Hid behind a swarm of people leaving the class, laughing, talking, I exhale. Though, why bother? Nobody sees me anymore anyway. I could walk through on my hands and the entire class would look through me as usual.
I stemmed the blood from my eyebrow with my sleeve, wincing as the contact send a stab of pain through the open wound. Every part of me is a open wound, these days. The red bloomed on the white like a rose, vivid and determined. Then, I pressed onto my next class, wondering all the while. Through the white noise that is my classmates, I had noticed two boys, sat side by side, scuffling with the grace of a bull in a china shop and no intent to harm in the slightest. Even as I watched, the teacher broke them up, and they instantly went back to chattering about a girl they both appeared to know. I pitied her. She was being decimated over there, her every flaw ripped open for the world to see. And then I see the girl turn, smile, flip long blonde hair over her shoulder. I turned away. This was private, channelled longing for him. And then, it hit me like a physical jolt. The boy to the left had noticed me- he was the presence in the hall.
My chest hurt from suppressing tears, and my fingers automatically played with the hem of my t-shirt, trailing pressure along the bruise I knew resides there. My thoughts whirled. How had I not noticed him before? More importantly, how had he noticed me?