January 18, 2018

"Is this a dagger which I see before me,
The handle toward my hand?
Come, let me clutch thee:"

I felt my breathing quicken upon hearing the line. The professor checked her nails leisurely, sending a curt nod of encouragement in my direction. I pursed my lips, turning the page. I could feel the questioning gaze of my classmates on me. I could feel his gaze burning my skin. I steeled my shaking hands and continued,

"I have thee not, and yet I see thee
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight?
Or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressèd brain?"

From the corner of my eye, I could see the professor's eyes widen infinitesimally in awe. But that didn't matter now. My mind was already racing, slowly brimming with images so grotesque that I had to close my eyes to catch my breath. I held the desk to study myself. Noah's eyes never left me.

Noah Dimitri Winters. The university's heartthrob and golden boy, sitting next to me. His eyes seemed to follow my every movement. Anyone who knew him knew that he was danger. He fought, he drank, he smoked. Technically, he should've been expelled by now, but there was a bit of favouritism going around here. With dazzling grades that matched his looks and football skills, he was our star student.

If it was some other day, I would've felt flustered by the intensity of his gaze. But I couldn't bring myself to think of anything else even if I tried. My mind was already painting pictures of pain and violence in the back of my eyelids, whispering tauntingly, this is what you want, is it not? To feel the sharpness of the dagger break your skin? Or to see the river of blood flowing from someone else?

"It's not real. It's not what you want. It's not what you want. It's not what you want." I muttered to myself, gently rocking on my heels. A hush fell across the class.

"Abby? Abby, are you alright?" I snapped my eyes open at the concerned voice of Mrs. Smith and tried to give her a smile which turned out more like a grimace. I gripped the edge of the page and cleared my throat,

"I see thee yet, in form as
As this which now I draw."

I could see that everyone was getting uncomfortable now. I knew I should probably stop, but I couldn't,

"Mine eyes are made the fools o'th'other senses
Or else worth all the rest. I see thee still
And on the blade and dudgeon gouts of blood,
Which was not so before. There's no such thing:
It is the bloody business which
Thus to mine eyes."

"Abby." A firm voice grounded me. I could feel Noah's warm hands enclose over mine.

I sucked in a sharp breath and closed my book shut, "Professor Smith, I'm not feeling too good. Can I use the restroom?"

She seemed eager to let me go, "Yes! Of course, go and get some air, Abby."

It didn't take me long to exit the rooms. I walked down the halls hastily, trying to lose the trail of the curious murmurs following me.

I dug my fingernails into my palms and muffled a scream. It was happening again; the noises becoming louder and louder until I can hear every single thing around me. Every whisper, every step, and every single breath taken in. I closed my eyes and stepped inside a bathroom cubicle, not bothering to lock it.

This was not fine. Nothing was fine. The panic attacks and intrusive thoughts had been increasing recently. At first, they just used to ruin my sleep but now, I couldn't even read a passage from a play without getting another freak-out episode.

My stomach turned at the images which flashed in front of my eyes. A voice deep inside me telling me to hurt myself or worse, to hurt the people around me. I groaned and tugged on my hair. It made absolutely no sense. I was not suicidal, not at the least. I had no intention or reason to hurt myself or others. Then why was my hand aching to hold a knife and drag it across my skin? Then why was this all-consuming void gnawing at my stomach? Then why won't the voices in my head just stop?

You would think that an English major with a great family will be happy with her life. I thought so too, but apparently my mind decided that's not gonna happen. I bit my lip and tried to concentrate on the sting instead of my sinister thoughts.

Positive thoughts, I thought, holding my head, my mom's smile, Elena, the ball bouncing off my fingers with a brilliant rush of adrenaline, the texture of my diary pages, and the scent of lavender.

But it just seemed to make things so much worse, because none of it was there with me and the truth hit me like a truckload of bricks; I was all alone. It was the last year of college and I was still the pathetic loner I was on the first day. I was so far away from home and I had no one. I had no ambitions, no goals, no particular destination I wanted to reach. I was stumbling in the endless dark void, screaming with all I can but no voice would come out. So many people around me and not one who could hear me; no one even cares for me.

