The silence is peaceful. From where she’s perched, she can hear owls, crickets, and the rustling of leaves. But the rest of the world is sleeping and she’s only just started to appreciate the tranquility in that. The tranquility of being alone; when the weight of downturned mouths and pitying eyes is non-existent. Some of them have the mind to stay quiet, Others... Others ask her how she’s doing, even if they’ve never bothered to ask before. Or worse, they say that they’re sorry for what happened to her, though they never elaborate on which part they’re talking about. It’s to the point where she can hear the empty apologies even when they remain unspoken. It’s to the point where she’s turned her phone on silent, ignored every single one of her friends’ attempts to hang out, and spent the majority of her time sleeping on the couch or sitting on the roof, mulling over how she’s meant to return to school now that everyone knows. Now that everyone’s sorry for “what happened” to her.
When she hears the creak of someone climbing out of the window behind her, she doesn’t even bother trying to hide the joint. Instead, she takes another hit and tucks her arm behind her head, holding it up in the wide empty space beside her as a silent offering. She hates her own voice with a passion. Even to her own ears, every word that leaves her mouth sounds so fucking pathetic.