Against the Universe

05 • grover

My entire body is on fire.

The tennis ball zips back and forth between us in a neon green blur. With every resounding whack, the adrenaline courses faster and faster through me.

On a regular day, I have zero interest in tennis. But Bree wanted a partner to practice with, and I'm the only one who can stand getting my ass kicked by her. Every. Single. Match.

Bree Martinez can be a bit of a whirlwind. Partly due to her ADHD, partly due to her big personality. But when she plays tennis, she transforms. She's got this level of sheer focus and hyper-fixation that makes her unbeatable. It's almost enchanting.

"You're playing a lot better than usual," Bree says. I get startled by her sudden decision to break the silence, and I fumble, missing the ball.

She smirks. "Or you were, at least."

She's right; I'm playing better today. I'm pissed off, and it's fuelling me. Normally I can't rally with her for so long.

I go and get the ball, thinking we'll just continue, but Bree drops her racket and heads over to the bench. She pats the spot beside her, beckoning me to sit.

"What's on your mind, cariño?"

"Nothing," I say, then I realise my shoulders have been tensed for the past hour. I try and relax a bit, but I'm still consumed by rage.

Bree looks at me disbelievingly. So I give in and tell her about Madelyn, and the piece of shit who tried to feel her up.

"Joder. That is fucked up."

I sigh heavily, leaning back until my head rests against the wall. "I know."

Bree presses her lips together and wipes away a stray blonde hair from her face. Half blonde. Her roots are a blackish brown. "It's good that she spoke up about what happened though."

"Would've been better if nothing had happened in the first place."

I can't help but feel guilty when I say this. If I hadn't been too embarrassed to sit next to her, this wouldn't have happened. Now she's been harassed twice in one week.

Next week, I'll sit next to her. I'll get to class early, before everyone else, so no one else can sit there.

My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I take it out.

Maddie Lambert started following you.

Huh. Speak of the devil.

Curious, I click on her page, and the first thing I notice is how many pictures she has. There are over 100.

I don't even have a profile photo.

I read her bio, and a silent laugh escapes me.

✨17 | she/her ✨

They see me rolling, they hating

"She's pretty."

I notice Bree is nosily leaning over my shoulder to look at my screen. "Yeah, I guess."

I don't know why I say it like that, like I'm unsure. She is pretty. Her olive skin is a shade of golden brown, and the apples of her cheeks hold a rosy tint, like someone's whispered something cute to her. She's got thick, dark hair that falls in ringlets just above her shoulders.

"She's the girl I was telling you about," I say. "She went to the same school as us."

Bree snaps her fingers together. "Oh yeah! I thought I recognised her. We had P.E together. She was awful."

When my eyebrows shoot up, she quickly adds, "she wasn't in a wheelchair back then, obviously. I'm not an asshole." Then she takes my phone and starts scrolling through Madelyn's photos. "Mira. Look."

It's true. In a lot of her older pictures, she's standing up. There are a few selfies of her with other guys, and they look so close that I can only assume they're her exes. Guess she wasn't joking about her 'extensive romantic past.'

Bree scrolls down to the very first photo Madelyn posted. Looking at the filter and poor camera quality, it's clearly an ancient picture.

And then Bree goes ahead and presses the fucking like button.

"Oh-ho-ho, you." I can't even think of the words to threaten her with. "Just you wait, Brianna."

She bursts into hysterics, and I put my phone back in my pocket.

☽ ☽ ☽

After completely destroying me, Bree offers to drive me back home. It's rare that she gets the chance to drive, since she has a big family and has to fight her older brothers to use the car.

I decline, choosing to walk back instead. Bree goes crazy if her music isn't loud enough to make the whole street vibrate, and I could do with some peace and quiet right now.

I come back to the aroma of caramelised onions, garlic and cardamon filling the whole house. Mum is slouching over the kitchen island, squinting at her phone. For someone who's always complaining about my generation's crippling addiction to technology, she spends a lot of time playing Candy Crush.

"Sit up straight and put your phone away." Words she said non-stop when I was 14.

Mum looks up at me and smiles softly. "Hi, beta."

"What are you making?" I go over to the stove, but mum instinctively shoos me away from the hot pans. Since I was in the hospital, she's been paranoid about me getting injured. I told her as little of the truth as possible, but she figured out that me getting hurt wasn't entirely an accident.

"Do you not want to be here anymore? Do you want to leave me?"

Yes, I'd wanted to say. I am so fucking tired of being alive.

"Biryani," Mum says. "It'll be ready in five minutes."

Five minutes to her is half an hour in real time, so I go upstairs to my room. I've been too depressed to tidy it for the past few days, so the floor is littered with dirty laundry and empty water bottles.

I collapse onto my bed and stare at the water stain on the ceiling that's shaped kinda like a whale.

Sometimes at night, I get sleep paralysis. And it always follows a horrible dream. I can open my eyes, but I can't move or speak. It's like I'm bound by invisible ropes. So I lie there looking at the whale, trying my best to just breathe.

I try to focus on my breathing now, but I can't. My mind and body aren't in sync.

I'm not sure they ever have been.

Because I'm always so preoccupied thinking, living in my own head, that I forget to exist.

René Descartes, you lying white devil.

I have a fucked-up theory. I'm not real. I really did die on that highway. And now I'm just wandering the earth, thinking but not living.

I'm an empty shell.

☽ ☽ ☽

A/N: Just to clarify because this confused at least one person the first time I put this story up: 'beta' is the Hindi word for son. Grover is not a werewolf lmao

Also I'm aware this chapter moves a lot quicker towards the end. This is mostly intentional. Unfortunately with depression, your thoughts can get very dark very fast.