I took the Xanax in my pocket with trembling hands and swallowed it. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth together, willing myself not to throw up as the pill travelled down my foodpipe uncomfortably.

"Abby?" I didn't hear him until he was right in front of me. There he stood, the Noah Winters, his eyes narrowed with concern. He knelt down so that he was at my level, "Hey, are you alright?"

And then I was crying.

It all flowed out of me. I was sobbing and stuttering and baring my heart to a stranger. I knew I would rue this day forever after I sobered up, but at that moment, it didn't matter. It was like the barrier I've so precariously built around me had collapsed and I didn't really mind.

I felt his warmth before I felt his arms wrapping around me.

I stiffened and muttered, "What are you doing?"

His touch sent a shock through my body, making my thoughts screech to a halt. His arms just tightened around me in response.

"I'm not very good at handling emotions myself, so I can't really give useful advice or tell you that it gets better," his voice sounded soft like he was approaching a woundeed animal,"But I read that applying pressure helps during an anxiety attack. I don't really have a weighted blanket, but I am pretty comfy, so you'd have to adjust."

He cleared his throat, "I know this isn't the best situation for an introduction but in case you don't know me, I'm Noah Dimitri Winters, better known as the 'hot football-team captain'," he mimicked in a high-pitched voice. I let a smile break out on my face despite myself," I know this hug is very abrupt, but I couldn't help myself. I know how you feel. Like you're all alone and no matter how hard you want to reach out for help, you can't. And at those times, I feel like I could really use a hug. And I think you could too."

Oh, how wonderfully ignorant I stayed in his arms that day, listening to him talk, having no idea that he would be the ruin of me. That we both would end up breaking each other down over and over again, caught in an intoxicating circle of misery.

After my heartbeat slowed down to normal, I reluctantly pulled away, "Uh... thanks?"

He smiled, no trace of awkwardness in it. He looked like he did this on a daily basis, "Ah, it's no big deal."

I hugged my arms around myself, trying to replicate the warmth of his hug to no avail, "Well, that was still very nice of you. You had no obligation to hug a girl with a runny nose who was ugly sobbing in a cubicle."

That elicited a laugh from him. I grinned, proud to have made him laugh. He cocked his head to the side and smirked cheekily, "You see, you don't have all the facts here. That girl was really pretty too. So I wanted to give her a hug."

We stayed like that for some time, just smiling and listening to our synced breathing. Before I could change my mind, I blurted out, "So... friends?"

To make things more embarrassing, I extended a hand. He looked at my hand, amusement dancing in his radiant eyes, "You should know by now that I don't really do friends."

It was true. Regardless of his popularity, he didn't really have any friends. He was a loner like me, but just more talented, good-looking and popular.

I refused to withdraw my hand. I gave him an equally challenging smirk and said, "Assuming that you knew that I existed before today, you should've known that I don't do friends either."

That earned me another laugh from him. His hand encased mine, firm and rough, "Friends."

***
                          January 27

My name is Abby Davis. And I am alive. I am alive.

I tell myself over and over again with all I can. I was painfully aware of the sounds around me. The sound of screaming, of nails tapping against the desk, of my chattering teeth, and the chalk against the board.

"You're not even listening, are you?"

I was abruptly brought back to my body. I blinked and put on a sheepish smile, "Yes?"

Sarah sighs and turns away, shaking her head. I was vaguely aware of her holding my hand and saying something which was supposed to make me happy. It was like I was watching myself in a movie. I was there and not there at the same time. I watched myself laugh Sarah's joke like it was the best thing I've heard all day.

Sarah was my friend. Or was she not? I didn't really know. After my little friendship with Noah, suddenly everyone seemed to notice my existence. Everyone wanted to talk to me, compliment my volleyball skills, and become my friend. Sarah was one of those people.

