literally updating from school. :)
one.
"Kill me. Kill me. Kill me."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because then I'd be doing you a favor, Robyn."
I groaned, itching at my wrists as my sweater made my body temperature rise even higher.
"Why do I have to be here?" I mumbled. "Every day I wake up and I can't wait to go back to sleep later."
Zara laughs. She's my best friend, but not even she knows how much I mean my last statement.
She's sort of got everything she ever wanted handed to her. Pretty face, money, brains, and a perfect body. She didn't have to work for everything I wanted. She won every battle with her hands down while I was struggling to keep up with her.
"You again." His voice echoed in my head. "You again." he said in disappointment.
I sat in Mr. Jamison's class, the girls whispering and the boys laughing making me nervous. I tapped my foot to a malicious beat. It rang in my head like a trumpet on Judgment Day. It did not relent. It only grew louder.
I wanted to sob.
He knew. He knew. He knew.
"Robyn, you were called to read." My teacher said impatiently.
"By who?" I asked softly.
"Rebecca. Does it matter?"
I wrote her name in my book of people I would kill in the future for the sixth time and proceeded to read the Greek tragedy to a room full of people I did not give a crap about.
I read with somewhat enthusiasm and I read quickly unlike Benjamin David who's IQ was the same number as my shoe size (which was a six if you're curious). He belonged in fourth grade, but somehow he was here.
I wonder who his mother bribed.
My head was spinning by the time Antigone was carried away by the guards and her death was near. The climax had already built up to its highest peak and it was going down hill from there.
My cuts bled a little more. I applied more pressure as I gritted my teeth.
He knows. He knows. He knows.
I pulled my sweater sleeves down, hoping to mask the grueling evidence. I wanted to go home. I wanted to pull my sweater over my head and keep it that way until my DNA transformed into the sweater's stitching.
My voicemail would say Robyn Wells is currently her favorite sweater. Please leave a message after the beep.
The beep would never come. There would be no messages. I would be left alone for 1000 years.
His name fumbled out of my mouth but I quickly caught myself and anticipated Antigone's tragic death.
Senior. Jock. Hot. Oh my.
He knows. He knows.
YOU ARE READING
Wrists to Hold // Louis Tomlinson
Fanfiction"It makes you feel again. Like CPR. You're alive. Jolted right back into your body. That's what it does." * * * * * She has been doing it as long as she can remember; it was a never ending cycle of pain and happiness. She's tossed and stumbled aroun...
