I can’t believe it’s only been 21 minutes.

It feels like 21 hours. I guess I just type really fast. I have the brightness on my screen all the way down, I don’t need Lin seeing what I think about her. She doesn’t deserve it. I can feel her eyes glancing at my back every few minutes before going back to read Webtoons on her laptop. I don’t want to look back and be nosy, but I’m assuming that’s what happening.

Math is too easy for me; we’re doing revision for a test on Wednesday and it’s so boring. It’s also hard to see what I’m writing right now because of how dark my laptop screen is. I can’t make it brighter though because Lin might see what I’m doing.

Speaking of Lin, I don’t know why I’m still scared of her. It’s some weird hidden fear deep in the back on my mind. Makes me feel weak and even more of a damn coward. I hate this feeling so much, but it feels too familiar to do something about it. It just fluctuates from time to time from being barely noticeable to being extremely bad and noticeable.

I ignored Elis today in the hallway. I don’t want to talk, communicate or have anything to do with Elis or Lin for the rest of the week. I am that desperate to reset everything. They ruffled my hair a few times and asked me if I was okay. I didn’t respond. Their actions seemed so distant to me. It was as if their presence was across the other side of the hallway.

I didn’t go to het classroom either at morning tea. I usually go there to hang out with her friend group but I stayed in my own classroom writing instead. I have one goal; to write everything that happens today.

Not exactly everything, but everything that is relevant to me.

I can see my blank expression in the darkened screen of my laptop, my eyes are dark, so dark. Almost as dark as this book.

I used to have a shine in my eyes, I could see the life in them. Now it’s just an endless black pupil, the only shine left from the light coming from the window of the classroom.

After every single social interaction, I feel like cutting myself again. I don’t bring my paper crafts to school, so I just write, and write, and write. It’s the only thing I can do that keeps me sane. If you could even call me sane at this point.

I’m nervous to publish this and call it a true story. It is a true story but the people who I’ve shown the work in progresses to tell me that it’s realistic, extremely realistic.

Because all of this did happen. If I have forgotten to write the foreword, then here’s your reminder that all these events happened.

And I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.