And it was kinda awkward, to be honest because after being my roommate for 3 years and not talking to me all along, Sarah decided we were going to be best friends. But I couldn't put all the blame on her. I wasn't the best conversationalist and I absolutely loathed human contact. So she gave up talking to me after the first few weeks.

I liked Sarah. She was nice. But something was just missing.

College was an awfully lonely place. It was so different from school to the level that it was almost scary. New people, new life, a new beginning, and everything seemed terribly real. It was nothing like the candy-filled land that was high school. I was sitting among my 'friends' and I was laughing and everything was okay. But the lights dimmed and everything seemed grey and murky, like a hazy dream.

But everything was going to be okay, wasn't it? It was just a matter of getting used to my surroundings. The only thing holding me back was the thought if I really wanted to get used to this.

I am alive. I am alive, I told myself over and over again because it was true, wasn't it? I was there, in my English literature class, listening to people laugh and the lecturer drone on and on. I had everything. Good friends, amazing family, and no traumatic backstory. I was supposed to be happy. But all I could feel was that aching, that yearning for something more in my ribs. I didn't know if I could hold it in any longer.

What do you want? I wanted to scream. And the answer was just more, more, more and more.

Stories tell you about girls who play with fire and come out unscathed. They tell you about girls who play with fire and end up falling in love with it. Thinking about it always made me laugh. Oh, how nice it would be if all that were true.

Because fire isn't something you could hold in your arms and dance with. It's not your lover. It's not something that can be loved. I'll tell you what the stories forget to mention. I'll tell you what really happens when you play with fire. Girls play with fire because it's been so long since they've felt something. Girls play with fire because once you touch it, you can't let go. Girls play with fire and in the end, all they can do is burn, burn, and burn.

Sarah was telling me something about slutty girls and Noah. That was enough to get my attention. I snapped my head towards her and frowned, "Noah? What about him?"

She rolled her eyes and pointed towards the door where Noah was waiting for me," College's golden boy who has girls on his tail all day long. But he looks at you like you're his whole damn world and you've just known him for a week. No offense, but what does he even see in you?"

That was a question I liked to ask myself quite often. What could he possibly see in me? Delicate features, green eyes that were almost always glassy, and no physical attributes that boys often find appealing. It was normal. I was ordinary. It was boring. I was the same hopeless romantic you read about in every single teen-fiction book.

And maybe that's exactly what he wanted.

The first day we met, he had stared at me for a long time during the lecture. I couldn't help but giggle and give him a questioning look. All he said was, "You're different from the others. You're not like most girls."

I didn't know what that was supposed to mean. I still don't.

I snapped out of my thoughts and waved my hand dismissively, "You're overthinking it. We're nothing more than friends and as you said, we literally met a week ago."

Sarah gave me her signature eye-roll, "Yeah sure. See you later!"

I waved goodbye and turned to Noah. His grey eyes were sparkling with joy and there was a smile so wide in his face that it almost seemed like a snarl. He shouldered my bag and gave my shoulder a nudge, "Hey you," he scrunched his nose,"Jesus, Abby, did you come here straight after the morning practice? You stink and that's not even the worst thing about you now."

I smiled. Maybe I could get used to this.

I am Abby Davis. And I am alive. I am alive, I told myself over and over and over again.

****
                         April 2018

Our hands fit like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.

The first time he held my hands were after my football practice. The weather was somehow dull and damp, but my heart bloomed with the vigour of a thousand springs. He didn't know, but when he tugged my hand and sighed exasperatedly saying, "Can we leave now m'lady?" everything seemed crisper, more lively. I just laughed and let him drag me away from the field.

Half of my heart hoped he wouldn't notice the abundance of my smiles and my pulse raging on my wrist. And the other half hoped for the exact opposite.

Our friendship was a strange thing. Noah was an enigma; one which I hoped to uncover in the future. Some days, he would walk me to every class and after all the classes were over, even to my house. But some times, he would just disappear for weeks together without a word. There would be faded bruises all over his body when he returned. He always tried to cover it from me, but I always saw them. I always did.

