𝒐𝒖𝒓 [ 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 ] 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒌 ➼ She's tired of it―she's tired of it all. Watching from behind. Sneaking peaks, never being able to say: I love you.
Having crushed on the same boy for a long time Isa has realised that it's time for a change. B...
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I step into the changing rooms and get my clothes from my locker, sighing as I do. There's a whirlwind of emotions in me right now. Ones I don't even understand. I slump the backpack over my shoulder and get ready to leave when someone pushes me to the wall.
I feel the familiar push on my shoulder and brace for impact, shutting my eyes. "Are you alright, Bell?"
My eyes open in shock, my throat clamping up. I look over only to see Bianca with a worried look, her ponytail slung over her shoulder. "Bell?"
I blink and then look away, wanting to move past her but her hand pushes me back against the wall. I swallow my fear and look back at her.
"What do you want?" Why are you calling me 'Bell?'
She blinks and then breaks into a smile. "Just wondering if my dear friend is alright?"
"But—" I gulp, "but we're not friends?"
She cocks her head to the side and laughs, "You don't say?"
Clearly this is going nowhere. I step forward and grab onto her hand, pushing it away. "What do you want Bianca?"
Her eyes narrow though the smile is still on display. "Are you hiding anything from me?" Huh? "Dear Bell, my dearest friend, you'd never betray me. Right?" I stiffen at the voice; at that familiar tone — at that old nickname she used to call me — one that made me feel like I meant something. Something to her. I swallow back the memories that are fighting to rise up and give her a glare.
"What do you mean?"
Her smile disappears. "How's your silly crush going for you?"
My eye wanders to the dusty clock hanging to my left. "There's nothing to tell."
Silence.
She pats my chest, pushing me back a bit as she does. "That's good to know."
She leaves just as she came. Quietly. Like she was never even there. I watch as her figure disappears. Standing still until I can't hear the distant clacking of her heels any longer. My body slumps down to the chair in the dressing room and I grab my chest, hoping that the contact will stop the beating of my heart.
