One, Two, Three, Four.. | CubeSmp a.u

Chapter 4

He nodded his head. "Let me meet you at lunch," he said, slamming his locker and leaving.

"Bee" then left without a word.

As I opened my locker, I wondered why he was like that. Was his act towards me just one massive lie? Did he pretend to like me because of something that "wasn't his choice," as Bianca said? Lately, everything has been one large puzzle or labyrinth it seemed.

Once I got into the cafeteria, I gripped my lunch bag in my left hand and looked down at my open journal in my right hand. I knew it was ignorant to do such an unsafe thing but I didn't have any other time to proofread my work and this time, I had a large chapter to look over.

Because I was not looking at where I was heading at all, I felt my head slam into someone's chest. My head throbbed for a couple seconds and my thoughts began to process everything that occurred moments ago. My journal and lunch bag ended up dropping to the floor as an immediate response. I instantly apologized, like I always do, and began to pick up my things. But the person beat me directly to it, handing me back my items and also apologizing.

I finally took the time to look at the person's face, realizing that it was Brayden, one of the most popular people in the school and was also another person apart of Will and Bianca's clique.

He had brown hair, brown eyes, and a gorgeous smile. I wish I could be able to brighten someone's day by just smiling, but I couldn't do that. I just didn't have that kind of enthusiasm and appearance.

"I'm so so sorry!" I told him, flustered as ever because I bumped into a well-known and popular person.

He chuckled, reminding me of Will when I said sorry to him as well. "It's alright, Charlotte."

"You-you know my name?" I asked, astonished.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I? You're with Will, right?"

"I uh, um, yeah," I faltered sheepishly. "I am?"

He laughed again. "I'm sorry about bumping into you, but it was nice to meet you anyway. I'll see you around."

I nodded my head as he brushed past me, going the other direction. Once he was gone, I sighed in relief. Being actively social was torture for me, believe it or not. It wasn't me. I didn't like conversing with others. It not only made me feel uncomfortable, but it made me feel vulnerable like I was being pressured and weighed down to speak—to let go of words that never seemed to exist outside of my mouth. I wanted to feel normal for once instead of being unknown or at least known for reasons I didn't deserve being known for.

Sometimes I felt as if I didn't like or appreciate who I was. I could understand people who wouldn't resist the chance of getting good grades—like I did—but the other side of me, the social side of me, just didn't coordinate with my brains or my thoughts. Maybe they were not reachable of each other and that wasn't normal.

Anything that had to do with conversing with anyone was never normal for me and I didn't feel okay. I felt anxious and I didn't know how to express that anxiety away. All I knew how to do was get flustered, cry, and overthink everything that happened. I always thought too much about everything. It was like re-watching my life play over and over again, emphasizing all my mistakes and misunderstandings. Yet I couldn't change anything and that bothered me the most. The urge was strong and it pulled onto me. It was a desire to fix all the wrongs in my life and all I could do was watch myself fail before my eyes.

It was troubling to ignore and push away anything because it comes right back up, piling and continuing to grow. And not only did it make me drown, it produced motivation—no matter how discontent it might've seemed. My emotions were written and drawn out into words to only describe what I've been through.

Understanding everything, I write.

Understanding nothing, I write.

Then I only end up okay and I was okay.

So then I continued walking and I continued writing.

I eventually found an empty table and sat down, unpacking my lunch in an organized manner so that everything, including my pens, journal, and food, were arranged in a specific way.

I looked up, ate my food, and wondered if anyone noticed how anxious I've been getting recently. A lot of people had been talking to me, talking about me, and I could tell. It was bothering me and I wished it would go away but I couldn't just wish something away.

Lately, I knew myself that something had been wrong with me for the past few days. I had never thought so much in my life. I never had a pressuring hole in my body that told me to try to be what everyone else was. But I couldn't fill that role, even if I wanted to and I did want to. I just couldn't be the kind of person like Bianca was or Brayden was. I wasn't like them and I almost hated myself for being who I am. The real problem was, I hadn't felt that way before Will came into my life and I knew that he was making me anxious.

I just couldn't justify why I was abruptly so disconsolate. I was a hopeless cause.

As I ate, read, and wrote, I noticed Will sitting down at the desolated table I was at.

"Hey," Will smiled brightly as usual—so usual it seemed almost abnormal and I knew it was a coverup. He was only pretending.

"Hey," I sighed. I wished he would tell me what was going on because I didn't understand absolutely anything.

"Something wrong?" He questioned, taking out contents of his backpack, probably getting ready to finish work from other classes.

I shook my head, no and didn't even look at him at all. I wasn't mad. I was just confused, but inquiring him would be too much and would only add on to my list of things to be stressed about.

"So what're you up to?"

"Proofreading and writing."

Silence.

Just silence.

I could only hear the cafeteria's loud noises and sounds behind me, surrounding me, and consuming me because of this silence.

Then he finally said something. "Char, don't do this. Please tell me what's wrong. I'm tired of having to guess with this relationship." Will rubbed in his face in frustration and I could tell that I added more things to his stress list also.

I pitied him. I felt sorry for him, not in a bad way, but I wanted him to stop being so serious and distraught. I hoped he didn't feel what I had to feel.

"I'm sorry," I blurted, looking at Will. "I'm um really sorry for whatever you're going through. I'm sorry for not understanding what's going on. I don't want to be sorry because I know it won't make you feel any better but I just am." I didn't know where my voice had come from. I just spoke words for once without having to think. I couldn't say that I didn't like it. My thoughts have been keeping my voice captive for so long because of fear and terror. Now, I just had to attempt no restriction if I wanted to really express the unspoken words.

However, my slight happiness did not last for long. Will then shifted in his seat and left, picking up all of his things, without having one word exchanged back.

I took a deep breath in...then out.

Maybe what I said hadn't been enough. My words were never enough and I was okay with that, so I left too.