"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did. But people will never forget how you made them feel."

- Maya Angelou

"I lied," Oliver says.

"About what?"

"About the reason why I agreed to come with you," Oliver says.

I raise my eyebrow, "Of course you did. I can't show you unicorn poop in the middle of the night. "

Oliver stays silent. He is waiting... waiting for me to ask him why.

What would he say? Why did he come?

I hold my breath. My heart pounds. My hands sweat.

Damn it, maybe it's just something stupid.

"Why?" I ask, so low, I'm not sure he hears.

"You are smart enough to figure that out," Oliver says to me.

"Really? Of course you won't tell me! Why did I think you would?" I scoff.

I turn around and leave him in his world of silence. I reach the front door, and then I remember I can't go this way. I will wake my parents up and get caught.

So I have to climb the palm tree and get in through the window. I sigh and turn around.

Oliver is still standing there leaning against the car, waiting for me to go inside.

This guy. He still thinks I will run away. I need to give him a piece of mind.

I get down from the front stairs. Oliver straightens up. I don't give him a glance and crouch down beside the window pane as I turn around the corner. I use the same palm tree and pipe to climb up. It's hard, and I have to stop every once a while to catch my breath. Soon I am on the roof.

For a second, I consider waving down at Oliver, but I'm afraid of what I will see if I look down at him now.

I open my window and crawl inside. I pull off my shoes. My phone vibrates.

A text message.

From Something Carlson:

You might as well have joined the muggers. You've got the skills.

Me: He is a mugger, not a thief, idiot.

Carlson: Might be from the same gang. How would I know? It's your forte, not mine.

I press my lips together holding back a smile.

Me: It's called common sense, Oliver.

Oliver takes a few minutes to reply. When I'm about to throw my phone on my bed, another text message arrives.

This one says,

Ice.

He didn't forget? That makes me smile a little brighter.

I put down my phone and stare at my wrist where Oliver's handprint is. It is still pink, though it doesn't hurt. Maybe it doesn't even need ice.

But, maybe I should get some.

So I head downstairs, in search of ice.

*****

Turns out, even though I was busy messing with Oliver and Jason, my spiral days have continued like a dull headache in the back of my head. Today, I feel the existence of it a bit more strongly.

I slip towards the back of the school. There should be a bench there. I will sit there for the rest of my lunch time. After that time finishes, I will go back to my classes, where I will stay and listen to my teachers and classmates, but I won't be there. I never am, until I am awake.

It is hard to remember how I feel when I am awake. I can remember one thing, though. When I am awake, I am hopeful. I am this ball of positive energy. I am a proton, and no amount of electrons can neutralize me. But then one electron hits, sending me scattering towards the neutrons, and I explode. I am back to being asleep again.

Today, I am infused with negative energy, so much so that I can't take the risk of sitting in the cafeteria. I seek refuge in the back of the school, alone.

But of course, the universe has other plans for me.

Wyatt Jefferson is sitting on the bench with his legs crossed in front of him and a cigarette in his mouth, looking up in the sky. He takes a puff in, then lets out the smoke. The gray smoke dissolves in the air. I hate nicotine, and I can't stand smoke.

But today, I don't care. I carry myself towards the bench and sit down. There's plenty of space for both of us.

Wyatt doesn't say anything. He takes another puff in and blows it out.

Even Wyatt doesn't acknowledge me. I have become absolutely invisible. I have seen people who want to become invisible as a superpower. Well, how nice that I already have it.

I have never wanted to have invisibility as a superpower. I would rather read minds, tear people's brains apart, and examine their every neuron, every thought. I could do great stuff; I could stop war. I could bring world peace and change the world for good, so people like me don't become invisible.

Wyatt keeps smoking. We have many rumors about him. It is said that he hit his father once, and he almost killed him because his father was abusive. He had also been to jail and used to sell drugs for a living. His tattoos make girls drool and guys get out of his way. Nobody messes with Wyatt Jefferson.

His smoke gets inside my lungs and I cannot take it anymore. I cough and stand up to head towards the school.

"Hey, Gwen." I stop in my tracks. "Be careful. After the darkest nights come the brightest sunshine."

That's all Wyatt says. I don't have the guts to look at his face. I don't know how he knows my name. I don't know why he told me to be careful. But I do know, no matter how much you know about a person, you can never know enough. You just never will.

After school is over, I go straight home. I throw my backpack on my bed as I walk inside my bedroom. The house is empty. Mom and Dad will be late because they went to a corporate dinner. Mom let me know through a text. There is food in the fridge. I can heat it up in the microwave. I should do my homework and watch TV and go to sleep when I am supposed to.

Instead, I head downstairs and lock the front door. I get my bike out from the garage, hop on it, and start riding.

The wind picks up my hair and plays with it. I am speeding up as I go. The houses, trees, cars, people all rush by. I am biking, biking, biking. I am going faster than the wind. I am the Flash, I am Quicksilver, I am Lightning McQueen.

I stop when I reach the lake. I slow down and drop the bike. The lake area is quiet. Nobody is around. There is so much green here. The air smells like plants and rotten leaves. There is a hum in the air. I can string the air together. There is no wind. Everything is quiet.

I sit on the wooden ramp beside the lake. I have a dull headache, but I ignore it. I close my eyes and sigh. I remind myself I need to be stronger, braver. I remind myself that I should never let my emotions take control. I had done that before, and it was a big mistake. Now I am suffering, because I let my emotions get the best of me.

My eyes well up, and my chest hurts, but I stop myself before a tear slips out. I don't spill them anymore. Tears are signs of weakness. Weakness invites knives. I have been hurt by quite a few of them. I have scars all over me, only because I showed my weakness. But I learned a lesson. A valuable lesson, that I remind myself of everyday.

