Breath With In


Chapter 7 - The Hole Third Day

Wednesday, It Is (Again)

Eventually, after a long struggle with my inner demons—who, by the way, were being particularly loud this morning, screaming things like "hit snooze one more time" and "what's the point of even getting up?"—I rolled my way off the bed onto the ground with all the grace of a dying walrus. I lay there for an indeterminate amount of time, staring at the ceiling and contemplating life, the universe, and whether breakfast was even worth the effort.

Deciding that breakfast was, in fact, worth it, I dragged myself over to the closet like a creature from a horror movie, the kind that gets shot in the chest but still keeps crawling. After a thorough five-minute debate over whether or not fashion mattered when my only audience was the school janitor, I finally went with my usual ensemble: black sweatpants and a grey shirt—the same ones I wore yesterday. They smelled fine. Probably. I threw on my warm black coat like a superhero putting on their cape, only with significantly less confidence.

Breakfast was the usual—half a bowl of cereal and a staring contest with my reflection in the toaster. The reflection won. I sprinted to the front door, locking it like I was hiding some dark secret (spoiler: I wasn't). The air outside was brisk, and as I exhaled, a puff of white smoke curled in front of me like I was some kind of majestic dragon. A very underwhelming, socially anxious dragon.

The bus arrived late, of course. It always did. I stepped onto it with the enthusiasm of a condemned prisoner and took my usual seat next to the window. The window was cold, my breath fogging it up as I doodled meaningless shapes that would probably look like cryptic messages to the next unlucky passenger.

As we approached school, I noticed the spot where Greag—yes, Greag, spelled like that because apparently normal spelling wasn't cool enough for his parents—had met his unfortunate end. The police had put up the standard-issue yellow tape, and his blood splatter was now decorated with a delicate layer of frost, like some kind of macabre holiday decoration. People walked past it like it was nothing. I guess when you do drugs, people kind of expect you to end up as a crime scene.

I sighed, adjusting my backpack straps as I walked to my first class. And there she was. Again. Sitting in the same spot as before—off to the side of the stairs, like a forgotten NPC in a video game. Her hair glimmered in the cold morning sun, and she looked way too peaceful for someone sitting outside in this weather. She was wearing that same black hoodie with the obscure logo, as if she had a uniform for being mysteriously cool.

I took a deep breath. No turning back now. My feet moved before my brain could stop them, and I found myself awkwardly hovering over her like some kind of sleep-deprived guardian angel.

"Umm," I managed to stutter, because that's apparently all my brain could offer.

Her eyes fluttered open in slow motion, like a scene from an indie film that tries too hard to be deep. She blinked at me with the confused expression of someone who had just been rudely awakened from a dream about cats or existential dread.

"What time is it?" she mumbled, voice thick with sleep. She sounded like an actual kitten, if kittens could talk and wear oversized hoodies.

I panicked. "F-f-first period is about to start," I stammered, wishing I could evaporate into the cold air and float away like my dragon breath.

She gave a soft, sleepy smile—one that could probably melt glaciers if given enough time. "Ah, thanks for waking me."

I helped her up, my hands shaking slightly because apparently, standing near a cute girl is a high-pressure situation that my body refuses to handle with dignity. We walked to class together in awkward silence, and I spent the entire first period mentally kicking myself for not asking her name.

Seriously, what was wrong with me?

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meaningless lectures and me fantasizing about cool ways to talk to her again without sounding like a malfunctioning robot. I got home, collapsed onto my bed, and hoped that maybe tomorrow would be less of a disaster. Spoiler: it probably wouldn't be.