MONDAY MORNING ROLLS BY, AND THERE'S AN UNSPOKEN DISTANCE BETWEEN GRAYSON AND ME. He's avoiding me, and I'm doing the same. Although it doesn't bother me as expected, I'm irked that he's spending the time with Trixie. Yesterday after my injury, I limped myself to the nearest bus station and headed to the hospital. And then, I proceeded to limp myself home. Safe to say, my leg's on fire.

With the temporary cast, I stare at it distastefully, angsty that I won't be able to practice for up three weeks. "What happened to your foot?" Tianna questions, swinging her arms around my books to carry them for me.

"Ballet. I landed wrong," I reply, "Minor injury, but I should be good as new in a few weeks."

"Aren't you lucky? You get to sit out for PE," she groans, head dropping down in disappointment. "By the way, first game of the season, you going?"

Grayson is the one who usually takes me. He's the only reason why I learned all the little and important details about football. The only reason why I tolerate all the screaming, sociable teenagers is for him, even when I'm as anti-social as anti-social gets. "Maybe. I haven't decided yet." Truthfully, social interactions terrify me, and I rather linger in my own room with a book in hand than go out partying. Partying, in my opinion, is for the people running away from something. They want to escape the chains of society and do so by drinking and abusing drugs. Sometimes, it makes me wonder if Grayson's running away from something too.

I find myself searching through the crowds of students for Grayson, but to no avail do I catch sight of him. Trixie is by her locker, surrounded the way she normally is, like a queen adored by her loyal subjects. Her icy gaze sweeps the hallways, looming until they land on me. She's smiling, but there's a hidden intensity of hostility in it. They see right through me, and I feel self-conscious. Her mere presence is suffocating.

Hurriedly, I slam my locker shut, pretending I don't notice her eyes following my every movement. Tugging Tianna along, she frowns, assessing me, "Are you okay? You don't seem like yourself today."

"I'm fine," the lie slips off my tongue naturally. I have this urge to tell her that I'm on the verge of shattering. I'm tired of everything. My mother's anniversary is approaching closer each day, and there's a heavy burden on my heart. My father lost his job, and he thinks he's a terrible parent. He's gone back to alcohol and drugs again. And Grayson? He's fucking breaking my heart without even knowing it, so yeah, I'm fine. But there's always a barrier that keeps me from saying it. I've shown this persona the way others think of me and perceive me. I have to remain dainty and perfect. My fear of looking weak stops me, and instead, I add, "It's just one of those days. I'm a bit bummed about the ankle."

A small part of me wishes that she'll see through my pathetic facade and tell me that it's okay. But she never does. Lightly punching my arm, she tosses a grin, "Don't worry. We've gotten closer, so you've got me. I'll entertain you while your ankle heals," her reassurance eases my anxiety momentarily. "That's why we'll be going to the first game of the season in two weeks." And just like that, my anxiety is back, full-blast.

GRAYSON HAS BEEN ABSENT FOR A WEEK. I have called, texted, and visited his house, but it seems as though he's purposely avoiding me. His parents are bad liars, but they make up excuses why he can't see me. No one has seen him, and it's like he's just disappeared.

Getting off the bus, I limp my way home the way I have been doing. Despite the hurt I feel, his absence is the reminder that this is how my feelings for him will gradually fade. And when I look up, I stumble back. He's here, sitting on the steps of the front porch. His fingers tousle through his hair, deep in thought that he hasn't noticed me. "Grayson?" My voice wavers, and I rub my eyes to make sure I'm not hallucinating.

He stiffens, glancing up with a shrug, "Please don't get upset," he insists. I bite my lip nervously when I skim his face. His eyes are bloodshot with dilated pupils. He keeps surveying our surroundings in paranoia, and I pray that he hasn't done what I think he has. "What on earth did you do?"

"Don't get mad," he repeats, fidgeting with his fingers abnormally. "T-The drugs."

He looks like shit. Dazed and as if he hasn't gotten proper sleep in days. The familiar verdant eyes are dull and have turned into a darker shade. I'm filled with disappointment, furrowing my eyebrows as I attempt to recall the number to his counsellor. Everything is weighing down on me too much, and I lash out. "Cocaine is dangerous, Grayson! You're so stupid! Don't you know how much I hate it?! Words can't even describe how disappointed I am." I pace back and forth, trying to figure out what I can do. Grayson and my father are in the same place, and I don't know how to help. Hell, I haven't even gotten myself together.

"You don't understand, and you never will! You'll never understand the high I feel!" He retorts, eyes blazing with agitation. "God, I'm so sick of you. I come here, and all you do is judge me! Stop trying to consistently fucking mother me when you don't even have one yourself!"

"Leah, wait–"

The words are a slap to the face, and my face reddens with embarrassment. I don't know what to say. "Get out," my lip trembles, vision blurring with tears. "I don't want to see you. I can't even stand looking at you. I fucking hate you. Get out of my face!" I seethe, trying to block out everything as I turn around to calm myself down.

Silence washes over the two of us, and I listen to his faint footsteps as he throws the nearby flower pot to the road. Hearing the smash, I flinch and turn, realizing how ignorant I am. He shouldn't be driving in this condition. Panicking, I rush down the driveway, pushing myself against the doctor's orders. I stumble, falling, but Grayson doesn't bother to look back. He slams his car door shut, punching the steering wheel. I'll suffer the consequences of my ankle and cross that bridge when I get there.

Gathering the rest of my strength, I get to my feet and run. Listening to his engine start-up, I begin freaking out. I have no idea what other drugs he's on, but cocaine is one of them. He's in no position to be driving, and I need to get him out. Rushing to the passenger side, trying to pull open the door, I bang on the window when I find it's locked. "I forgive you! Stay, please." I beg, "We can watch a movie. I'll get Thai food and ice cream. I'll help you get caught up with everything you missed. Just don't go."

I'm desperate, but Grayson, he's staring at me with such lifeless eyes. The whiplash of his cold eyes makes me stagger back. There's something different about him that I can't pinpoint. He feels further than he ever has. He shakes his head, inaudibly murmuring, "No. It's too late to go back." But it seems like he's convincing himself rather than speaking to me.

He gasses it, and I fall back, landing on the grass just before he can run over my feet. The way his exhaust echos in the distance leaves me with goosebumps because I have a dreading feeling in my stomach. I can only watch as he swerves out my neighbourhood because I'm incapable of doing anything. I can't run after him or chase him down with a car. And I've never felt this helpless before.

Whipping my head back, the sky grows dimmer as the clouds begin to form together. And god, I hate how mother nature seems to be mimicking and ridiculing my moods. I continuously try to call him, but it goes to voicemail each time. And when I try to send a text message, I realize my message won't send—I've been blocked.

Sept 15, 2021, 4:26 PM
to– Grayson <3

Where the hell are you? Please, come back. I'm sorry.
⚠ not delivered

─────

Sept 15, 2021, 4:28 PM
to– Grayson <3

Please be okay.
⚠ not delivered