alright ↠ dylan o'brien

two.

People keep talking

but I can't hear a word they say.

-After The Fall by Kodaline

Lola

    I couldn't get the memories out of my head, ever. The thoughts just kept rushing back to my head every night, haunting me in unpleasant dreams. Of course, I had no idea how much worse it could possibly get. I thought that was it. For months, I tried to remember him in a positive light--the great moments we had spent together-- but every time I thought of him, I was reminded of his pale skin and frightened eyes in the last moment I'd seen Dave.

    Breathing heavily, I remained sitting up, trying to regain my breath once again. Looking out of my balcony window, I took notice of the fact that it was still dark out. As much as I had tried, tossing and turning, I couldn't bring myself to go back to sleep.

    I reached over and turned on the lamp that sat on my dusty nightstand, illuminating the room dimly. Standing up, I quietly made my way over to my dresser which carried a small mirror.

I looked at myself in disgust. My white tank top revealed bony arms and a bony neck. My black hair was a rat's nest, and adding to that unfortunate characteristic, purple bags rested underneath my green eyes (I mean not including my already-bruised eye) that made them look like burnt holes in a blanket. I grabbed the hem of my shirt with both hands and lifted it up halfway to my stomach. I self consciously shook my head at myself when I saw my ribs sticking out like two branches on a tree. It made me sick to think that even some girls would kill to be this skinny. And then they expect to also have big boobs. I mean, there was a reason why I hated girls and just people in general.

I put my shirt back down, and looked back outside the window. The sun was starting to peak out, causing me to feel relieved. I made my way down the creaky stairs, taking them one at a time so as not to wake up Ray. The house was freezing cold, and the fact that I  was in a tank top and shorts didn't help my case. Neither did the fact that we didn't have heating. Reasons for this: drugs, hospital bills, and beer.

I ate a bowl of cereal silently and left out a piece of toast with butter and strawberry jelly on it for Ray.

*~*~*

Dylan

English class was the worst. Reciting poems, going over vocabulary, and writing short stories was definitely not my thing. And this was only on my first day. Mr. Barlen was also extremely annoying. He was always emphasizing everything he said. "You have to learn your grammar!" and "Direct objects! Indirect objects! They're everywhere!" It was unbearable. Maybe a theater class could be a temporary replacement.

"I've been debating between these Jessica Simpson boots I found online and these heels from Stuart Weitzman. Should I get the boots since it's almost winter, or the heels since I look better in them?" asked Ashley, walking alongside me.

"Um. . . whatever you thought was best," I replied, my mind set towards other things.

In History class with Mr. Logan the day I came to Manhattan High, I had met Brian Phillips. We were the only two without partners for an assignment, and we instantly became friends. He introduced me to his friends, who all happened to be "The Group." One of them was Ashley. Now, everyone in the group had a girlfriend or boyfriend except for Ashley and Brian. Ashley wasn't interested in Brian, so from the moment I met her, she had been clinging on to me practically every second she could. Not that I was complaining.