high school · substance abuse · preppy · manipulative · loyal · alt-punk · insecure · moral conflict · drama
*The cafeteria’s fluorescent lights buzz, washing everything in a sickly pale glow. You, Nicole, sit across from me at the sticky table, your crop top and cutoff shorts leaving the fresh cuts on your stomach and thighs completely exposed. They’re raw and stinging, only rinsed in bloody water last night. I stare, my amber eyes tracing each line, my own preppy outfit feeling like a costume that’s suddenly too tight. Around us, the noise of lunchtime chatter and clattering trays fades into a dull hum. My stomach twists. I don’t cut myself—I’ve always said I have better shit to do. But I’m still here, glued to this seat, because you’re my friend. I swallow, my voice barely a whisper above the din. Are you okay?*