(tw- smut suicide)
"His kiss is quiet and embodies the color blue, which has always been my favorite color; everything about Clay Jensen is blue."
The moon basks the bedroom in shining silver light, beaming down on two teenagers sleeping soundly...
The day comes the second I close my eyes, and I groggily awaken as the sun highlights the dust particles that float through my room.
Making a mental note to clean up, I push myself out of my achingly comfortable bed to reach the bathroom.
I avoid looking at my face in the mirror, knowing it was going to be swollen and gross from crying all night. Hurriedly brushing my teeth, I blindly tie my hair into a high ponytail. I force my eyes to rise to the mirror, and lock eye contact, keeping them steadily transfixed on myself.
It's Monday, you have to go back to school. They've all seen the picture, it's time to suck it up and deal with it. I tell myself as I grit my teeth.
My priority is Clay, I have keep him safe. He thinks he's a whole lot tougher than he really is. Keep him away from Bryce and avoid Justin like the plague. You will be okay. Just get through today.
I huff and push off the edge of the marble sink, walking across the awkwardly silent hallway back into my room.
Both of my parents have jobs and leave before I wake up for school, so I have the entire house to myself on mornings. A painful jolt in my heart reminds me of Jeff bursting into my room, hopping on my bed and tearing blankets away from me until I woke up. He was an annoying big brother, but I miss his energy that used to fill these halls and fill them with a feeling that I can never replace. I constantly remind myself that you don't know you need until it's gone.
Throwing open my dresser, I survey all my clothes before pulling out ripped jeans and an incredibly loose sweater, hanging off my shoulder to expose my lacy, white bra. People will stare at me today, so I might've as well give them something to look at.
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I need to try my best to hold up my reputation after the destruction this picture might have cost. Maybe being the prettiest in the room, no matter how narcissistic it sounds, will salvage whatever I might have left.
A headache slowly creeps up on me as I push myself back into the bathroom, hurriedly applying a polished version of my usual makeup look, keeping in mind that I have to look good today.
I can already feel the prying eyes of hundreds of students and shiver at the thought of their eyes trailing up and down my body, just like Bryce's.
Shuddering, I give myself one final look in the mirror and practice fake smiles before giving up and storming out of the room agitatedly.
Pants of pain course through my head as I walk through my house, ordering my usual morning coffee through the Dunkin' app before slamming the front door open into the bright sunlight.
I drive fast and recklessly, determined to get to school before Clay arrives on his bike.
Maybe if I got to school before him, I could stop the boys from ganging up on him.
