I had nowhere to go after I left history, so I let my feet take me where they thought it was best. No one else was in the hallways, which for some reason seemed whiter than their usual beige color. Were the walls power washed or something? I couldn't be sure. Maybe I just didn't realize how grossly bright they were before.

I went down the stairs to the calmest wing in the entire school, though I was about to ruin it with the flood of my tears. I tried to keep them in, in case some poor soul happened to walk past me. Didn't need to actually go to guidance that day.

Then, I saw the light coming from the art room door. It wasn't the harsh, artificial light that buzzed through the hallways. Instead, it was soft, natural light, though I knew my art teacher was inside. She was always inside, as if she was waiting for us to seek her out. I walked up to the door, hearing instrumental music from within. She only ever played instrumental, saying that lyrics would just distract us.

I slipped inside of the room, moving to my favorite corner (it was 93 degrees instead of 90), and sitting down in silence. I didn't need to tell her why I was there; she probably figured it out already.

"Do you want to work?" My art teacher's voice was soft, but still echoed from across the room. "We started a new project while you were gone."

"It's fine." I pulled out my sketchbook, opening to a blank page and letting my mind wander.

As much as I didn't want to think about it, the demonstration from the day I went to my dad's work was still burning in my mind. None of those people were what those monsters said they were, and they were going to die for it. I thought of the woman and her child, and started to draw.

I didn't really think about what I was drawing, but before me, a street started to emerge on the page. It was a basic street, not a street I could name, or relate to what I saw when I walked to school that morning, but just a nameless street. On either side, faceless buildings rose up, their lines not crooked, but not entirely straight either. There were windows and doors, but they were dead. On the streets below, figures made their way down the sidewalks, though I didn't know their purposes or their desires.

I still wasn't thinking as I drew a figure lying in the middle of the street, not until I snapped back into reality, and noticed that I was using my red colored pencil in the area around it.

"Do you want to hang out here for the rest of the day?" I jumped as my art teacher was suddenly next to me, her hand on my shoulder.

"Um, it's okay, Ms. Proctin. I just didn't want to go to history." I kept my eyes on my sketchbook, knowing that she would probably be able to tell that I was lying.

"Are you sure? You are allowed to stay if you want." Ms. Proctin sat down in the chair next to me, leaning on the table and staring at my sketchbook.

"I, I think I'd get in trouble." I put my pencil down, thinking about how much class time I had already technically missed over the few weeks before that.

"Gi, you know that we saw what happened, right? At that demonstration?" I looked up as she said that, feeling my entire body go stiff.

"I, um, no, I mean..." My hands started to shake, even though I wasn't even that nervous about it.

"No one's going to yell at you, if you need a break." She tried to put her hand on my shoulder again, but I scooted away without even thinking about what I was doing. My chest began to tighten, and I found myself struggle to breathe. I had had something like this a long, long time ago, but it didn't take away the fear that came with it. I practically threw my chair back, dropping to my knees and clutching onto the table. I felt the aura around my arms without even having to see it, which only made me feel more suffocated.

"Stop stop stop stop stop..." I barely got the words through my throat, my body shaking so much, I had no choice but to collapse fully onto the floor. I kept my arms away from my curled up body, careful not to scratch or stab myself. Hot tears rolled down my face, and if I didn't know better, I would've thought that I was dying. I shut my eyes, wishing for it to be over, since the only thing I knew to do was to sit and wait for it to pass.

After what felt like four hours, something weighted was wrapped over my body, feeling weirdly comfortable. Slowly, I stopped shaking, though my chest still felt tight as I forced myself to relax underneath the weight.

"Are you feeling any better now?" I snapped out of a daze as Ms. Proctin tapped my shoulder, her soft voice sounding like it was being spoken through a storm. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting a little at the new, artificial light. Looking up, I saw Ms. Proctin kneeling next to me, with another figure next to her. Brandon. I squinted for a different reason now, wondering why in the world he had to be in the art room of all places. He was a band kid, after all. Band kids don't go in the art room.

"I, I think..." My throat felt dry as I spoke, trying to prop myself up on my elbows. The weighted thing that was put on me slid off of my chest, making me realize it was still there. I looked down, seeing that it was a blanket.

"I keep that in my desk, just in case," Mrs. Proctin said, moving my toppled chair to the side. She then took the weighted blanket off of me, standing up and walking away from my sight. I looked over at Brandon, who gave me an awkward smile.

"Want a cookie?" He pulled out the sleeve of manufactured cookies out of nowhere, holding it towards me. Normally, those kinds of cookies made me want to gag, but I was starving that moment, for some reason.

"Sure." I pulled out three of the cookies from the sleeve, munching on them quietly. Brandon scooted over and sat next to me, wrapping his arms around his knees.

"I think I'm starting to understand why Nadia's so nervous about you." That caught me off guard. Yeah, he was Nadia's neighbor, but what he said made no sense. "You know, you act like you're so cool, but you're like, you know, hurt. In pain."

"I don't need a second therapist."

"But, do you really listen to your current one?"

"Shut up." I turned away from him, still munching on the gross, artificial-tasting cookies. Something within me told me that he may have been right, but I knew my situation better than he did. He had no business getting in my business, not then, not ever.

"Hey, if you don't want to talk about it, you have every right not to. But, if you want to talk about it, then I'm here for you." I heard the cracking of knees as Brandon stood up, and I couldn't help but crack a smile at it. "A lot of us are here for you."

"It does not matter the reasoning, she was still quite disrespectful." I tensed up as I heard my principal's voice across the classroom, stern and cold. Peeking through the table, I saw him standing by the doorway, talking to Ms. Proctin.

"She is not okay right now, sir. Let her stay here. We don't even know what happened." Ms. Proctin was standing firm where she was, not letting the principal get past her. I felt my cheeks flush as I listened to the two of them. I didn't want to be a bother, or get Ms. Proctin in trouble.

"The rules are the—"

Booooooop. I jumped as I heard the bell. I had to get back to being a normal human being now, no more hiding. Even if I had to sprint past the principal and hope that I didn't get caught. I pulled myself off of the ground, slinging my bag over my shoulder and making a run for it. Both the principal and Ms. Proctin were caught off guard as I pushed past them, quick enough so that the principal couldn't grab me. I pushed myself into the middle of a forming crowd so he couldn't track me, before heading to my next class in complete silence.

Six more periods, then I got to go home.

Just six more periods.