"Excellent as always."

I look down at the perfect score scribbled across the top of my test.

Not always.

"Thanks."

I apathetically spin my pencil around my finger as Mr Whitgift walks away after a brief moment's pause, passing me a look that told me he wanted to say something but refrained from doing so.

The buzz of chatter around me serves as monotonous background noise while I leave my perfect test untouched, feeling rather unattached to it. Why was I so obsessed with getting good grades in the first place? Why did I think it was such a far-fetched goal? And above all else, why do I still feel useless? The initial satisfaction was fleeting; all I'm left with now is an indifferent, blase attitude that's keeping my grades up high but my happiness nowhere near.

Life drones on around me in an endless stream of nothing. I'll keep studying hard. I'll keep doing my best. I'll keep achieving the best. But so what? I graduate; I get a job. Then what? Will I finally be happy?

Is this all there is to life?

I wake up, I attend lectures, I come back tired, I study tired, I sleep tired, and I repeat. Nothing more, nothing less. Maybe one day I treat myself. I visit a cafe for a cup of steaming hot coffee. Then I attend lectures, I come back tired, I study tired, I sleep tired, and I repeat. Nothing more, nothing less.

Life is the biggest thing I know. I can't 'zoom out' anymore than this. I look at the grand scheme of things and I see today, then this week, then this month, and this year, then adulthood, and then life. I can't go further. There is no 'further'.

If this is the biggest thing I've got going for me, I really seems like nothing at all.

I don't want to say I'm miserable. I have food in my stomach and clothes on my body. I have a university to go to and friends to socialise with. I'm not miserable. I'm just largely... unimpressed with my life at the moment. Is this it?

Repetitive day after repetitive day is just a bit... repetitive for me.

But I'll keep going. Because I don't know what else to do. Or if there's anything else to do at all.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

◈ѕlaтer нarтley◈

I drop like a stone onto my bed, my deep exhale echoing like a scream in a cave in my empty apartment.

White medical coat still draped over me, I run a hand through my tousled hair and stare up at the abundance of nothing on my ceiling. It'll be Christmas soon. If we're lucky, snow will settle on brick walls, roofs, and cars, lining the streets like icing on a cake. Everyone will wander around, all bundled up in thick winter coats and sporting reddened noses. Children will gather under the Christmas tree on Christmas day, impatiently waiting to open their gifts. Family will come together around the table to fill their stomachs with food and their hearts with warmth.

And what will I do?

She laughs her addictive laugh, "Despite my shitty parents, my fondest memories are of birthdays and other celebrations. Next, you're gonna tell me you didn't celebrate Christmas either."

I blink at her.She gawks at me.

"You're lying."

I avert my gaze.

"Oh my god, you aren't lying. Dude, we are going to make some damn memories this Christmas, or you're going to go your entire life without any."

She immediately winces at her insinuation, but I just smile to myself.

I'd like that.

"No, Slater," I berate myself, "Stop thinking about her. Christmas will be fine. As it always has been."

I drop my hands, which have risen to pull at my hair, and sigh. What if 'fine' isn't enough anymore? Ever since I met her, I've become used to 'exciting'. To 'unpredictable'. To 'beautiful'. What if I can't go back? What if I can't go back to lonely Christmasses and sitting at my window, watching the snow fall?

It's like I've experienced heaven. How can I return to earth now?

I've got my dream job. But where's my dream girl?

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

◎granт lιncoln◎

I dig my nails into my clammy palms nervously, fidgeting on the spot. Fuck, this is scary. Scarier than the years I spent in jail.

Too bad money and time can't get me out of this situation.

I raise a helpless fist to knock on her door again.

Just do it, Grant.

One.

Two.

Three.

I freeze with my fist a millimetre from the wood.

I can't.

Just as I turn on my heel, the door clicks open."You've just been standing there, debating whether to knock or not for the past ten minutes. What do you want from me now, Grant?"

The hopeless tone of her voice is enough to make me momentarily close my eyes. I raise a hand to rub my stubbly jaw, turning back around and forcing myself to meet her eyes.

She looks different. Her skin isn't a radioactive orange and instead has a natural glow to it; her hair falls around her in messy, uncombed waves instead of structured, perfect curls; she wears a pyjamas that hang loose about her frame.

It's now or never, Grant.

"I came to apologise," I confess, threading my hands together in front of me to stop my restlessness.

"It's been two years," Martha-May states, unimpressed.

I wince at the truth.

