Because Our Tears Aren't Enough [South]

Perhaps it's odd, but I have never been fond of weekends. For my entire life I've watched other people clamoring to hit the door the second the final bell rings on Friday, while I hang back and try to soak up the last bit of routine and normalcy before reluctantly picking up my books and shuffling out in the back of the crowd. Similarly, I have never been fond of days off, of not having my time structured for me. I crave structure; waking up in the morning to find that I have nothing to do makes me feel directionless and lost.

Today happens to be Saturday and I happen to have the day off from work. Needless to say, the conjunction of these two facts has put me in an absolutely awful mood, my face seting itself in its default expression of mild irritation with the world as I shuffle aimlessly down the road. I have no idea exactly why I'm headed towards town since there's nothing for me there - no friends, nothing I really need to buy from the shops in the square - but I figure it has to be better than sitting around my house all day. I had considered maybe making the arduous trek to Julian's house, but a certain something made me promptly change my mind.

Really? You just want to show up with no warning? Doesn't his family already hate you enough without you being an imposing pain in the ass?

While I have grown used to the Voice's presence it never ceases to irritate me, the acerbic bass tones grating enough to make me noticeably cringe at what seems to everyone else to be dead silence. I haven't missed my parents' raised eyebrows and worried glances at each other whenever I jump at something that isn't there (at least not for them), but I have made a promise to myself to suffer through this in silence. I've caused enough problems for my loved ones lately, and I am determined to stop myself from causing any more pain. Although there are times when I find myself desperately wanting to tell Julian about it, I always bite my tongue and change the subject.

Oh please, quit acting so noble. The only reason you don't tell them is because you're afraid they'll find out how crazy you really are.

"Shut up," I growl to the empty air (talking to myself when no one's around seems to be another new habit that my family has begun to notice), pressing the work-roughened tips of a few fingers against my right temple. "I've got a hell of a headache right now, and you're not helping."

But annoying you is so entertaining, 'Ria. It's easy, too. After all, messing with your head should be easy since I'm inside it and you'll never, ever get rid of me...

"You're... Aria, right? The one who the other girls make fun of?"

I give a barely-noticeable twitch of irritation and my eyes narrow marginally even as the Voice howls with laughter inside my head. God, I love this kid! We need to hang out with him more often.

I really don't have any right to be so touchy about his statement (it's completely true, after all), but the idea of being defined by my social ostracism has touched a sensitive nerve, the same one that flares up when people refer to me as "Liam Fowler's little sister," or "Julian Scott's girlfriend." Am I truly of such inconsequential value that people don't even bother to acknowledge me as my own person? I'm never "the girl who can out-sing ninety nine percent of the District" or "the girl who could win fistfights against boys twice her size back in elementary school." No, I am only referred to by my significance to other people, and this realization makes an agitated growl work its way up through me until I stifle it in my throat and attempt to look congenial. Other than inadvertently insulting me, Ethan hasn't done anything to warrant my wrath... yet.

"I suppose I am." My response is spoken in guarded tones, the voice I use to tell the kids at school I know what you're up to, so stop playing nice and hurt me already without having to come out and say it directly. This encounter wasn't something I'd really had any desire to deal with today. I don't like people and people don't like me, and I have grown so used to this mutual hate shared between society and myself that balking at the very thought of interacting with most people (Julian and my family and my very few friends are the only exceptions) has become an ingrained habit.

Still, there's something different about Ethan that I just can't put my finger on. I know from my lifetime of quietly watching the world pass by at school that he's definitely a complete jerk, there's something in his eyes that seems to scream don't judge me just yet, there's so much more to me than I let on. It's for this reason that I don't simply roll my eyes and walk away, giving him another apprehensive look before throwing caution to the wind out of the prospect of pure boredom. "Well, like I said, sorry for running into you. I was going to head to town to see what I could get into. Looks like you're heading there yourself."

I don't actually ask him if he'd like to walk with me or anything so foolish as that. There is a careful social protocol among high school students, and someone of my status being so bold as to ask for the company of what can only be defined as adolescent nobility breaks so many unwritten taboos that I don't even want to think about the consequences it would bring down on my head. Not for the first time, I can't help but envy Julian for being homeschooled (having to put up with his admittedly deranged family seems inconsequential compared to carefully treading the hallways with eyes and ears peeled for the next verbal attack).

