𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞

𝟗.

Tue. 17th September 1985 | 9:14am
Max Mayfield

I'm sat down on my desk in health-study class, waiting for the lesson to begin. Eleanor shortly joins me, sitting next to me, as she normally would.

Except, things had been awkward recently. This past week, we hadn't spoken at all - excusing the occasional 'hello's' when coming across each other - so you could expect that it feels weird having her beside me.

Not like I have a choice, Ms Kelley enforced a seating plan when the semester started.

"Hey." I hear El say, catching me off guard. I stare at my notebook, never averting my gaze from it.

"Hey." And we're silent again.

"Okay, girls! I asked you to research a mental illness and make a presentation on it. And as you may have guessed, we will be presenting today."

Ugh shit...

Sure, I have my slideshow ready and everything but I'm simply not in the mood to go to the front of class today. Not like I ever am but y'know.

"Michelle?" Ms Kelley calls, and a blonde girl goes up to the front of the class.

. . .

"Jane?" The teacher looks around the class as my regard fixes to El.

The brunette gets up and moves to the front of the class, politely taking a remote from the teacher for her slideshow I presume.

"Okay, so the mental illness I have chosen to research is attention deficit disorder with or without hyperactivity. Most common symptoms may include lack of capability to—" she continues as I observe in awe, taking in all her features. Everything about her is perfect. She's beautiful. She's kind. She's smart.

Everything you're not.

Months back, I used to believe there was a chance that Eleanor felt the same way for me. How could I have been so foolish and blind?

Stupid motherfucker.

I fall out of my mini trance when hearing a slightly distorted applause, watching as El takes her seat again with a rightfully-so proud smile playing on her lips.

"Maxine?" I roll my eyes, internally flipping the teacher off - she should know by now that I go by Max. I get up and look around the room, walking to the front with an inevitably awkward expression on my face.

"Okay so um... I chose to present anxiety." I mutter just about loud enough for my classmates to hear, awkwardly shifting my gaze from place to place.

"Most common ways to identify this mental illness is when someone constantly struggles to concentrate on certain subjects and, more essentially, feels as if they're being judged for it along with other things. People with anxiety also tend to feel unexplained pains in their head, stomach... I dunno, maybe other places. They get chronic, recurring or unexpected nosebleeds sometimes, especially when they feel on edge. Though it may not seem obvious, this is a very common illness to have, especially with our age group - along with depression and other disorders...—" I say, improvising for the most part. I last revised a few days ago and only remember specific facts.

. . .

I let my bag drop to the ground, kneeling down and taking a pad out of one of the small zips. I walk into a bathroom stall, letting out an echoed sigh as I pull down my trousers and sit down on the toilet.

Stupid fucking period.

While focusing on sticking the pad on my underwear, I watch as a spot of blood drips onto my white blouse. Shit, shit, shit. I hastily grab a bunch of toilet paper and hold it up to my bloody nose, letting out a sharp exhale.