I walk down the deserted halls, my school bag snugly over my shoulders. Knowing that there's two minutes left of school, my teacher for AP History, Mr. Marvin, allowed me to take my school bag with me. Tightening my grip on the strap on my shoulder, I can't help but speed-walk faster than before when I see the door to the bathroom. I had purposely chosen to head towards the girl's bathroom on the second floor. I don't think I could've beared to be in the room while Mr. Marvin was lecturing us yet again about the law of Time.

Especially with all of the illegally repeating kids at my school in that class, including Kristen.

In the girl's bathroom on the first floor, I splash some cold water on my face. Science... was utter torture. I stare at myself in the mirror. Sighing, I brush some of my chestnut brown hair away from my face, trying to separate the water running down my face in droplets from my strands of hair. I did not need to learn about the law of Time once again. "Even still, they decide to teach it at least once a year," I hiss under my breath.

My hands on the sides of the bathroom sink, I groan and let my head hang down, my hair falling to cover my head like a curtain. "If only it could go away," I whisper to myself. Knowing with a pit of dread, that it'll never go away, I back away from the sink helplessly.

When I see my reflection, I can't help but scoff as I ask myself, Do I always look that miserable when I'm by myself..? Shaking my head, I plaster the fakest smile I've ever seen as I look down at my school bag, when slides down the wall I had placed it against. Just like how I feel, I think to myself with a bitter tone when it crumples to the ground.

But when I actually begin to sling my school bag over my shoulder, the bathroom door slams open. When Kristen pokes her head into the bathroom, I shriek and jump back, accidentally dropping my school bag onto the tiled floor once more. My heart beats so fast that I'm expecting it to jump out of my chest. Letting out a sharp exhale, I bend down to pick up my bag again.

"Sorry!" Kristen apologizes, holding the door open for me. "You didn't come back to class, so-" Suddenly, the final bell rings loudly throughout the hallways, signalling the end of school for yet another day. In the hallway that Kristen and I are walking down, all the classrooms' door slam open simultaneously, kids filing out too orderly to be normal.

Because of the sudden increase of background noise, I find myself being forced to speak louder to be heard by Kristen. "Really- it's fine!" I assure the blonde loudly, even though I was surely lying. The only good thing was that Kristen didn't see my miserable self lamenting the law of Time. "Sorry that I took so long!" Yes, because people usually take a few seconds to go to the bathroom, I think sarcastically, mentally facepalming myself.

Waving all of my friends goodbye, I take a large breath of fresh air before making my way back to my house... great. Even then, I'm chatting with passing students and neighbors as I'm nearing my house. Before I know it, about half an hour has passed after school has ended and I just get to the front of my driveway.

Taking a deep breath, I begrudgingly take one step, and then another, until I reach the front door. I try to move as slowly as I can to reach my pair of keys to the house. Unlike most of my friends, Sidonia and I had used our time at lunch to finish up any remaining homework that wasn't completed entirely in class, which wasn't much, to be quite frank.

Suppressing a groan when my fingers close around some metal in my pocket, I take my keys out, my hand holding the correct key by some sheer, and unwanted, coincidence. Turning the key, I wince when I can hear the locks inside the door clicking, unlocking the door for me to enter.

When I enter, I gently close the door behind me, hearing the door softly click into place again. I let my school bag drop to the ground before taking my book out again. Closing my school bag, I bring it over to the dining table and set it down before sitting down myself.

Suddenly, I feel someone staring at me. I shake the feeling off and continue reading.

Yet I still feel the uncomforting feeling some another's presence. Scowling, I close my book with a tad more force than I had originally intended to. Picking my book up, I suddenly stand up...

Only to find myself face-to-face with my mother.

"Diavian," she says monotonously, disregarding my sudden shriek. "Welcome home." She glances at the clock, which flashes "4:15" in red digital numbers. Staring at me, my mother continues her afternoon greeting. "Right on time- 3:00."

I furrow my eyebrows. What is she talking about? I think to myself, raising an eyebrow at Mother and crossing my arms. I then mentally facepalm myself when I remember that this is my mother's greeting every day. Heck, I could just run away and she'd say that to the first person that walks through that door.

"Oh... thanks," I mutter under my breath, not looking into my mother's eyes... I already know that her eyes have a glossiness to it, making her eyes seem like they're always tearing up. They're so glossy that I thought that her eyes were fake when I first saw them. Sighing, I bend down to pick up my bag.

Before I can make my way to the stairs, however, I find myself being kissed on the forehead by my mother. "Your father's coming home at six, Divi," she tells me before drifting off into the kitchen to make dinner, humming to herself ever so softly.

My eyes widen at the use of "Divi" yet again. Trying and failing to fight down the soft smile that appears on my face, I pick up my school bag and walk up the stairs. Even still, I find myself suddenly dropping my bag and running downstairs. Looking at my mother, I ask, "What time should I come down, Mom?"

"7:45 would be great," she admits, turning to face me.

Kissing her cheek, I bid her farewell before jogging towards my school bag again. Slinging it over my shoulder once again, I actually make it to my bedroom without any other interruptions. Dropping my school bag onto my bed, I slip my book back into its original spot on my bookshelf. Grabbing a change of clothes, I change into some comfortable pajamas before going to my bed again.

Once there, I reach for my school bag, but decide against it. Going down to my knees, I lean over to grab the calendar from this morning. Smiling when I see that I've grabbed the correct calendar again, I pull it out and set it onto my bed.

I hoist myself onto my bed as well. Crossing my legs, I take a few seconds to pull out any sort of writing utensil from my school bag. Settling on a red pen, I glance down and see that I don't have to flip the calendar open to the current "November 1st".

Sighing, I write down "Four More Days" in the small square given to write such events down.

And then I cross it out, since the day's three-fourths done and gotten over with...

I run a hand through my hair. I'm not ready to turn eighteen, I think. "I'm not ready to repeat everything I do for the rest of my life, am I?" No, I tell myself, answering my own question. No, no I'm not. I'm not ready. I'm not ready.

"I'm not ready."

I stare down at the three more days that I have of spontaneity. What will I do then? I don't know. What will I do for the rest of my life? I don't know. Questions like these swirling around in my head like a hurricane, I blink a few times as I hide the calendar underneath my bed, standing up like I wasn't hiding anything.

I then stare at the red pen in my hand, not missing how my fingers have tightened around the pen even tighter before. I forget for a few minutes that I'm not alone- but I don't care. Crumpling to my knees, I can feel my heart pounding against my chest, my thoughts running around even faster than before. Before I know it, I'm screaming.

Screaming over the fact that I'm expected to deal with the law of Time as if it's perfectly acceptable.

Screaming because I've never been able to talk about my own opinions when it comes to repeating.

Screaming because I'm feeling so vulnerable and manipulated, and I just want it to stop when it hasn't even started. Which makes it even worse.

Suddenly, I find myself throwing the pen as hard as I can against the wall in front of me. I hear the plastic breaking, followed by a miniature explosion of red ink in midair. The ink falls onto and around the shattered pieces of plastic on the ground.

If the metaphor "glaring daggers" was actually literal, there'd be at least fifty daggers striking the same area where the pen broke. Running my hands through my hair, I finally let the sobs that were hidden underneath my feeling of frustration and anger.

Tears are streaming down my face.

Sobs escape my lips.

Screams echo throughout my room.

And the red ink is still on the ground.