Not About Angels ➳ A TBNRFrags/PrestonPlayz Fanfiction

Insanity ➳ Chapter 33

Preston's POV

2:32pm

I am walking down the sidewalk with Kaitlyn at my side, Starbucks coffees in our hands. We're both laughing about who knows what. I stopped by her school just in time when she was leaving; completely coincidental.

Over the past couple days, I haven't gone one night without texting her. We'd be up until 1 just talking-if talking refers to messaging and not verbalization.

"Hey, let me take a photo," she says abruptly. She pulls out her iPhone and drags it upwards to reveal a front facing camera shot. She holds it up, ready to take the photo. I place my arm on her shoulder like an arm rest. Her blonde hair kind of flies into my face, but I don't mind. I hear the sound of a photo being taken and I let go of my stance.

"Do you mind if I post it?" She quietly asks with a smile.

Something tells me I shouldn't, that there will be consequences. But there's nothing to hide, really. We're just friends. "Go ahead," I smile.

But even my agreement doesn't make me feel less unsettled. I swear... she reminds me of somebody.... why can't I remember?

-

Nicola's POV

4:10pm

Drawing eases my mind for some reason. I take out all of my emotions on my paper, through curves and shading and detail. I don't really know what I'm drawing, but I know what I had in mind at first.

A girl in the middle. She's holding a large jar with a heart made of ashes in the middle; quickly deteriorating. Her hair turns into a black pain stroke, and it covers her mouth as if she can't speak. Around her, through the darkness, are regrets.

Things she can never take back and never do because of her social inability. In the top corner, theatrical masks are defined, but the saddened one is clearly more promiment. Though in both, pencils stab the mouth area, giving them the inability to act.

A heart surrounded in bandages with small daggers poking through the gause, trying to penetrate the little bit of hope she has left. The heart is colorless, like every other component to this drawing.

In the top left corner, I had drawn what I interpret to be a pair of shadows. They're yelling at each other. They signify bad life at home; parents arguing.

A poster showing a missing girl is covered with deep insults that one would never say to one's face in my world. 'Grotesque' and 'Alone' and 'Freak' were examples.

And all around these main parts are little things that mean so much. Maybe not to most people, but to me. And I made sure to add guns; AKs. My love for video games.

And there, I gave it away.

The girl is me.

Living a life in fear, terrified of being to broken to the point of insanity. Unable to get help, shattered glass on the floor from a silenced pistol. People too scared to pick up the pieces for the fear of cutting themselves on the jagged glass. Because we all know the window is just going to be replaced anyway.

I live my life terrified that I might be spoken to. I am scared that I might get judged or I might speak too quiet. The little things are the ones that do the most harm to my sanity. Anxiety eating away at my mind soundlessly, its eyes always seeming more hungry than its stomach.

And I'm always too scared to speak about it. It's just an endless cycle; downing the drink and going for another round because its persuasion is unbearable. But the inevitability of passing out is unavoidable; a burden carried within the chemicals.