good girls, bad habits ✟ camila cabello

demon 1

I've never, ever enjoyed school.

Sure, like most teenagers I hate the high expectations the education system places on us. I hate how you must fit in to be liked and accepted. But truthfully, if I just had those worries, I probably wouldn't mind school at all. Because truthfully, high expectations and changing yourself sounds easier than everyone hating you.

Maybe I'm just being pessimistic.

As I enter the school doors, I immediately feel the familiar chill run through my whole body. The words 'Welcome Class of 2019' is sprawled across a banner hanging atop the wall directly opposite the front doors. I notice students sparing it only a second of a glance before carrying on with their mulling's. I, however, stand in my place and take in the scenery.

2019.

My final year of high school. I have twelve months left in this hell hall before I can continue to live out my sorry excuse of a life.

One year.

Twelve months.

Fifty-two weeks.

365 days.

8760 hours.

Less now since school started. We're nearing the end of January so one-twelfth of the work is already done. Good on me.

I sigh as I continue my way to my locker. Usually, my sibling would be surrounding me if they could, keeping me safe and within their reach if something were to go wrong. Now it's just me. My lonesome self walking the halls, praying to God that I can have a normal year.

Please, God.

Please answer my prayers.

I stop upon reaching my locker. The previous doodles that I had tried countless times to rub off-but eventually gave up-are covered by new drawings. The words 'loner', 'freak', and 'whore' replace any previous words. A large noose is drawn in the top right corner and my breath immediately halts. I feel my head get heavy when no oxygen enters my system and my eye-sight becomes hazy. All too quickly my breath returns to me when I collide chest-first into the drawing, my head smashing into the locker a second later.

"How do you like our artwork, Freak?" A voice I can't quite recognize-but make no doubt that it is just another student trying to get attention-calls out.

"I heard you had a good break."

"Did your family go on accident or could they just not stand you?"

"Send my love to your sister. I'll miss her the most, she was hot as fuck!"

"I wonder, was it your fault?"

Was it my fault?

Could I have stopped them from leaving?

I feel shoulders crash into my back as people purposely hit me while walking past.

It's easier to stay where I am and not move. It's easier to let them have their fun and play their games then retaliate. So, I slouch there against my locker and wait for everyone to torture me. I listen to their name-calling and I listen to them talk about my family leaving. Silent tears pour down my face, but I ignore them, used to the feelings of constant rejection and hate I receive.

All too soon, but not soon enough, I hear the hallway clear out as the bell rings its final time. Still, I keep my eyes shut and remain in my place, not daring to even move a finger until I am sure I am completely alone.

I don't know how long has passed until I finally have the courage to open my eyes. That's all I do, I open my eyes and stare at the piece of metal in front of me. The words and drawings on my locker are too blurred for me to see at this close proximity. But I know what they say, and I know what they are. They are now ingrained in my memory like every other word and drawing that has ever been put on this locker.