7:15. I'm late. Of course. My first class begins in 5 minutes. The bus has already come and gone, and my mom has probably already left too. Shit.
Getting up isn't the main problem. It's finding another long sleeve shirt.
Which, of course, there is no clean ones. Now I'll have to go to class, not being able to raise my right arm, or just hiding that arm in general.
I finally find something to where, just an old band tshirt. I actually remember it too, when some of the boys from the soccer team made a band called 5 Seconds of Summer and at a garage concert, they handed these out.
So then I put a jacket over it because I've never talked to any of them and that would be awkward.
It's 7:27 when I get there and somehow people are still in the hallway. I don't have time to stop at my locker so I just walk as fast as I can to English II.
Being me, the clumsy idiot I am, I somehow don't see Ashton Irwin, the hot and very talented soccer player, turn around. I manage to run right into his shoulder. He looks at me like I look familiar but he doesn't know where he's seen me. It's pretty ironic because we've been in the same school since kindergarten.
I mumble an apology and rush away before he can say anything, if he was even going to. Of course I think he has a nice face and yes I think he can play goalie on Ronaldo's team if he wanted to but that doesn't necessarily mean he's the nicest person in the book.
Finally reaching English, the teacher doesn't seem to mind that I'm late. I take my usual seat towards the back. Two rows in front of "5 Seconds of Summer".
"Band practice tonight?" Luke asks. We all agree before walking into our first class, like English II or III. I didn't actually pay that much attention to the numbers when I signed up for classes.
We take our seats in the back row, and I look up and see the girl that ran into me this morning. Obviously she goes to this school, but for how long? I feel like she's been around forever. Then Calum taps my shoulder and points. The "nerd" of our grade, Marcel Styles, is late to class. That's pretty rare. Sure, his twin Harry skips most of his classes, but Marcel? No way.
I'm not really listening to Miss Mockell, just looking around, when something catches my eye. At first I almost miss it but then I give it a second glance. The girl, who's name is like Alex or Ally or something like that, has pinkish reddish lines on her wrists.
"Michael?" I say, because Michael knows literally everyone, "What's her name?"
"That's Alex." he replies while checking Twitter.
That's her name. But why would she cut herself? I try to get her attenion, but she doesn't notice me. Maybe she's not paying attention.
I know he's looking at me. He knows about the tshirt. He thinks I'm a stalker. I won't look, that would just bring attention to myself. Of course it would, if Ashton Irwin was talking to me.
He finally stops trying to get attention, and starts a conversation with another soccer player, Louis. Thank God.
After an hour of boring American History shit, the bell finally rings. I somehow knock all my stuff off my desk. It takes me a minute to pick it all up so I'm the last one out.
When I walk outside, I feel someone behind me. I turn around and it's Ashton. I quickly zip up my jacket so he won't see the shirt.
"Hi, Alex. Um, how are you today?" he asks, awkwardly which is weird. How does he know my name? and why is he asking me this?
"Um, I'm fine. Why?"
"Just wanted to know. Hey, you look really pretty today. I love the shirt." He adds with the most adorable smile in the whole world. I can't help but smile back, and it's actually a genuine smile. He then leans in to hug me, which is awkward.
"I know what you're doing to yourself. I know you think that no one cares, but I do." He whispers and I'm positive my eyes go big. He saw? I thought no one noticed. I've been self harming and dealing with depression for 2 years, and I didn't think anyone cared. It's just a part of me now. My personality includes my scars.
"You don't have to pretend like you care." I whisper as I pulled away. He looks hurt for a second.
"Pretend? Alex, I know we haven't really talked. I might not have known you very well. But I want to make sure that you're okay, that you'll stop this. This isn't something you can just carry on with." Ashton is now venting basically.
"Sorry. It's a bad habit." I respond.
"Habit's can be broken."