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Far from my reach

Rita_J_Emmanuel
7
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Chapter 1 - Chapter one

I stood by the window of my tall apartment building, staring out as I exhaled a slow, heavy sigh of exhaustion. From up here, the street looks like a glittering, programmed society. I could already predict the shit show waiting to happen the moment I presented my well-written presentation. Not that anyone would care about the effort. I could already hear the forced smiles, the fake nods, and the comments behind their pressed lips. The whole idea of trying to blend in with the rest of the girls my age felt like rummaging through a sack of broken bottles. Painful. Pointless. Bloody, if I wasn't careful.

I could be that nerd who wanted to give people a hand with their work sometimes, bending over backward for a little validation I would never get. And other days, I might turn into some introverted ghost no one really sees or even knows exists, just like a background noise in a crowded world.

Still pretending like it could all be different someday. Not like I didn't try to associate with people. I did. I really did. I gave people a chance in my life, and somehow, they always ran it straight into the ground like I was stupid for even offering.

Second year in college, and thank goodness I'm not a dropout....yet.

I stood up from my chair and stretched my stiff ankle and strained waist. It had been a long night. A damn long night.

I had spent all those hours working on this life-draining project as the only person in class without a partner, knowing deep down it probably would not serve me any real purpose once I step out there and start looking for work after graduation.

If it did, then it would still be a win for me. I dragged my feet to the mirror, scratching off the itch in my hair.

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, and all I could see were the dark circles under my eyes and how completely drained I looked, like a ghost trying to pass for a girl who still had some kind of future.

"What the hell are you still doing? It's almost eight o'clock," my grandma sprinted down the stairs, pointing at the clock on my table.

It was 6:23. How is that almost eight o'clock? I love her, but she pushes me right to the edge at times. I had stayed up all night, too drained to even care whether I was late or not.

I nodded and flashed a smile. It would be pointless to complain about how I had sat all day scrambling through papers, because the next thing she would do was go ahead and cry her tears for me. I did not want to be any kind of headache for her to worry about.

I quickly headed to the bathroom and took a brief shower, then returned to the sitting room, all dressed up.

"Have you finished packing your bag for school?" Grandma Zoe asked as she filled a bottle of homemade juice for me.

"Yes, Granny. All packed and ready to go," I said with a smile, stepping into the dining area where breakfast was waiting for me, warm and perfectly arranged alongside grape juice, just the way my late mother used to do it.

After quickly eating the delicious Macaroni cheese, I gathered my things and patted my dog, Jax, on the head. His tiny tail wagged lazily, and his little paws jumped high in an attempt to reach me.

"I will get you a bone biscuit when I get back from college," I promised as I picked him up, and his tongue bathed my cheeks. I loved my dog, but I hated getting my face licked. I set him down, picked up the juice Granny had filled, and rushed out through the door.

I could feel a tight ache in my chest as I stepped outside and gently closed the door behind me. I was going to miss them both, even though I was only going to spend a few hours at school. Only a few hours and I was already acting like I had been drafted into war. Still, it was far better than my former college, where I had to stay with two gothic roommates who made me breathe in the cigarette smoke that danced around the air. I only got to visit home once every two months. Two months of staring at their weird posters of skulls and snakes and wondering if they were trying to hex me in my sleep.

Before reaching the road to wait for a taxi, I turned and stared at my car. It had been ages since I last drove it. The accident that took my parents' lives rent free in my memory like a scar that refused to fade, like a smell that stayed no matter how hard you tried to scrub it away. A car felt like a grave on wheels to me.

Trying to hide my identity as part of the Davisutah family had been exhausting. Keeping a low profile when I had once been the center of every conversation in town including every article.

I'm mainly keeping a low profile after my parents death because of every pitying glance that drained the life right out of me. I had lost count of how many times I had heard things like, "Oh, poor girl, you must really miss them," or, "That is the little girl whose parents died," or with the question of asking who was the suspect of my parents death, I just wanted to scream, not out of anger or pain, but simply to remind them that I don't have to get pity condolences everyday of my life, it's already been two fucking years.

It tore me apart to keep going through that cycle of pity and sympathy.

As if I were just a tragedy walking around. As if my entire existence had been reduced to a headline they all secretly remembered but pretended to forget.

That was why I transferred to this school, where only a few people knew about my family.

I think I am free from all that shenanigans from the city paparazzi by pretending to be who am not, changing the way I dress and disguising myself. And it works. But in a strange and twisted way, it was satisfying. I liked being invisible. I liked not having to smile through the daily reminders of everything I had lost.

Wearing oversized tinted pink glasses and throwing my hair into a messy bun did not seem like a bad idea at all. No one in school had ever mistaken me for a Davisutah. And even if they had seen me and noticed something familiar, they most likely convinced themselves that I was merely someone who bore a resemblance to the perfect version of me from those overly edited magazine spreads, because let's be real, those airbrushed images were far too glamorous to reflect the tired, plain face I carried around these days, and honestly, if I ever found myself walking past me on the street, I might not recognize me either. I doubt I would stop to do a double take.