"Yes it has, but better late than never. I was serving time in jail-"

"Look at yourself, Grant," she exclaims exasperatedly, letting go of the door to cross her arms across her chest, "Making excuses, again. Thanks for the apology, but I don't want it. You've been out of my life for the past two years, so why don't you stay out of it?"

She goes to slam the door shut, but - sensing the failure of my plans - I quickly jam my foot in the gap and brace myself for the pain.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, retracting my foot but quickly recomposing myself as she goes to close the door again, "May, please."

"Don't," she freezes, "call me that. Do you think we're still six years old and playing in corn fields? Grant, leave me alone."

"May," I ignore her demand and stand between the frame and the door, trying to keep her from closing it, "please hear me out."

She gives up, but I soon realise the reason for her haste in closing the door when I meet her watery gaze.

I stop, softening.

Childhood memories echo in my ears.

"Oh god, please don't cry. I don't know why I was such a dickhead two years ago, and I don't know why I directed it all at you, but all I do know is that I'm sorry. I've never been more apologetic for anything in my life. I don't want to lose you. Even if I don't feel the way you used to towards me, I still don't want to lose you. Think of all those memories we had. I can't just forget the happiest moments of my life," I admit quietly as she adamantly wipes the tears from her cheeks, "I'm sorry, May."

We settle into a heavy silence for a while. Eventually, she breathes out a laugh. I can't tell if it's more bitter or hopeless.

"Jail changed you, didn't it?" she asks, leaning back against the wall behind her, "No more assaulting, raping, abusing on your horizons?"

I wet my bottom lip with my tongue and cross my arms over my chest, reminding myself that her comments are fully justified for what I did to her. And to Quorra.

"I'm not saying I'm not a horrible person anymore. I'm never doing any of those things again, and I don't have reasons for why I did them in the first place. I'm not saying I'm a good person. I'm saying that I'm sorry and I don't want to lose you, but if you don't want me here, then I'll leave."

I head straight for the door.

It shuts behind me with an unsatisfying click!, leaving me with the weight of the world on my shoulders.

I guess reputation really sticks with you. About time I realised.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡㅡ

ψ MARTHA-MAY JAMESON ψ

Guilt.

The door shuts behind him, the sound echoing against the marble floors and cold, sleek walls of the foyer. I swallow and look down at the floor.

How was I supposed to react to seeing him after two years? I did everything for him back then, anything to get his attention. I ruined my life, myself, for him - and never once did he reciprocate my feelings. Or even just tell me gently that he wasn't interested. He strung me along until he couldn't anymore. That day on the camp trip ruined me, worse than I've ever ruined myself.

Our memories together as children remain precious and unscathed in my mind, but nothing will make me forget the harsh reality of who he really is. Maybe he did come to apologise, and maybe he really did feel remorseful, but people don't change.

He probably only felt bad because me hating him could lead to problems later down the line.

People don't change. He'll always be a horrible person. A manipulator. A rapist.

Dear god, I despised Quorra back then, but to go that far? I would never wish it upon her. I'm starting to question why I ever hated her at all. It was clear that she liked our English professor but that didn't truly bother me since Grant always had my heart. Maybe I just needed a distraction - just something to do. First, that was pretending to like Professor Hartley. Sure, he was hot, but he wasn't Grant. Then, it was hating Quorra for liking my fake crush.

What a pathetic reason.

Maybe I'm just as bad as Grant. No, I'm different now.

But people don't change, Martha-May, I echo my own words.

I look across at the mirror opposite me, starting to believe myself less and less.

Well maybe they do.

●（=｀～'=） ●

Hey, guys!

It was recently my Wattpad anniversary - I'm three years old! Thank you to those who wished me a happy anniversary (birthday?) - you know who you are.

If you didn't read the sentimental, cringy message on my board, it is mandatory that you do so right now.

Aside from that, I know the jumpy structure of this chapter and the last may be hard to follow, but it is meant to feel like that. I'm hoping it's creating the illusion of time passing, as if we're overlooking our main characters' separate lives. I've added some plot development here, as I need to start gradually tying up loose ends.

Also, I know that the average jail sentence for rape is 5 years and in the current pacing of the story, Grant has only served two, so that is something I need to fix if I ever go back and edit this story.

Thank you for your patience, as always!

I love you to Pluto and back.

Over and out,
Spud 🥔

P.S Did anyone get déjà vu from the Grant POV of the chapter? I was alluding to another previous part of the story by using the same description to show a sense of karma, but I don't think anyone will notice as my updates have been so spaced out lately, haha. Take a guess, anyone?