Be My Babe | Initial D

Chapter 19

It's getting hard to wake up in the mornings again.
It's harder to rise when my alarm sounds.

I think i'm slowly losing it again.
I think maybe i'm just tired.

I'm sleeping way longer than i should.
I've lost the motivation to wake up before noon.
Every morning i feel a sense of dread.
Maybe i deserve it.

I'm exhausted.

I don't know how I manage to keep
myself afloat all the time.
All i feel like is sinking.

Maybe if i was better support at this years beginning, Maybe if i was a better person,
It wouldn't be this way.

I don't think I've been a very good person.

Tired of being sick.
Sick of being tired.
I wish this was easy.
How do you wake up in the mornings with your heart full?
i'd die to know.

The next day dawned with a heaviness that mirrored the lingering tension in my mind. Tossing and turning in bed, I couldn't shake off the weight of the previous night's decisions. Keisuke's yellow hoodie, a silent lay crumpled on my bed, untouched.

After sharing the details of the impromptu race with Kai, the atmosphere between us grew strained. The revelation seemed to strike a nerve, and what started as a conversation soon escalated into a tense exchange of words. It wasn't a full-blown argument, yet the emotional weight of our disagreement lingered, leaving me feeling unsettled.

I lay in bed, the room felt smaller, suffocating under the weight of my choices.

I had school today.

The reflection in the mirror painted a stark picture – a face marked by weariness, with dark bags under tired eyes and an overall pallor that spoke volumes. Neglecting the usual morning routine, I gazed at myself, silently acknowledging the toll recent events had taken on my well-being. The weight of unresolved emotions and the upcoming race cast a shadow over what used to be a familiar image in the mirror. With a deep sigh, I gathered myself for another day.

Donned in the maroon blazer, a grey skirt, crisp white shirt, maroon socks, and those obligatory black shoes, I observed myself in the mirror – resembling more of a doll than a living, breathing individual. Lifeless, almost. Instead of reaching for a brush, my fingers raked through my hair in a feeble attempt to give it some semblance of normalcy. Yet, what did it matter? I felt detached, and the reflection staring back at me seemed to mirror that sentiment.

Embarking on the journey to school, bag slung over my shoulder, I trudged forward. A sore throat, a pounding head, and the discomfort of the doll-like shoes gradually gnawing at my feet – the physical toll of unseen struggles. The desire to cry lingered, but I pressed on, navigating the unfamiliar surroundings of a place where I was just another face in the crowd, unknown and indifferent.

I arrived at school, the monotonous routine requiring me to switch into indoor shoes. The simple act of changing footwear seemed to magnify the overwhelming sense of detachment. My steps felt heavier with each passing moment, burdened by a profound weariness that extended beyond the physical.

I entered the school building, the dull echo of my shoes against the corridor floor matching the muted rhythm of my heartbeat. The air was stifling, and the world around me appeared distorted, as if I were navigating through a haze of disconnection.