Every time they hurt me, every time I was put down, I came back up again, stronger. Sure, a part of me died, but I felt stronger. If I can deal with this pain, this humiliation burned deep inside of me, I can deal with anything. You got heartbreakers? Throw them my way. They will know my heart is made of steel. My armour is clad iron, with stainless steel polish. None of your weapons can touch me. They will hit my armor and be destroyed.

That is how strong I have become. If I want something, I want it all. If I love something, I love it with all of myself. If I hate something, I hate it to the point where you can't do anything about it. If I think that I need to rethink, I rethink. But once my mind is set, it is set, and there is no changing it. That is me.

Fierce, focused, still. Awake.

That is why I love myself when I'm awake. You can't move me. I'm a fucking mountain. I'm a big ocean that swallows you in. There is no escaping me.

With me there is no in between. I overwhelm people and I don't know when to let them go. I hold on to them tightly until I bruise them or they turn around and bruise me.

The sun is going to go down soon, so I take off my shirt and jeans and slowly get in the water. The water comes up to my knees, then my stomach, then my chest. Now I am underwater.

I learned swimming from my older brother, Sam. He taught me how to swim when I was seven, and he was eleven himself.

I come up for air, take a deep breath, and go down again.

I miss my brother. When there is no one to talk to, he's always available. Or at least he was. He hasn't called me in days and I am not going to call him. I am not going to be the one to break the silence. I think I am invisible to everyone now, even to him.

Or maybe, he is just busy with college.

The water pressures my skin, gives me a sense of existence. My lungs burn for air, and I come up again. I am exhausted.

I get out of the water. There is nothing to dry myself with. My hair is slick with water and dampens my skin. My fingers have wrinkled up. I put my clothes back on.

I went into the water, hoping it would wake me up. It certainly didn't work. I still feel numb and dried up, dried up from feeling anything.

I don't mind. I hop on my bike again and ride around in the neighborhood aimlessly. I watch houses, row after row. I watch the gardens in front of them: the colorful flowers, the new leaves.

I see teens coming home from schools, laughing, bumping with their friends. Cars drive past me. Some are walking alone. A guy is walking his dog.

So many people, so many thoughts, so many different lives.

I round the corner and park in front of Pop's. As I am about to go in, I halt my steps.

Oliver Carlson is ordering.

I stand outside watching him giving his order. I don't go in. I do not want to break my quiet.

His order arrives and he pays. He heads for the door. I am already hiding in the corner, in the shadows, where I belong. He walks out and opens his bag. In his hand is a tater tot.

Oliver pops it in his mouth. He closes his mouth, and if I'm not wrong, he makes a sound like he just tasted heaven. He finishes it quickly, digs into his packet, and eats another one, then another one. He is so into it he doesn't see me as he walks away.

Once he is out of my line of sight, I head inside Pop's and place my order. Only when I touch my cheeks do I realize I am smiling.

*****

I come back to an empty house. My mom and dad run a real estate business. Every building that goes up in this area is usually under their supervision. Compared to the amount of money they earn, our house isn't that big. We could have had a mansion, with a pool, a garden with a fountain, rows of cars, a big circular staircase in the middle of the house, rooms after rooms.

But we don't. Mom and Dad never bring business home. They don't even have an office room here. My mom likes it cozy. Mom and dad have dreamed of their house with white picket fence, a nice kitchen with all-copper cabinets, a nice piano in the living room with a fireplace, enough room for all of us, and a few guest rooms. That is what we have now.

Although Mom made it cozy, whenever I come back home to an empty house, all I feel is cold. Nobody is here. Ever since Sam left for college, the house has gotten colder. We don't have pets because Mom and I are allergic. And I don't talk to plants.

I sigh as I head upstairs. I plug in my earphones and play a song to fill up the silence. It is an old Taylor Swift song. Although I am not into pop culture, I do hunt for good music, and this song serves my purpose.

As I listened to Clean, I imagine myself in my room as water fills it up. Soon the whole room is under water. The water washes away everything. I am drowning. The water is getting in my lungs. I am screaming, but nobody hears me. I see my pictures turning to dust. I am helpless; I can't save myself. I try to punch the walls to let the water out, I am not strong enough. I am running out of breath.

The song ends, but I play it over and over.

The feeling of loneliness was never there until I knew what it was like to be with people. I made friends, I went out, I had so much fun. Then when I didn't have fun, they encouraged me to share my feelings. I did. I shared it all. That was a mistake.

A person imprisoned in a room with everything, who never had the taste of freedom, would never want freedom until you let him out of that room, let him soak up the warm sun and blue sky, let him go wherever he wants to, let him taste the freedom. Then if you lock him up again, he will never be the same. Even though he has all the luxuries in his locked room, he will still yearn for freedom.

Having friends was like that for me. I didn't know I needed it until I had it... until I lost it.

Now, loneliness oozes out my pores in dark, deafening black. It stains my clothes, my bed sheets; it stains my cheek, my throat, my body. My fingertips are black; my body is black. My lungs have turned black, breathing in poisonous black smoke.

I am me, in this ocean of people trying to fit in. I am a straw in the ocean, floating without aim. I am a fallen leaf carried by the wind, flying, flying, flying, never finding solid ground. I am always winter, snowing in crystals, touching the ground, dissolving.

I know exactly what is wrong with me, but I am not brave enough to say it out loud, even in my head. Saying it out loud makes it real, too real for me. I will never do that.

I will keep pretending I don't know what's wrong. I will be awake. I will be awake soon.

*****