I often liked to imagine what other people would think if they saw us together. It would be something along the lines of intense confusion and jealousy while thinking, I have been trying to get his attention forever and this short blonde devil with no good looks waltzes in and suddenly they're best friends?

"You're early today," I noted. He just shrugged and combed a hand through his hair.

"Coach let us go early today. He just couldn't stand the thought of putting up with us for an hour longer," he joked.

Sports, for me, had just been something I took up because I thought it made me stronger. I have seen myself as someone who's delicate all through school and when I started college, it was something I wanted to change. My mom thought it was a terrible idea, considering my already thin form. But once my mind was set on something, it's almost impossible to change it. My skill at volleyball was purely luck and hard work. It was something that was new and exciting and comforting to me.

But to Noah? Sports was his everything. It was something which he needed just as much as he needed to breathe. He was a natural, hell, even a prodigy at football. There was something in the way he played which awed and terrified me at the same time. There was always this mix of bliss and untamed rage on his face every time he was going to score a goal. And then there was this wild grin, all teeth, and triumph, which broke out his face when the ball hit the net. And it always did.

And when it all got too much to handle, Noah was always there. Sometimes I regret my decision to even take up sports when my muscles feel like someone tore them down to pieces and stitched them back together again. But they didn't seem so hard when I was trying to catch my breath with him.

He made everything warmer and my existence lighter. He was everything I could ever ask for in a friend and more.

"What are you up to now? You free?" Noah asked, his face morphing into the one of practiced nonchalance. It was cute, really, how he pretended to not really care when he actually did care.

I pulled my hair out of my bun and sighed, tying it back again. It was an absent-minded gesture I did whenever I was agitated or tired and of course, Noah knew this. He swiftly took out a chocolate bar from his pocket and threw it to me, "Eat up, missy."

It had been 3 months since the first time we met, and every second with him seemed like a thousand years of laughter and happiness. What was he to me? A friend? A mere acquaintance? Or something far more intimate? All I knew was that he was too close too soon, but I saw no harm in that. Maybe I should've.

It made me think; how much did I know him, really? Sometimes when we're doubling over with laughter, it feels like I've known him for all my life. I knew that he said things that may be easily misinterpreted whenever he was nervous. I knew he had a bit of a temper. I knew that he knew how to twist his words so that they hit right where it hurt, but he never wanted to hurt anyone intentionally. It was something he couldn't control. I knew that he cracked jokes when he didn't know what to say. I knew he was filled with so much love and passion for everything and everyone. But sometimes, when I see those fleeting glances of fury or cold indifference in moments in which he thinks I'm not watching make me think if I knew anything at all about him.

I never saw him with anyone other than me and he didn't really like to talk about his family or his personal issues. It was almost as if he was hiding a part of him from me. But I knew better than to ask; if he wanted to tell me, he would.

The sky was draped in a lilac dress, and the light made Noah glow like he was something ethereal, which to me, he was. My sweet Noah, always helping people even when he didn't need to. He always seemed to get hurt in the end but for some reason, it didn't seem to bother him at the least. Or so I thought.

I stared at the scar on his cheek for a little too long, making him raise his eyebrow and snicker. I smacked his head lightly and started walking out of the field.

I smiled sadly and shook my head, "Nope, big boy. My muscles are literally screaming, I gotta go take rest. Honestly, I don't even know how I'm going to walk all the way, even if my dorm is literally just across the campus. I'll probably faint halfway through."

He threw a lazy arm around my shoulder and gave me a cheesy smile, "Don't worry princess, your knight in shining armour is right here to catch you."

If it were someone else, I would've laughed and said something snarky. If it were someone else, I would've said 'I don't need no knight in shining armour'. But instead, I just leaned onto him, perhaps a little too much, and simply said, "I know."

***
A/n.

thank you so much for reading!

If you guys didn't already figure it out, this book is based on ALL the toxic tropes in Wattpad. And saying,"you're not like most girls." is one of that. pls I hate it so much it's so cringe😭