Get up. Get dressed. Walk down the stairs. Walk out the door.
Carry that bag on your shoulder. Step on every crack within the sidewalk.
Smile. Take notes. Take small bites of lunch. Sip the water from the bottle.
Move from room to room.
And not a word to anyone, not a single word spoken.
You are invisible.
/ /
"There's... someone."
He doesn't remove the arm. He doesn't run away. He doesn't speak, though. That's up to you, right? You are the one on his doorstep, you are the one with tears falling down your cheeks, you are the one keeping things quiet these days.
"Fuck, I hate feeling this way. I hate how she makes me feel."
But you are lying. But you are too truthful.
You hate the way she makes your heart speed up and you hate the way she complicates your world.
But you are lying, because you want her more than you've wanted anyone.
But you are telling the truth, because she needs a savior and you are just some girl, just some girl with a head full of baggage and a body full of your own regrets.
"I hate... I hate how much I feel when it comes to her..."
/ /
Get up. Get dressed. Walk down the stairs. Walk out the door.
Leave the books behind. Slow down that already emotionless stroll.
Half-smile. Keep the pen on the desk. Don't eat. Hold the bottle, but keep it closed.
Linger in the hallway.
And not a word to anyone, not one damn word to anyone.
You are transparent.
/ /
How she makes you feel, oh how she makes you feel so much.
So much more than you are used to, so much more than you've allowed.
And her eyes took you in, her eyes tricked you and played you and suckered you.
Her eyes, windows to the fucking soul, and what you found there was terrible and beautiful, wasn't it?
Wasn't she just the most lovely and broken thing on the face of the Earth?
"...Ash?"
His voice is unsure. His voice is soft. His voice is twelve years old, but it is also shades of eighteen. His voice is a friend and his voice is a stranger.
But you are staring off into nothing, your hand clinging to his shirt and your eyes red with sorrow.
And his voice is worry - for you, always for you.
And right now, that is not a burden - it is a comfort.
You need comfort, don't you? You need the care and you need this arm about you and you need your friend, your best friend, don't you?
You need this, because you are falling fast and there is no safety on the ground below.
"It's like she's carved some hole into me, some place where only she fits... and I can't get her out of me... I can't fucking get her out of me and I need to, you know... I need to..."
/ /
Get up. Get dressed. Hurry down the stairs. Hurry out the door.
Walk the opposite way. Walk fast. Then run.
No smile. No classrooms. No cafeteria. No money into the machine.
Breathing heavy at the end of this road, houses to the left and right and trees ahead.
And not a word. Not a single word. Not a shout. Not a whimper.
You are nothing.
That's what you are today.
And it was supposed to feel like pressure coming off a valve, it was supposed to release the tension and it was supposed to finally blow up.
Kill you or carry you away. Either would do. Right?
But no, not for you, not for the girl who has sinned so well.
For you, it is this - lungs burning and school forgotten and never-ending silence.
For you, it is this - faces that turn away and ignorance and a quiet so loud, so damn loud.
And it was supposed to feel better.
But it just feels worse.
Spencer's knees hit the pavement, as if God were before her and watching with a cold gaze, and she knows that she has not measured up.
God knows she has failed. God knows she has fucked up. God knows about her nights, knows about her anger, knows about her lust - less for sex and more for revenge.
God knows everything and God pulls the tears from her, her chest tight with sadness, as she kneels on this road and cries and cries and cries.
/ /
But even as you beg, you betray yourself.
Because there she is - in your head, a vision split into a thousand images - there she is.
On top of you and warm and gorgeous. Eyes open. Naked in more ways than one.
Dancing. Spinning. Drunk and lost and in your arms. In your bed right before you run away.
Sexy and cool and delicious. Close but still far away. Close but never close enough.
A soft laugh. A quick look. Motionless as you almost make a move. As you almost break all the rules. As you almost jump every barrier.
Name on your phone. Hand in your own. Addictive. Alluring.
There she is, Spencer, that girl you never really knew and didn't know you wanted to know.
But even as you make excuses, you betray yourself.
Because knowing Spencer is the only thing you can think to do.
And there she is, a hand upon your wrist and a shattered expression and pale flesh and some kind of battle playing out as you stand by like a scared statue.
There she is. Spencer, that girl, that damn girl.
"...I think I love her and I can't fucking stand it..."
You whisper into his chest, trying to avoid your own admission.
And he lets you - in so much that he does not force you away from his person. He continues to hold you. He continues to give you somewhere solid to stand and declare such dangerous things.
But even as you hide, you betray yourself.
Because he heard it, but more importantly, you heard it, too.
/ /
TBC