Hearing Anna

ii.i

I ARRIVE TO FRENCH class a week and three days later with dragging footsteps. the haze of the memory with elliot is still warm, still comforting, even though i haven't had a spare moment in the past week. i've been working fervently on that essay, that autobiography of sorts.

i'm a bit early to class, so i pull a book from my bag and begin to read. it was one of those books my therapist said i should read, just to see if i could identify with anything the main character felt.

and albeit the character is in a hazelike state, just as i am, i find one flaw in my identification with her: she is a true victim. everything revolves around the fact that she was raped, and while i guess i get it, she's become a victim.

as i slam the book shut, i make a mental note to tell my therapist i can't read it, that i can't identify with a victim.

'but you are a victim,' i know she will say with that faux concern.

'you aren't a victim until you get it into your head that you are,' i will respond.

my therapist already hates me, and frankly, i make good fun of the situations in which i can feel victorious over her. the mutual dislike is a game of sorts.

i'm jostled back to reality as someone knocks into my desk.

"you need something?" i ask the girl who's glaring down her pointy nose at me.

no answer, just glares.

despite this, she plops down beside me. the rest of the class files in, every student talking louder than the one who entered the door before him. i glance to the girl. she appears to be fuming.

"you need some water?"

she rolls her eyes. so much for being nice. "no, what i need is a tutor."

i refrain from rolling my own eyes. "which class do you need help with?"

another glare. "french, but if you think i want your help -"

"my friend is fluent if you'd want his help." i can't retain my snideness.

she perks up a bit, even though i'm sure she would hate elliot. he's kind and thoughtful and a song so simple that it's complex, and she's... well, too simple. too easy to read. i can tell that she's one of the drunks on my hall, one of the girls that doesn't care if she fails because she's too busy using university as a way to be social and have sex. after all, 'being social and having sex' seems to be the mantra of at least half of the people at this school.

"what's his name?"

"uh, elliot thomas." i flash back to the bus for a split second.

"i think i have a class with him. thanks." the 'thanks' is grave and almost malicious, like the bark of a dog bent on ripping sinew from body, muscle from bone.

after she's turned away, i feel a buzz in my pocket. when i pull out my phone, the french speaker's words are there.

you maybe wanna hang out again this friday?

the door creaks open slowly as madam enters. i quickly text my resounding 'yes' before hiding away the secret of elliot and me.

+

have you enjoyed this chapter?
if so, please tap that
little star in the corner of your screen.
it helps so much, and i
am so thankful for all the
awesome things that have
happened for this book
because of the awesome
people reading it.

also, new cover!
both solacing and yashlynn29
made gorgeous covers;
the current one is by the former.
these are both wonderful writers,
so please go check them out!

+

ig: trespasserby

snap: lilingham

twit: trespasserby