***

The academy was buzzing with the same energy as when I last left. Every noise made by the students seemed to move with the same rhythm blending with the mechanical whir of drones. It was the same routine they inhabited, more like I had just blinked and landed back in the same time of the past.

Despite this college being one of the most expensive in town, it still felt just like all the others I had left behind. Money really could not buy class, could it? Same fake smiles. Same loud nonsense. Same hollow crowd.

I walked into the class, and the silence that followed at the sight of me struck again. Shit. I had to go through this again. They stared at me the same way every day, like I drew different tattoos on my forehead daily. Sometimes it would make me check if my shirt was inside out. I could feel every pair of eyes on my skin like ants. As someone who battles with intense social anxiety, I could get very clumsy or even count my steps when I became aware of being watched. I was doing it again. One. Two. Three. My breath caught in my chest. I just wanted to disappear, melt into the floor or vanish into the air like smoke.

But I managed to push through the moment and walked toward my seat, only to be tripped by Mione's leg. That sent my face kissing the floor, flat and painful. The thud echoed through the room. I was sure I had broken my ankle.

"Mione! You shouldn't have done that," voices scolded her. Yeah, not every one was an asshole.

My nose was bleeding and my elbow caught bruises. The laughter from some female students followed like a sound I could not shut out. I clenched my teeth. Don't cry. Don't fucking cry. You're nineteen. You're a fucking adult.

Fuck. That bitch really wanted to be the first person I would stab in the eyes. Was this some kind of sick joke to her? Did humiliating me make her feel cool? I swore if she so much as looked my way with that smug little smirk, I would drag her and hit her with my forehead. I wanted to scream and claw my way out of this pathetic moment. But all I could do was lay there, burning inside, pretending like I couldn't feel their eyes peeling me apart.

This was college, not some high school where students' brains were still under development. These were grown-ass adults acting like teenagers with untreated mental issues straight out of an asylum. What the actual hell was wrong with them? Was I the only sane person here, or had I just missed the memo that said we were all supposed to lose our damn minds? I clenched my jaw and resisted the urge to scream.

I tried to push myself up, but I kept failing to even get to my knees because of the liquor smeared across the ground. It clung to my palms and clothes like humiliation itself, sticky and cold.

"Need a hand?" a young man said, holding out his hand like a knight in some twisted modern tale. Where did he even come from? Because he definitely did not look like one of my coursemates. His face was unfamiliar, and trust me, if a face like that had been around here before now, I would have noticed. I mean, come on, this was not the kind of face you saw and just forgot. It was the kind of face that probably had people accidentally walking into poles.

I could not deny his attempt to help me up my feet, no matter how my pride wanted me to crawl away instead. I shyly took his hand, feeling the tough, tight grip of his broad hand wrap around mine. It's just a normal gesture, I'm not imagining sparks or anything crazy, even though my heart was making an awkward sound of its own. The classroom shared the same confused look that must have been painted all over my face. I could practically hear their thoughts.

Mione stood up immediately, stretching her neck to see who he was like some nosy giraffe.

"Who is he?" she whispered to her friend, Nora.

"I haven't seen him before. He must be the new student," Nora replied, eyes glued to him.

He picked up my belongings, one by one, careful and quiet, then walked me to my seat.

"Th... thank you," I stuttered, dropping my gaze to my desk, trying not to let the heat in my face turn me into a tomato.

My hand was still hot from where he had touched it, and so was my face. What just happened? Why was I feeling all jittery and breathless like a balloon ready to pop? I mean, he was fine as hell. Not the usual kind of fine either, but the kind of fine that breaks the scale, the right-off-the-roof, over-skyscraper, melt-your-insides kind of fine.

And he was still standing there. Right next to me. Easily six foot four or maybe even taller. Should I look up at him? Should I ask him why he was still standing there? Would that make me look weird or desperate or both?

"Are you hurt?" he asked, invading my thoughts.

I looked up at him again and forced every fiber of my soul not to flinch or let a single crack of shyness affect my expression.

"I'm fine," I said with a forced smile, nodding.

"Your nose... it's bleeding," he mumbled, reaching into his pocket and handing me a clean white face towel.

I accepted it with a small nod of gratitude and began wiping off the blood that had already trailed to the edge of my lips. The towel smelled so good. It carried his scent, fresh mint and that manly kind of deodorant that made your thoughts wander if you were not careful.

"Who did this to you? Or did you trip over an object or something?" he asked, lowering his head slightly until we were almost eye to eye, close to feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. Just like his towel, his breath smelled good.

"I'm all good," I said with a fake smile.

"No worries," he replied, then smiled, and it lit up his features. That one-sided dimple popped, and I nearly lost the strength in my knees all over again. I knew what a man's dimple did to me, and his had just done all of it.

I watched him head to the seat at my right, and I could swear the air shifted around him like even the room itself was trying to make space for that level of aura he had.