For some reason, the cafeteria feels overly stuffy and hot, and it’s not even like there’s no AC, nor is the door leading to the outside tables open. It’s probably just me. But it makes sense; I’m panicking right now.

I’m with the Friend Group, sitting at our usual, overly-crowded, white circular table with red, uncomfortable chairs. It doesn’t feel like a group; it feels more like a ten against one, like everyone else (the ten) are ganging up against me (the one).

“I’m sorry, Adelia,” Emily, who just broke up with me not even a full day ago, begins.

Not a good start.

You’re screwed.

My palms begin to sweat, and both of my legs are bobbing up and down; I’m restless.

“We’ve all come to the conclusion that, while we do care about you, we think it’s best if we all parted ways from you.”

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Not a single word or sound. Just my shallow, raggedy breaths. Don’t panic, not now. Breathe. In for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight.

Of course, my breathing techniques don’t work, as per usual. My therapist is full of bullshit with the breathing exercises.

Everyone has their eyes searing a hole into me, burning more intensely than the sun when it scorches your skin leaving behind a sunburn. As if I’m not already self-conscious, my body and brain decide to go full-on with the whole panicking and insecurity thing.

“Well?” Emily questions, a chestnut-colored brown raised expectantly.

“I, um…” Finally. Got something out. “I, uh, why? Why kick me out? What did I do?”

Though it’s incredibly loud in here, I can hear Lana, who is sitting across from me, sigh. “Because, though we’re sure you didn’t mean it, you were manipulative and would project onto us. You were mainly manipulative by guilt tripping us.”

“How was I guilt tripping you guys?” I question. I can feel the blood begin to rush in my veins, my heart pounding, so hard that I can feel my heartbeat in the temples of my head, and in my knees. I’m beginning to lose it.

“You’d say stuff like, ‘It’s been an hour and you haven’t even responded to my texts’ and ‘You don’t love me or care about me,’ even though we did our best to support you and we constantly said we cared and loved you, but you just wouldn’t take that for an answer,” Evan answers, twirling one of his chocolate brown curls with his finger.

“Yeah,” numerous people of the group murmur at more or less the same time, making them sound like an entity.

An entity.

No one is speaking for themselves.

They are ganging up against me.

What the fuck is wrong with these people? 

I thought you were my friends.

A million thoughts rush through my head like rapid fire. My neurons are probably getting tired of firing so much, thought after thought after thought.

“Did you ever consider that you’re dealing with a mentally ill person? Someone who, no matter what you say to them, will still think shit of themselves? Ever thought about it that way?” I raise my voice.

“Hey,” Emily objects, putting her hands up, as if surrendering, though she’s clearly not going to back down. “No need to get so worked up.”

“‘No need to get so worked up?’” I mock. I’ve officially lost it. The final straw has been broken. “Really! Wow! Now tell me, since you clearly have the answer to everything life throws at you, dear Emily, what would you do if you were put into exile? Got kicked out of your one and only friend group?”

Emily’s hazel eyes thin into slits. She glares icily at me, though the coolness doesn’t temper the heat bubbling in me. “You’re being overly dramatic and immature.”

“Huh. Is that your answer to everything you refuse to answer? Because you know you’re in the wrong, yet you can’t even admit it? Wow, just wow.” I shake my head. “You know what,” I push my chair back and stand up, grabbing my lunch box, which has not even been opened, and my backpack. “I’m sick of you all. You guys are just a bunch of pathetic people. Kicking out someone who’s vulnerable. I never want to see or speak to you guys again,” I spit out, and with that, I turn on my heel and head in the direction of the cafeteria’s exit.

But just as I do so, I can hear snickering behind me, and Evan screams after me, “We never liked you in the first place! We just took you in because you were, and still are, a wet kitten, in search of its mother, who will never be found!”

I freeze in place, and slowly turn around.

Though I’m not exactly too close to the Friend Group’s table, I can still see them all laughing their heads off, looking in my direction.

“Aww, look. She’s reconsidering her choices!” Lana cackles. “You’re gonna come back, aren’t you? Beg for mercy?”

“You’re just a trash bag. I dated you because I felt sorry for you,” Emily confirms my one growing suspicion.

I can’t do this.

This is too much.

Why me?

“Why don’t you all just fuck off and leave me alone!” I holler, clenching my fists. I probably look like a three-year-old who’s crying because they want their stuffed animal back, but I honestly couldn’t care less. I’m beyond pissed.

“Language!” A teacher nearby, I don’t see who, warns.

I storm out of the cafeteria, punching the doors open, full of rage.

I hate those people.

I hate them I hate them I hate them I hate them.

They’re cruel and evil.

I hate the Friend Group.

No, they’re not the Friend Group anymore.

But rather, the Old Friend Group.

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

I pull myself up from the bed, which, under normal circumstances, would be comfortable. But, just like how I felt in the dream, it’s all hot and clammy and gross in this room, under my star-studded grey sheets.

Breathing heavily, I run my hand through my hair, pushing my curtain bangs out of my face, but it doesn’t really work because some hair is stuck to my face on account of my forehead being sweaty.

Breathe. In for four seconds, hold for seven, exhale for eight. It was just a dream.

Suddenly, I burst into tears, my vision going blurry. I miss them. I miss the Old Friend Group so much.

But they did you so, so dirty.

But I miss them.

The Old Friend Group.

I can feel myself beginning to spiral, my mental breakdown getting worse.