too much » random writings

8 - what my anxiety looks like

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Isn't it a lil' early for that?"

He shrugs, crossing one ankle over the other. "You know that assignment is due today."

My eyes focus on the ceiling as I try to figure out what goddamn assignment he's talking about.

"The English one. The chart. And the essay."

"Woah, woah, woah," I hold one hand up, stopping him. "The essay is due next Thursday. Not today. And the chart, yeah. But I have a free period. I can get it done."

"What if it's due today, though? Then you're screwed. And might as well stay home."

"You're insane."

He exhales more smoke, looking at me with sad black eyes. "I'm tryin' to protect you."

"No, you're trying to freak me out," I correct him. "And it's not working. I know what's due today. So stop it."

I set my empty bowl in the sink, having to pass by Dean on the counter on my way out of the kitchen. As I'm passing him, though, he does what he always does.

He blows the smoke directly into my face, his grin widening as he does so. I scrunch my nose in disgust, trying my best not to inhale any as I fan it away. I glare at him as I begin walking away, and I actually make it to my bedroom before he pops up again.

"Won't people look at you funny?" He asks, this time laying back down in my bed. "You wear those shoes a lot."

"And?" I raise an eyebrow, slipping my feet into my maroon Vans.

"You shouldn't," He breathes. "Someone may point it out. And laugh."

"You're being ridiculous."

"I would never laugh at you," He promises, his voice back to it's soothing, sultry tone.

I stare at him, debating my options. Do I really need to go to school today?

I shake my head at myself, grabbing my bag. I have to go to school.

I don't tell Dean goodbye on the way out.

+++

It doesn't take Dean long to show up when I'm at school. As soon as I walk in, he's leaned against the wall where I normally stand as I wait for the bell to ring. I internally groan, but stand by him anyway.

At least he has a shirt on now. And jeans. He's fully clothed -- this time.

I lean against the wall and pull out my phone, beginning to scroll through my social media as I wait.

"Mm, they're talking about you."

They're actually not. Shut up.

"Hear that laugh? That was so directed at you. The loner in the mornings."

That laugh was because of a meme. Not me.

When the bell rings, I turn and walk the other way from Dean, breaking into a brisk walk to get ahead of some traffic.

I stop at my locker to grab my textbook and put my lunch box up, and of course Dean is there.

"Are you sure that's the right book?"

I'm positive. It's my history book. I've had history first period this whole school year. It hasn't changed.