Introvert

22

'shall this blossom

fly away from the branch

and towards who we wish to be, know

that darling, I'll be your infinity' ~ unknown

||Shyanna||

I meet Kristy and Anna by the gates. It's always been a routine for us; to go to our lessons and all meet up at the same place, despite having to separate barely ten minutes later. But it's nice, to have a constant, has always been nice to have something you know you can depend upon. It matches us well, to have a defence. Or, at least, matches me.

They're sickeningly cute, which is both annoying and lovely, because I've been wanting them together for years now, and also annoying because it means they know what they want, and I don't. 

Kristy has her head in her hands, giggles fluttering through her fingers, as Anna teases her mercilessly about the time she thought she had a crush on a boy. Which is hysterical, really, and a grin lights up my face at the memory. 

It had been way back in year seven, back when Niall and I had sat together in social studies, back before the End Year. Kristy had gotten ridiculously, pathetically obsessed with one of Niall's friends, Liam. She hadn't even talked to him, but she'd thought he was 'gorgeous and so, so smart'. I couldn't help but feel slightly validated in the fact if I had not been seated next to Niall, and if Anna and Kristy did not wait for me after every lesson, they would never have seen Liam. Back in year seven, he was pretty much invisible.

Like I became over the years, I suppose, but I like it. I like knowing my actions are not going to be registered in anyone's mind, I like knowing that nobody will fall hopelessly in love with me (regardless of what the notes say). I like knowing that although I am necessary, I am not stunning. I am not blindingly attractive or smart, I am not someone who deserves to be loved over and over again.

Liam Payne has always openly admitted to hating being invisible; openly admitted it in a year nine assembly, when he'd sat behind me and I had overheard he and Zayn Malik talking. Zayn had laughed a deep, throaty laugh, and I could hear Niall snorting to himself, because Liam had stopped being invisible in year eight when he cracked his rib falling out of a tree to get a kitten.

"Christ, do you remember, Shy? The look on her face when he smiled and waved at her!" Anna snorts, and I grin, swooping a kiss to the top of Kristy's head.

"It was hilarious, oh my God. She looked like someone had handed her a tiny diamond engraved with 'marry me'." I'm high-pitched, breathy. It's nice, to tease and not worry. My voice trails off when Kristy presses a wet, sticky kiss to my forehead.

Her eyes are bright, lips puckered, grin twitching. She's also completely red, but it's nice. Suits her. I can't help but think I wish I caused you less trouble, I wish my being happy weren't so unfamiliar. 

"I like it when you're all giggly." Kristy says, as if that wasn't self-explanatory in the look on her face.

"Hey! Hello! Girlfriend? Hey! You! Babe? Do I exist? Stop fonding over our heterosexual friend! Stop! Kiss me!" Anna cries, and I have to cover my mouth to hold in the giggles threatening to escape.

Kristy rolls her eyes, but I don't miss the flash of worry and panic that moves over her eyes as she stares at Anna. Obviously, they've kissed before, clearly. But Kristy grew up in a homophobic household, surrounded by those who detest what she is. Kristy grew up hiding, in the same way I hid more clearly over the years.

Anna's eyes are so soft, and she gives a wry smile to Kristy.

"Hey, babe, I don't mean it. Not 'til you're ready, yeah?" Anna says, and she doesn't sound hurt. She sounds so, so in love with Kristy. Like she'd wait a thousand years if it meant she got to see Kristy the way she is.

"I love you." Kristy says, and it's great, to see them like this. So warm with each other, like flames that burn but burn beautifully. Like sweater paws in winter, cups of coffee heated just right. They're like winter, warm and cuddling. Summer burns skin and hurts, brings fatigue. To watch their love is to watch energy bursting.

"I know."

***

I get home twenty minutes later, bag heavy on my back, Anna and Kristy's words embedded in my brain. I rarely worry for others the way I worry for myself, but I know if anyone ever tries to hurt Kristy or Anna for being who they are, I'd willingly throw daggers at them. Literal, actual daggers.

Mum's in the garden, under the blossom tree, can see me mumbling to myself, but she says nothing. She pats the space next to her, instead. We're like this, random and comforting, but it's nice, to sit next to my mum and know that, right now, she isn't worried sick about me.

The blossom tree is old, thick branches winding down and trunk as wide as two of me. It's beautiful, flutters little petals downwards. I've spent so many years under this tree, so many days I've felt like nothing writing poetry under here. It's home, to me, a sanctuary.

"How was your day?" She questions, and she looks old, but warm. Homely.

"Average. I fell over and hurt my leg, and a misogynist made a comment about how I should show my legs more often, but it was okay." Mum nods in response, knowing it could be a lot worse.

"I was wondering why you weren't wearing your skirt, but I wasn't going to say anything." I grin, watching the blossoms fall from the tree on top of us, my hair becoming painted with pink petals.

 "I ripped my tights." I provide as an explanation, and mum smiles.

People often complain about parents being unknowing, about them being annoying. But my mother has never been anything but helpful, has never done anything but embrace me when I felt like breaking, smiling when I smiled. She's so, so supportive, and I can't help but think that, maybe, my darkness is slowing down. It's not gone, won't be for a while, but it's fading, less black and more grey.

As I look at the petals, drifting around us, as mum launches into a story about one of the paintings she sold last month, and where it ended up, I think, maybe, this is me. That the petals represent me, falling softly, broken from the crowd but still living, not truly broken or ugly. Not horrific. I think that the petals represent us so wonderfully, so prettily. 

I feel, oddly, infinite. Like, as I watch the blue sky and the pink blossom and the story unwind, I will be forever. In memory and in writing, in tales and in imprint. I matter.

So, soundlessly, I search my bag for the note I know was placed there. I caught sight of it at the end of the lesson. But I hadn't read it.

You're not weak and you're not stupid

You're pretty and capable and so wonderful

I want you to know that you matter

And, for the first time in years of darkness and drowning, I know I do. That although in one hundred years I may be nothing but pictures and ash, that my bones may have crumbled, right now, I matter. And so, as I carefully crease up the paper and put it back into my bag, I know, does everyone.

you have no idea how tempting it was to break the fourth wall in the last line <3 sorry so much for the wait, loves, I was having some... issues. Comment, follow, vote and stalk as you wish!  <3 (and thanks for the 3.2k reads... you're great)