It shouldn’t matter. It never has before.
People judge. They always have.
I lean my hands on the counter, fingers pressing into the wood, jaw tightening.
But it’s not the words.
It’s the way she looked at me.
Like she already knowswhatandwhoI am.
Like she’s seen enough to decide and doesn’t need anything else.
Something shifts low in my chest, sharp and familiar in a way I don’t like.
I’ve seen that look before.
Teachers.
Principals.
People who thought they had me figured out in five seconds flat.
I was always too much, too loud, too restless.
Toodifferent.
Like there was always something off in me that needed fixing. Something wrong that didn’t quite line up with everyone else.
I drag a hand over my face, exhaling through my nose, trying to shake it off.
Doesn’t matter.
She doesn’tknowme. Doesn’t know what it took to get out.
Or how hard it is to stay gone.
My grip tightens for a second before I force it to loosen again, pushing away from the counter, pacing once across the kitchen before I even realize I’m doing it.
Restless.
Always.
I exhale slowly, forcing it down before it builds into something else.
Black and white.
That’s what she wants.
Something simple. Something clean.
Something that makes people easier to place.
But life doesn’t stay in neat lines. It shifts. Bleeds. Lands wherever it wants whether you like it or not.
I stop near the window, staring out at nothing, but her face flashes through my mind anyway.
That look on her face.
