its not a dream

Chapter 2: The bus

I woke up abruptly to the blaring sound of my alarm, its piercing noise jolting me from my slumber.

Disoriented, my hand instinctively dove into my joggers, frantically searching for the source of the disturbance.

As I pulled them out, a sudden realization hit me like a bolt of lightning - my new stepdad was standing in the doorway, observing my early morning frenzy.

Dumbfounded, I stood frozen in place, my heart pounding in my chest.

How did I not even notice his presence? The shock rendered me speechless, unable to form coherent thoughts.

He cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence, and carefully spoke the words that would shatter the remnan of my peaceful sleep.

"Your mom...said...get ready...the bus...it's on the way," he uttered with an air of forced comfort. With a final nod, he quietly closed the door behind him, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts. I couldn't believe it.

At that moment, I felt a surge of frustration welling up within me. Why couldn't I have pleaded with a higher power to rescue me from this never-ending cycle of problems? Instead, I found myself daydreaming of fantastical creatures with eyes that changed color eating me out

I shook my head, attempting to shake off the remnants of that captivating dream. It was a cruel trick, a brief respite from the harsh reality that awaited me.

Despite the heaviness in my heart, a faint smile tugged at the corner of my lips - the first genuine smile in what felt like an eternity.

But that fleeting moment of happiness was quickly overshadowed by the impending return to the dreaded confines of a mediocre public school.

Summoning all my strength, I dragged myself out of bed and grabbed some clothes, my movements mechanical and devoid of enthusiasm.

Every fiber of my being protested against the thought of leaving the comforting warmth of the shower.

I stepped out of the steam-filled shower and wrapped a towel around my body.

Droplets of water trickled down my skin as I reached for my clothes. I chose a pair of black joggers that hugged my legs and a huge grey jacket that engulfed my frame. Standing in front of the mirror,

I debated whether to leave my long, blonde hair cascading down or tie it up in a bun. I sighed, realizing that it didn't matter how I styled my hair; the kids at school would find something to criticize no matter what.

With a roll of my eyes, I slipped on my shoes and made my way downstairs.

As I descended, I caught sight of my newly awaited stepbrother seated in my usual spot at the dining table, shamelessly devouring the food off my plate. He was the spitting image of his father, with piercing blueish-yellow eyes and a mop of brown hair.

Yet, unlike his father, he could not grow facial hair.

"Julie," he spoke, his eyes fixated on me. I crossed my arms, a mixture of annoyance and resentment bubbling inside me.

"Zach," I replied, glaring at him. I didn't like him. I had been content as the only child, and his presence disrupted the harmony I had with my mother.

She used to confide in me about her relationship troubles, seeking solace from the men who entered her life, while I kept my own problems to myself.

"Stepbrother," he corrected me, a smug smile playing on his lips.

"More like a bother," I hissed under my breath. Grabbing my backpack from the couch, I stormed outside, my heart pounding with a mix of anxiety and doubt.

The thought of facing another day at school overwhelmed me, and I questioned whether I had the strength to endure it...

Zach emerged from the house, and I trailed behind him toward the bus stop.

A cluster of other kids had already gathered there, casting their judgmental glances in my direction. The air was thick with whispers, like venomous snakes slithering in the shadows.

My nerves consumed me so completely that I had forgotten my headphones, leaving me defenseless against the barrage of insults.

Their words penetrated my ears like sharp shards of glass, each one cutting deeper into my already fragile self-esteem. The pain was suffocating, and thoughts of self-harm began to invade my mind.

"Damn, why the hell does everyone hate you?" Zach's voice pierced through the torment, and I spun around to face him, my eyes burning with anger.

"Just because my mom happened to be involved with your dad doesn't mean we're friends," I retorted, my voice laced with bitterness.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, blondie, but we're more than just friends," he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'm your stepbrother, and whether you like it or not, I'm also your bodyguard. So, I'm going to find out why people hate you."

His words ignited a fire within me, an intense desire to retaliate. I imagined shoving my middle finger up his nose, picturing the pain it would cause and the satisfying scream that would escape his lips.

It was a twisted thought born out of stress and frustration, a dark fantasy that I knew I should banish from my mind.

The bus roared to a stop, its doors swinging open with a hiss. Like a sardine can, it was packed to the brim with people. The air inside was heavy with anticipation, and as I stepped on,

I could feel their curious eyes fixating on me. It was as if the entire world had turned its attention to my every move.

A surge of panic washed over me, threatening to drown my senses.

I longed to escape, to run off the bus and disappear into the bustling city streets. The urge to stand defiantly in front of the oncoming traffic consumed me, a reckless desire to defy the weight of the world.

With a sigh, I shuffled through the crowded aisle, desperately seeking solace in an empty seat.

Finally, I found respite next to a stranger, a man whose presence intimidated me.

I dared not meet his gaze, for fear of what judgment lay behind his eyes. It was futile, though, for he was already engaged in a lively conversation with his friend sitting across from me.

Their laughter echoed through the bus, punctuated by the incessant tapping on their phones. Mocking laughter, directed at me.

"You going to hell, Tk," the boy beside me jeered, his laughter ringing in my ears like an unwelcome symphony.

Laughter spread like wildfire, infecting the cramped space with its cruel intensity. It seemed as if the walls themselves were mocking me.

I couldn't bear it any longer. Desperation consumed me, and my hand slipped inside my jacket, searching for an outlet to release the pain.

My trembling fingers wrapped around a solitary finger, and with a surge of determination, I began to pull back, the pressure building, threatening to break.

But what would that solve? A momentary release of anguish, perhaps.

A fleeting escape from the torment. But deep down, I knew it wouldn't solve anything. It wouldn't bring me closer to home, nor would it silence the laughter that haunted my every step.

It was a futile gesture, a feeble attempt to reclaim control in a world that seemed intent on breaking me.