Mother used to say to me while growing up that life played favorites.
I was one of its favorites.
I remember her saying it never really fancied her that much, back during her days. But I knew they were all just lies, for mother had the perfect life. Much envied by me.
She was the one you could say took all the glory during her youth, a complete contrast to who I was, and she dared say she wasn't favored.
Those certainly were only words spoken to make me feel good. But I sure was good.
In fact, I lived in the goodness at the moment.
Last night still played in my head.
It was all I thought about, all I wanted to think about. Him being able to talk to me, and confide in me.
There was no denying how much he had gotten me now.
I had gone to sleep with images of Zachary sauntering into my dreams. Images that I awoke with, with a smile gracing my face, and joy filling my heart.
All through the day, I chose not to give the memory of last night a rest.
7:00 pm, the time read, and here I was still living in that feeling, whilst making my way to the dining hall.
Whatever this feeling was, I prayed it never saw its end, but apparently life bore its multiple surprises.
The number of glances snuck my way upon entry into the hall, had somehow caught my attention.
Now, it wasn't the glances that had me concerned, not at all. One was bound to be gazed at once you went through this door. It was the sneers that followed with those glances that bugged me the most.
They peered on at me with such disdain or perhaps it was disgust, their scrutinies taking all that came with me.
I walked into the room slowly, welcomed by those lingering eyes, all which judged me.
Judged me for what? Now that was what left me most confused.
But trailing from the doorstep, all the way to the far end of the hall, was the answer I sought—Covered in black ink, laid on those white pages which had been ripped out of something I presumed to just be familiar with, they remained sprawled all around the room.
Ripped pages to be found at every corner you turned to, those pages which bore my pain and joy.
Onlooking my form, was the expressionless gaze of Valerie, stood at the far end of the room, while that book which I found company in every now and then, remained held between her fingers, with eyes fixed on my being.
I'd recognize that book anywhere.
And only then did the snickers follow, not to forget the whispers that came accompanied with.
A couple fingers began taking my form, leaving me wallowing in the discomfort and unawareness.
These were faces I hadn't come across before, strange profiles, all which gazed on at me, like they knew the genesis of my existence.
"She's bland!"
The number of girls sat the table few inches away, had soon fixed their eyes on my figure, gazes skimming me head to toe.
Bland?
What meaning did that even bear to me?
"Who goes around bearing all of their emotions in a diary?"
"Fucking dumb!"
"And how awkward is it that her friend also pines for the same one she seeks?"
Each utterance poured after the other, and only when I had taken a look up, I caught onto the figure of Hannah Grace stood feet away, our eyes meeting.
That expression of hers was hard to read, but believe me, I caught onto the pain lodged behind that gaze.
I caught onto it so well.
She had slammed her tray onto the counter with such force that filled me with utter confusion, figure soon storming out the area, just after sending another glare my way.
I wish I had an explanation to her, to myself.
I wish I had the words to erase the situation, but I was found peering at nothing in particular, gaze blank, body numb, with the walls of my chest tightening.
And only then, at that incoming figure, pulling onto me with cautious steps and outstretched arms, did my brain manage to catch onto where I still was stood at.
He pushed forward, eyes held on me. Those eyes which spoke multiple utterances. Pleading.
"Listen to me, Anna" His eyes were soft on my profile, gaze taking in my state.
"I have no idea how this happened. Believe me" His words were low, eyes begging on, but I had pushed past him at once, hurrying out the hall, while trying hard to battle the tears that welled up in my eyes.
Meanwhile that voice trailed behind my figure, that voice belonging to the boy I had poured out my heart to. The one I believed my heart ached for. The same one who had made himself familiar with the secrets my diary carried, and now the one who left me running out the hurt, the shame, and dejection.
Perchance if I had that diary, maybe, just maybe another entry would be made. And it would go like this;
Dear diary, on this day I was left broken, distressed even. And while sadness made its way onto me, I got acquainted with the turmoil that followed.
Zachary Cobain broke me, and that is one thing I am to live with.
Perhaps, I was wrong after all.
I wasn't one of life's favorites.