Hey my fantastic Quibblonians!
So the idea for this story just popped randomly into my head. I'm not quite sure where it's headed yet, so bear with me, guys!
I really would appreciate if you could comment, it'd mean a lot to me.
At least rate honestly! I need constructive criticism, so feel free to pick faults within reason.
Thanks so much for taking the time to read this!
I used to
But I always used to think, "What if that happened to me? What if I lost everything and everyone I loved?"
And now I know.
And people say, "Get over it, Rebecca. Grow up." But how can I, when that would mean forgetting him? Ignoring that he existed as a person, as a friend, as a brother, as an entity?
The people who tell me to grow up- have they ever had to face death in the face? Ever had to cope with the complete overtaking of anguish to one's mind and heart? Call me dramatic, but even these words can't encapsulate the way I'm feeling inside.
Taking the bus to school gives me time to think. Earphones in, music blaring, blocking out the world and the people in it. That's how I exist now. As an outcast, as the 'weird girl.'
I'm slowly getting used to the solitude. To the quiet.
I sit by myself at lunch, in roll class, the cafeteria. I'm a loner. But you know what? I actually like it. I used to sit with the 'popular crowd' and even then, I never quite fit the clique. Sure, I looked like I was a part of the clones, but inside I knew I wasn't.
Staring out the window on the bus, I sigh. I can't wait for school to finish. Another two months, and I am out of here.
Ed Sheeran's song, In Memory, plays on my IPod, and before I realise what's happened, I am crying uncontrollably. I dig in my bag to retrieve tissues and some water, oblivious to the fact that I am still on my school bus. Great. I glare through teary eyes at the people gawking at me, and hiss at some rubbernecked idiot of an eighth grader, "What are YOU looking at, you freak?"
I can't take this.
I leap up out of my seat and rush down the isle, ignoring the indignant yells as I accidentally hit people on the head with my bag.
I reach the driver, and, ignoring his shocked expression and gaping mouth, I gasp, "Let me out. Open the door."
He does, surprisingly, and I practically trip down the stairs. On the pavement, I gulp air like a demented oxygen denied goldfish and begin to stumble down the path, my shoes slapping the pavement rhythmically.
I haven't gotten ten metres before footsteps ring out behind me.
"Hey!" An unfamiliar voice calls. "Wait! Rebecca!"
I don't wait. I don't stop or even slow down. If anything, it makes me move faster.
"HEY!" Someone grabs my elbow and I spin around, my hand raised. To do what? Slap him? Punch him? No, I wipe my pouring eyes and panic as my hand comes away dripping with a mix of tears and mascara. Great, now I look like a psychotic panda bear. How charming.
"Don't touch me." I say, my tone more menacing than I intended and Daniel's face crumples from the impact of my words.
Too late, I say, "I'm sorry," but he's already taking his hand away, releasing his grip on my arm.
"I just wanted to see if you were okay." he mumbles, his faded Converse scuffing the ground.
The tears that I've managed to wipe away return, and I swipe at my eyes frantically with my shirt collar.
I hear his intake of breath as he realises his mistake and a second later, there's an arm around my shoulders. "Oh, hey. Don't cry. I'm sorry. Hey, I'm sorry.'
"It's fine, I'm okay, I'm okaaaaayyyyy." My last world is a drawn out wail that makes passer-by's stare and look at Daniel, who they suppose is making me cry, critically. Daniel squeezes my shoulders, and saying nothing, walks back to the bus.
Selfishly enough, I think, 'He's just going to leave me here? After that, he's just going to get back on the bus?" But no, he surprises me once again, and after having a few words with the bus driver, he smiles at him, waves and walks back to me as the bus pulls away.