"I mean..." After all this contemplation it finally hits me that even implying that the two of us could spend time together probably wasn't a great idea, and so I backpedal, sputtering to come up with words that will fix the situation (I have never been good with words, but hopefully this time they won't fail me). "I mean, I just now decided to go to town. I was actually thinking about going to my boyfriend's but he lives sort of far away and I really didn't want to just go barging in and -"

Way to ramble, brainless. If he didn't think you were weird before, he sure does now.

A fact I have learned about people is that although they rarely change, they never cease to surprise me. Take Ethan following me, for instance. I’ve screwed up enough with my awkward, faltering verbalizations, made it more than clear that I want to be alone, and yet here he comes, trotting at my heels like an overly-enthusiastic puppy with a spectacularly fake smile. It’s almost amusing that people think I don’t see right through them, whether it’s pity hidden under transparent kindnesses or more often malice under false good intentions.

There isn’t much of a difference between compliments and lies. Sometimes they blur so closely together that I wonder why they have separate definitions.

Momentarily off-guard, I don’t pay much attention as he babbles on for some stretch of time, pointless drivel meant to do nothing other than fill the empty air and coax me back out of my shell. I can’t shake the sensation of being a mouse caught between the paws of a particularly sadistic cat. Still, that earlier look in his eyes that made me give him the original benefit of the doubt seems to linger, so I at least make the attempt to squash down my uneasiness enough to tune into what he’s saying.

“You’re also that rich kid’s girlfriend. Lucky you. If I had a girlfriend and she was rich, I’d be spending all the time I could there. Why aren’tyou there right now?”

Oh shit. He just went there. Go get ‘im, tiger.

The Voice chortles maliciously in the back of my head as eyes narrow dangerously and my tentative expression quickly knits its way into a snarl. While inside I am a broken, fragile mess that is hesitant to be built back up into something useful, I’m far from inexperienced at creating an intimidating exterior (sometimes if you can scare them off they stay away for a while), drawing myself up until my five-foot-ten frame seems even taller than it already is – this usually works better on the several boys in my grade that I outstrip in height, but the few inches between Ethan’s stature and my own can be substituted with an extra amount of bravado – and rounding on him with surprising sharpness, hissing out a response through gritted teeth.
“I really don’t think anyone realizes how absolutely sickI am of being ‘that rich kid’s girlfriend,’” I growl in a tone that probably sounds more reminiscent of a severely irritated mountain lion than a human being, work-worn hands balling into tight fists at my side. “Several reasons why it pisses me off beyond belief, actually.

“Reason one.” My speech is augmented by a step in Ethan’s direction, closing the space between us to an estimated four or five feet. “’That rich kid’ has a name, and it’s Julian. Not so difficult to remember, and I’m sure he would prefer to be remembered for who he is rather than for his family’s money.

“Reason two.” Another step, about three feet between us now. “I am my own person. I’m not defined by who I’m dating or how much wealth they happen to have. Just because bitches at school like to make my life a living hell doesn’t mean I don’t have any self-worth.”

Ria, who the hell are you kidding? A rock has more self-worth than you do. At least it can be used for a paperweight or something. What are you good for? It’s all I can do to mentally shriek at the Voice to be silent, taking another step and closing the distance to a little less than a foot. “And finally, reason three. Just because I’m ‘that rich kid’s girlfriend’ doesn’t make me any different from everyone else in this hellhole of a District. I’m a little tired of people presuming that I get special treatment or some shit like that. I don’t, trust me.”

I neglect to mention the brand new dining set that sits in my house (hell, that was Julian’s fault for smashing the first one, replacing it was the right thing to do) or the weight of the diamond necklace that sits out of sight behind the drab flannel of my shirt,since the mention of such things wouldn’t exactly do wonders for my “no special treatment” statement. But that is possibly the thing that irritates me the most about my infuriatingly public relationship. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard she only gets more days off because she’s sleeping with the guy who’s dad owns the logging company or hell, I bet she’s gotten a pay raise that no one knows about, forced to endure the scrutiny of anyone who knows about the fact that Julian Scott is dating some no-name District hick with no money and nothing going for her. And everyone knows. Everyone.

Maybe it’s the fact that this explosion has been brewing for some time, or maybe it’s just that Ethan said several inflammatory things to me on an already-bad morning, but my tirade still isn’t over. So with an agility honed from years of tree climbing, my arm darts out and latches onto the collar of his shirt, jerking him forward until we’re nose to knows and my infuriated eyes bore into his. “So unless you want your ass kicked, you will not refer to me as ‘that rich kid’s girlfriend’ ever again, got it?”