ACONITE ACADEMY (girlxgirlxgirl)

Chapter E; Mari

"The truth is sometimes close to the lie"
7

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⚠️ super light self harm, guns, blood, bruises ⚠️

Genevieve's head hurts. She holds it in her hands, her temple against her palm. Going up and down, up and down. Hitting herself softly. The black gun she used to threaten Cori is laying right next to her on the bed. Genevieve tucked it away when the red students left, but since then she has taken it out again. Her room door is locked. Constant knocks are heard from the outside, constant yells and pleads for her to answer and explain, say anything at all.

Genevieve isn't a patient person. She gets bored easily, she gets mad easily, she does what she does and frankly there is no going back. But for outsiders it may seem like every move that she does is calculated. Perfectly planned out, every breath and step and threat. She is only eighteen years old, a young adult with many things ahead of her. But there is already so much on her mind, already so much has happened. For the kids at her orphanage she's been an adult ever since she became one of the older ones there. In this case, age really is just a number.

Genevieve feels a little numb, a little dull. The voices outside sound loud. She can't tell if they are desperate or scared or just filled with that annoying sense of justice they seem to always have. Those kinds of people come in right at the wrong moment. They are outsiders, judge you based on what they see and not based on what is real. Genevieve has always felt that way about cops, about rich people, about governments. People pretending to be kind, pretending to be for justice when in reality they have no idea what it's like being a "criminal". They have no idea.

Genevieve glances at the gun on the bed. The voices outside feel distant, like they are not really there. She looks at the gun, sees something else. Sees freedom, sees protection, sees... home. That's a lie. She's not going to sugarcoat it like that. Genevieve looks at the gun and feels like sh*t. She remembers exactly why she needed that thing in the first place, the only thing that gives her protection, the only thing she claims to value even though she hates it so.

"This is your room"

Genevieve looks around the cold, wooden room. There are two bunk beds cramped into the stuffy place, a slightly scratched window that clearly looks loose and a broken plank on the floor. The mattresses look dirty, there are no blankets and definitely no pillows. The kids look at her with sour expressions, territorial, tired. They look hungry. Just as hungry as she feels. The young girl can't help but feel disappointed.

She expected things to get better, she was naive enough for that. She expected a safe, warm bed with decent people around her. Something different from home, something that would bring her a better life. Genevieve learned to never raise her expectations or be naive ever again after that. The three girls in the room seemed to be her age or older, and they all had dirt over their skin and worn out clothes. Genevieve saw herself in them. After all, she was wearing the same things, looking the same. The dirt is from the chemicals and the dust outside, the clothes and skinny frames are from the lack of money. The sour looks are because of danger, the same danger Genevieve thought she'd finally get to escape. She was wrong.

The caretaker spits out her gum in a slightly broken trashcan before walking away, leaving her there with the other girls, standing by the doorway. Genevieve rememberers feeling shy, feeling lost. There is no bag in her hands, there are no belongings that she can have. All that her family owned were stolen things, things that the police took back. They left her with nothing. Now she is nothing.