Hello, my darlings. A few notes on this chapter: I wrote most of it while insanely tired (mentally and physically and emotionally). I don't go to college. I don't know much about college, or majoring in law, or majoring in anything. I'm seriously regretting making her major in law, cos that seems to be the weirdest, most complicated major. And I don't feel like researching it. So there's all that.
TW: Self-hate? Internalized scolding of self? Does that apply to this? Mentions of a PTSD flashback, mentions of nightmares (PTSD induced)
Disclaimer: I'm not in college (try middle school, my guy), I don't suffer from PTSD nor anxiety, and I don't have a service dog. I'm also learning and experimenting with wrtitng, which makes me prone to mistakes. If anything is incorrect or offensive, please tell me and correct me!
Alex stares up at the ceiling from where she is on her bed. It's white, blindingly so, and has an odd crack running through about half of it. The break looks oddly familiar, but Alex can't quite place where she's seen it before.
She's trying to think about anything other than her nightmares.
The clock on her desk reads 4:56. In her mind, that means she can get up and be productive in 4 minutes. Doing anything before then would still be too early to be healthy, normal, acceptable. She doesn't want to wait, but she has to. 4 minutes. Four minutes until she can distract herself.
She's tired. Her petite (small, breakable, weak) body lays heavy, her mind feeling like it covered in wool. But her eyes are wide open, thoughts turning.
Alex can feel the flashback pulling at her. She doesn't want to go there.
3 minutes. Come on, come on.
There's a sad excuse of a window in the back wall. A few rays of light escape through the glass and sit on the floor. Morning sunshine is always the weakest.
Weak. Weak. Weak.
2 minutes.
Stop stop stop.
Her eyes close, but she does not sleep. Tears wet her eyelashes, and all she wants is to brush them away. Her arm is heavy, though, and she can't focus enough to do anything. Tears are weak. You're weak.
Brown eyes snap open to glance at the clock. 5:01.
It's time to get ready.
Alex likes to think that if she were ever to get a decent night's sleep, she would sleep in till noon. She used to do that before she trained herself to wake up early (and before her nightmares and insomnia).
Objectively, she would still be up before 12. A non-productive Alex is a useless one, after all.
Therefore, being a morning person, Alex had planned her classes to be somewhere between 6 to 1 each day so she could do schoolwork in the afternoon. Even after talking (read: debating (read: arguing)) with Georgia and Martin, Alex wasn't going to get a job until at least 2nd semester. In all honesty, that was definitely for the best. That doesn't mean Alex is happy with it, though. The way the Latina saw it was the more time spent working, the less time spent being anxious and sad. But alas.
She's sitting impatiently in her first class of the year, waiting for the lecture to start. She had considered taking out her junky laptop and writing but had opted to take out a book. She isn't reading. Her brain refuses to focus on the words.
It's 6:10 am. The class is an introduction to creative writing (as if Alex needs an introduction). The seats around her are almost all empty. What sane kind of person would choose a class at 6 am when they could go at 6 pm?
Alex is pretty sure everyone who'd signed up for this class was already here. Only about six other people litter the room, and Alex is pretty happy with the quiet.
The door opens suddenly to reveal a flustered looking girl. She's panting and bent over as though she'd run all the way there. A few of her brown curls fall in her face, and she pushes them back under a green beanie. Alex's eyes get stuck on her Doc Martens, one of which has become untied.
Those are some sick Docs.
This girl looked oddly familiar. Alex racks her brain, trying to think of where she'd seen her before.
The girl straightens, eyes wide. Even where Alex is towards the back, she can make out the green of the irises. The girl studies the room until those brilliant green eyes land on the dog owner. A smile lights her freckled face.
Oh, god no.
Looks like Peter's wish for the mysterious (and very hot) girl from the cafe to show up soon fell a bit too quick in the well. (Does that sentence make sense? It's too long, innit? Doesn't matter it's staying.)
Welp. There's the fourth chapter. Sorry that it's a bit shorter, but I felt like this would be a semi-nice ending. Too bad it was horribly executed!
Again, if anything is wrong, please correct me! Feel free to comment because ya girl needs some love.
Speaking of love, love y'all! Thanks for reading!
xxstella