TORTURED SOUL | abby littman

𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗿.

   
    
    
    

chapter twenty four

{ extremely unedited }

   
    
    
    

THE ONLY REASON ROWAN WENT TO SCHOOL AFTER SPENDING THE NIGHT AT ABBY'S WAS BECAUSE SHE REMEMBERED HER PROMISE TO ACREE. She told the teacher she wouldn't have any week-long absences again and she tried hard not to break that. She didn't want to disappoint Acree. So, she was in school this morning. Technically, she hadn't gone in for four days so she hadn't broken her promise of trying.

That morning, Rowan woke up a lot earlier than Abby did. Her mom―who was a lot kinder than Rowan had imagined―had made Rowan breakfast since it was already five in the morning and let Rowan borrow her laptop where she could type up her essay that was due today. Rowan had been struck with inspiration and decided to do the essay rather than lie about not receiving it.

The problem was that she didn't know they were supposed to read it out in front of the class. Rowan did not want to do that. She sunk into her seat as everyone went up one by one, reading out their essays for the class to hear. She dropped hers back into her bag and decided to go back to saying she didn't receive any instructions for any essay.

"...and that's the place that most defines me. My home with my family and my guitar." Rowan didn't even hold back when the urge to roll her eyes took over, leaning back in her seat. Hunter was a very predictable person who made his band and his ponytail his personality. No wonder he and Ginny were dating.

Rowan was thankful she was at the back of the room near the windows considering the amount of makeup she had on, again thanks to Abby's mom who didn't bother asking where the bruises came from which Rowan was thankful for, that was slowly making her sweat as the seconds ticked by which felt agonizingly long while listening to Hunter's essay.

"Next up, uh, Ginny Miller," Mr Gitten said once Hunter took his seat and the scattered applause came to an end. Ginny got up from her seat and Rowan watched as she made her way to the front, feeling her nerves even from the back of the class.

"Growing up, I thought that..." Ginny trailed off as she looked around the room before lifting herself higher, getting more confident the more she continued to read. "Growing up, I thought people were born with their heads because that's how they've always looked at me. Boxes...check one, check other. People don't know they don't furrow between the layers like I do. They don't switch and twitch and actively make the decisions of which...which part of me belongs today? Which aspect of my personality will offend the least and bled the most, and work and succeed and bury the lead like a switchboard of traits that decide my fate, and I'm always an imposter. Always lost, always asking for directions, and people point my way like the scarecrow. Like tornadoes blowing me whichever way the wind blows. Well, Dorothy doesn't want to play today. She's prepping for the SAT. Just the Scantron."

"The box is empty and glaring and daring me to choose one. Well, I'm an expert at boxes. My whole life can fit inside it and I've got it down to a science. I can pack my entire identity in an hour 'cause where there's roots, there's power, but I'm all topsoil. My blood runs like water and oil refusing to stick. My dad's old books read in secret nooks, that camera that locks all my memories in a flash saved for when my recollection doesn't last. That lighter that sparked that fire. All fit in a box ready to be carried from door to door. But that's not the kind of box people ever ask for. So many lines in the sand, so many can't and cans. I see both worlds so clearly and I skip and jump and dance and fall between, never seen. I belong in the spaces between. Check all that may apply."