Page 14 of Savage Hope

I’ve always wondered why I was blessed with silver hair, a color that feels brighter, cheerful, and happy. Yet I'm here feeling none of those things.

Running my hands over the front of my blazer, I sigh, taking a step back from the mirror. There's no use worrying over things I can't change.

“Come on, P, otherwise we're going to be late,” S shouts from the doorway, and I roll my eyes. We're never late. We don't have that far to go. But that doesn't matter to her. She likes to be early. And despite my cooling attitude towards her, she still tries every morning.

I turn to her with a half attempt at a smile, one that makes her lips widen with hope, showing her teeth. Following her out the door, we make our way down the hallway, where the line is already forming for everyone to head to class.

I skipped breakfast today, I didn't want to eat. I don't want to eat most days. The impending doom of where my life is going leaves me helpless to the spiral that consumes me. Food is the last thing on my mind.

Sometimes I wish my mind worked differently. Sometimes I wish I was set on taking control of whatever meager remains of my life I can get my hands on. Like gorging on pizza or singing and dancing like I’m happy, but I can’t fight the inevitable that has taken root inside of me.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind me makes my spine stiffen, but I try to push past it and turn around to find the culprit at hand. T, with his megawatt smile back in place as he beams down at me and a flash of hope in his eyes.

I grit my teeth in a way that probably looks like a smile but feels anything but.

“Hey, P, what are you doing today on your break?” he asks, rocking back on his heels.

Dammit. Here we go again.

It seems now that T has made his way through the handful of girls of our age or in the year below us, he is circling back around to me.

No. Nope. No way.

I'm nowhere near interested, not even a little. He can take his ass and he can see himself out. I don't say that, though. I get the feeling that if I did, Mrs. Stephens would overhear me, and I'd somehow be the one in trouble. Instead, I roll my shoulders back and I meet him dead in the eyes.

“I’m already busy at break, T. I'll be busy for tomorrow’s break, the break after, and all the breaks until we’re done here. But thanks.” I turn around, my hair whipping around my shoulders as I do, but a hand curls around my upper arm, threatening to turn me back to him.

Thankfully, Mrs. Stephens comes into view, standing at the head of the group, looking down her nose through the glasses perched precariously at the end as she assesses everyone.

“Follow me,” she orders, leading the usual drill line to her classroom. The creak of the door as we pass over the threshold hasn't changed in at least eighteen months, but nobody seems to want to do anything about it. As I step into the room, I spot my usual seat that's been my home every day for almost eight years.

My steps waver under the weight of my reality, which grows thicker every day.

The end is coming, and nobody wants to talk about it.

The end is coming, and girls laugh beside me.

The end is coming, and guys like T still want to try and dip their tiny dicks in anything that they can. I guess that makes sense, if it's something you're into, but I don't really know how I want to spend the last of my days. All I know is I don't want to spend them near him.

As I take my seat, S taps on my shoulder, drawing my attention to my right, where she gives me a pointed look from her spot beside me.

“You didn't have to be so mean, P,” she whispers, her eyes trailing to where I know T sits. I hold back my eye roll this time, curling my fingers so my nails press into my palms, biting back the snark I want to give her, but she doesn't deserve my aggression. She doesn't deserve my irritation, either, but her lack of understanding always brings it to the surface.

“I wasn't being mean, I was just being me,” I grumble before turning toward the chalkboard. Instead of engaging in any further conversation with her, I focus on the pastel colors that swarm across the black background. I hear the usual sound of my bangles jingle against the desk as I link my fingers together in front of me. Instinctively, I want to dig into my pocket and pull out my coin, but I fight against it. I can’t pull it out here,and I can’t let anyone see how weak and vulnerable I can be. Not when I’ve worked so hard on being aloof and unfazed. There are some things that are just meant for me to know and others to never find out.

We’re under scrutiny here at all times. Everyone knows everything about everyone, and I refuse to be any more of a statistic than I already am.

I can sense S still looking at me. She’s always got more to say, but I have no interest in hearing it. Her boyfriend has remained at her side this entire time and is also best friends with T. That's not my issue. I don't want to be with the guy. It was nothing more than physical anyway.

Thankfully, I’m saved again by Mrs. Stephens, who makes her way from the door to the chalkboard, her high heels echoing on the wooden floor with every step she takes until she reaches her desk. I expect her to pull her seat and take her spot, as she always does with her fingers laced together on the desk, but this time, she doesn't. She pauses behind her chair, curling her fingers into the worn leather as she assesses everyone in the classroom.

I instantly feel the shift, the distance, the awkwardness that has never been here before. There is something in her eyes I haven’t seen either; something wicked, somewhat relieved, and possibly a hint of…shame? I can’t be sure, that's not something I’ve ever recognized on her face before.

Truthfully, I know if they ever made teachers in hell, that's exactly where she came from. She's cut-throat, she's fierce, she has no bend, she's strict, completely black and white, and we must fall into step or feel the blaze of her fury. I’ve felt the wrath from this woman one too many times, but I've never seen this side of her before.

A silence dances over the room as she passes her gaze around us a second time, and my palms begin to sweat as anticipationcoils through my veins. Chancing a glance around the room, nobody else seems to be picking up on the weird vibe that's making the air so thick I can barely breathe.

Reluctantly turning my attention back to Mrs. Stephens, I find her gaze set solely on me, like she is waiting to have my full attention before she opens her mouth.

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