Introvert

10

i don't really know who i am

or who i want to be

i just don't want to be like

this any more. 

~ j.p

||Shyanna||

Art is not one of my strong points. Not because I'm bad at it, but because it is so deeply personal it feels like someone is screaming 'put all of your thoughts down for other people to twist and degrade like we twist and degrade everything'. Haikus are different. I can write and write and write, but I can lie in those. Those letters, those syllables, they are mini-stories. They are a shortened novel, a small horror story or a love story. They can be thought of only one way. Art isn't a story. Art is misinterpreted and lied about, made to change the person's perspective. It's the same feeling being asked to paint a canvas, to me, to being told to write down your inspirational person. Why? Why are they inspirational?

Why? Why are you unhappy? Why did you use such bleak colours? Why are you so broken? What do you have to be broken about?

Anna and Kristy are there, as always, and they are smiling and swaying to the beat of the music our teacher put on. Autumn Leaves, by Ed Sheeran.

"You can paint anything you want, just make sure it looks representative of you. This goes to your final mark." She'd chirped as we'd walked in, not asking me why I was late. It's likely my philosophy teacher contacted her. I hate myself, for being so weak, sometimes, but I'm trying to stop that. I need help, I know I do. I know the look in my mother's eyes when I walk towards a knife too well, now. A look of alarm, of readiness. I can't ever stop feeling guilty for what I have put her through, and so I begin drawing.

The palette is smeared with colour, reds and blues and different shades of white. So any colours, shades. It makes my heart thump more steadily in my chest, even as the lyrics ache in my chest.

"What are you drawing?" Kristy asks, hand drawing out a rough sketch. A mouth, open, one-winged birds flying out. All except three, which appear to be flying together, joined by the curve of the lip. It occurs to me suddenly, that she is drawing us. And that I need to start giving my friends a lot more credit.

"Three books. With pages strewn everywhere. Why?" I ask, because I am curious as to why she wants to know. Of course, she is deeply invested in my life, being one of two members of the world whom truly care. About me and about everyone, because she is superior.

"I just. I don't want you to divulge too much that hurts, you know? I know it feels like an ache, now, like a weight on your chest, like you can't breathe. But if you get rid of that too fast, it's dangerous, too. I just love you a lot, Shy. So much. I just want you to keep some part of you hidden, from everyone. Even us." Anna's giving these happy little grins towards Kristy, pleased and excitable. Why am I so oblivious? Everyone around me is so desperately in love, and I want nothing more than to live without love. To live and not be loved, so I don't have to see the pity.

"I love you, too. More than anything." I whisper, sketching out a page. I've already sketched the books, have been drawing as we've been speaking. 

"Not more than you love haikus." Kristy grins, cocking a hip out and beginning to paint the lips into the right shade.

"Maybe not that much, no." I say, winking and playing along. There's something about this duo, this beautiful pairing, that makes me so prepared. They bring me so much love and in return I bring them agony. It is never fair, no, but it is a way of preparation. They are, in a lot of ways, preparing me for something larger. They make me happier, make me smile more, make my breakdowns come less frequently. They are infinitely wonderful, and there is no one in the world I love more than this duo, except maybe for my mother. Whom is so comforting, so adoring, even when she has to hide the knives from me, that love with all of my heart and soul seems the only way to love.

And I know, looking as Kristy nudges Anna and whispers in her ear, and Anna goes promptly bright red, that the only way to love, is to be surrounded in it. To feel like you are drowning in adoration, to feel like you might die from how much you love someone. That is the only way to love. Because, if they care enough, they'll be the buoy that keeps you afloat when nothing else does.

||Niall||

I have no idea, really, why I ever chose Sociology to study. Realistically, I needed only three subjects, and I know I'm not bad with homework or pressure, really, but A-Levels are big, and so it is dumb of me to choose so many. I'm pretty sure that even Shyanna didn't choose as many as me, but of course I can't be sure. I know I share three classes with her, but I don't know if that's all she does. Which is unfortunate and, frankly, depressing.

It occurs to me as I'm writing the different cultures I've studied in the final exam for Sociology, that I noticed Shyanna before almost anyone else. 

I have lied to myself. I did not first meet her in year ten, I definitely didn't. Because this class is bringing back a sense of deja vu to me, a strong ache in my chest that burns brightly as I look at the words 'poverty line'. Because I've written this before, and I've written this next to Shyanna before.

~Flashback~

 Warm table, warm hands, and warm body sat next to mine. She's whispering, soft and light into the air, waiting for a response that I'll give at some point, once I get over the fact she's ridiculously intelligent.

"Don't you think it's weird? That people go without because some people want that extra meal, want that extra something. We're greedy, Christ. Everyone should live off of the same, shouldn't we? Then the wars would end, we wouldn't pick on anyone for their lack of designer clothes, or new clothes at all. But to us, apparently there needs to be a hierarchy. And why? Because power's so important to us that it governs us, eventually. Power is sickening. We're all equal, all the same. And yet we rarely see that, because we are made to feel like people having to use the welfare system are scrounging, when they're just barely surviving."

I stare at her, cutting my eyes to glance at her. Her brown eyes are full of quietly burning rage, her lips set into a thin line now they're not slipping out harsh words. Her cheeks are red with the warmth of the summer day, and a light scar on her chin is reflecting light with the pink shine. It has to be fairly new.

"Well?" She prompts, voice warmer now, not violent or aggressive. It occurs to me that I rarely speak near Shyanna, that her flawless words are enough to make my stomach twist into silence. With no one else am I silent. But with Shyanna, it's different. I listen, properly. I don't have to impress her, because she's impressed by everything.

"It is weird. I think it's weird that we have to have this hierarchical system set in place at all, because this kind of stuff leads to battles and shit. Um. It is weird, but we can't change it." I wince when I realise I used an expletive. I rarely do around girls, but when it comes out it just comes out and I can't control it. "Sorry. I didn't mean to swear." I correct.

"'S'fine. I do want to change it, though. I'll find a way."

I'm sure she will, in that moment. That Shyanna will find a way to change the hierarchical system, even if it's only around her. Because it does need to be changed, but we all do. As I glance at her, I can't help but think just being sat next to her has changed me. I hope I don't forget her. But, with a little jolt of dismay, I just might. Because she blends in so well, fits like a puzze piece, important to the whole picture but not the most noteworthy siight. I realise that being sat here has made me feel more part of something, and that I want to be a part of her puzzle.

~Flashback Over~

I realise, again, as I think back over the year when we were sat next to each other in Geography, that I loved her even then. I just couldn't appreciate her. Because my eyes didn't take in the greys of her, they took in only the colour. But I'm ready for her, now. I want to see her, greys and colours splashed like a canvas. I want to see her as she was back then. I want to see the Shyanna I originally feel for. I think, suddenly, that maybe I do see her. She hasn't changed, not really. I've just changed in my perception of things. And all because of bloody Shyanna Rockley. Because she was always it for me, the introverted girl who had braces and glasses. She will always be it. I just need to find a way to tell her.

Please comment, vote, follow and stalk as you wish! <3