usually it only happens when I write on paper and I just… jump off the trail. I write things like Shut Up! and things to myself, without knowing. And it only happens when I'm alone, when no one can help me.
"You're not okay." Will says, panic seeping into his voice, and he's not trying to hide it. I desperately want to tell him I'm fine and it's happened before, but I can't. My blood is boiling and my heart racing. My mind feels like a blur and I squeeze my eyes shut so he can't see my emerald green eyes cry like a 2 year old with a paper cut. I'm kind of surprised I have enough control to do that, so I know the battle is near to it's end. I know it's almost over, and I know that Will can just keep holding me in his soft hands while I feel like I'm dying.
Then, in an instant, it's over. I breathe deeply like I've been holding it forever and I know I look like I'm dead.
"Okay." I murmur into his chest. He's hugging me but I still don't feel anything.
Nothing.