gold rush

double vision in a rose blush

Maybe you could define your relationship. Maybe if you didn't have so many problems, and he didn't take it upon himself to be the one to fix them.

It was a cycle, at first. You skipped out on lunch time, sitting in the library doing homework, and your friends didn't text you. So you thought they didn't care, which was perpetuated by the fact that you were very much avoiding them. You told yourself you were avoiding them because they would be jealous that you were trying to change your life. You told yourself that you couldn't live to be the chubby friend of the group any longer, the one that boys befriend because they know there's no way in hell they'll fall for you.

All this thinking really hurt.

You couldn't tell, really, if it was working. You sat in the library day after day, your stomach grumbling, and it didn't seem very much that boys were stopping in their very tracks to take a second look at your beauty. You couldn't tell if your grades improved or declined but your mania certainly increased. Coffee made you shake uncontrollably but you had to take it; you weren't getting any sleep. Numbers and words on pages swirled into a mixture of subconsciousness and you doodled hearts around your homework to keep you concentrated. You blasted rock music in your ears to keep yourself from realizing you were alive.

Despite this all, the rush never left. On that Thursday in mid-October, the one that would change your life and everything about your relationship with him, you could feel him. Feel his presence hovering over you. Your hands instantly started to sweat.

You slowly took an earbud out, the silence of the library a near shock. Looked up at him. "Hello?"

"Y/N, why're you here?"

"I had homework."

You noticed he wasn't wearing a backpack. Was he sitting somewhere else in the library? You eyes darted around to try and find his place. If he was here, you had to leave. This worksheet was due next period and there'd be absolutely no way you'd be able to concentrate if he was sitting around. That's the only thing you counted on, his lack of presence. When your free lined up with lunch you did your homework in advance.

In all honesty, you had been avoiding him. You told yourself that you would be friends with him again when you were pretty and had something to live for. The fluster and anticipation was just not worth it.

"Oh, okay." He gave you a small smile and left you sitting there, heart pounding. You didn't even have time to wonder why he was talking to you before he was gone.

You packed up your bag and left through the backdoor exit of the library. It was okay to miss some homework, right?

______

You curled your hair the day he pulled out the chair across from you and sat down. It fell out of its ringlets and looked more like messy waves, but it was better than the usual mop that you called your hair. Usually it was straight but frizzy and you absolutely hated nothing more. On the day the chair pulled out from across from you, you thought it was someone asking to take the seat so they could have their group of three. It was usually the only reason anyone pulled you out of your stupor. Instead, it was your heart flatlining.

"This chair taken?" he asked.

You shook your head. Of course it wasn't. It never was. What did that say about your friends, you didn't know. And didn't want to think about.

"You doing the APUSH homework?" The two of you had the same AP US History teacher. You saw him sometimes after your class, talking with his friends, and nearly ran away in your efforts for his eyes not to land on you.

"Yes. It's fucking hell. I'm terrible with history."

He grinned. "Damn, it's my favorite subject."

"Shut up." You didn't look up at him, but now the words were blurring together and there's no way you'd be able to complete this, anyways. You thought you were good at history until you'd decided to take the AP. It surely didn't help how easy everyone else in your class seemed to find it.