Sunday
"bored. where you at?"
I pick up my phone as a text pings through, and sigh. I really don't want to have to go out now, but I'm sure Noah will understand.
"Home, but i don't really want to hang out rn, kay?" I type back, annoyed at being interrupted doing my favourite things - bingewatching Friends and snacking on crisps. I mean, Rachel and Ross had just broken up AGAIN! C'mon, he can't seriously expect me to stop Netflix for him. Let's be real here.
"Okay 😂," he texts back. "Watching Barbie and the princess door again are we?"
I blush, glad he can't see me.
"That was one time, okay? One time!"
Just because I used to really like it as a kid.. well, okay. Maybe I was a little obsessed. But still! It was a good movie!
I reach over to check my phone, and feel a slight twinge of disappointment at the sight of no notifications. It's stupid, really - I mean, a few seconds ago, I was annoyed at his text. But somehow I feel reassured to see his name pop up on my phone again, and open it with a smile, only to have my mood sink at "Anyway, gotta go. See you tomorrow first period!"
Yay. School.
Way to dampen my mood, Noah.
Not that I was feeling particularly happy before that, anyway, but the mention of school really brought me out of Crush Central and back to the real world. "Just two more weeks," I remind myself aloud. "Two more weeks to get through until it's half term, and you can finally take a break."
"Who're you talking to?" My mom pokes her head through my door, squinting in the darkness. "And it's way too dark in here, Lillia, you should really let inside some light."
I groan and try to get up while she walks over to my window and pulls up the blinds. I wince.
"Mooommm, I'm fine. Leave me be," I tell her, whining.
"Alright, alright," she laughs, "I'm going, I'm going.. gone!"
I breath a sigh of relief, and press play on the next episode. As I immerse myself in thoughts of Monica and Chandler and whether Ross is a jerk or not, I can't help think that maybe I should ask Noah to binge watch with me.
Text him. Text him. Text him.
I pick up my phone and hold it in my palm for a minute, weighing the consequences. Voices in my mind trample each other in their urge to tell me what to do, with some yelling, "text him", and others (the more sane ones) telling me sensibly, "he doesn't even like you. He has a girlfriend. You're best friends!"
I sigh.
Never mind, then.
I brush the thoughts off and try to return my attention to the screen, but no matter how hard i try, the certain dark haired boy I'm
in love with keeps coming to the surface of my mind.
Honestly, this is exhausting. Oh well. Maybe it'll be different tomorrow.

***
Monday
Miserable and grumpy as usual, I wake on at 7am on the morning of the 4th. I get ready in a blur, all thoughts on the day ahead of me, and what it'll be like. As I sling my bag over my shoulder, I take a last glance at my room - bed draped with rainbow fabrics from my tie-dye phrase in fifth grade, hair ties and scrunchies laid out messily across my desk. It doesn't feel like an eighteen-year-old's room, and as I look around I have the strangest feeling that I'm not really here. What's that quote from Shakespeare we did in class?
I have lost myself; I am not here:This is not Romeo, he is some otherwhere.
That's how I feel, right now. As I look at my room, I can almost see all the different Lillia's there - third grade me, with braces and a huge smile, playing with her dolls. Ten year old me, writing in her diary while watching The Fault In Our Stars on her brand-new laptop, and twelve year old me, listening to Avril Lavigne on her iPod with frayed earbuds. Me at fourteen, short and freckly with black shirts and dark make-up, still so young but feeling so old, looking like a little girl playing at dress up with her goth older sister's mascara.
Then I can see me, from just a few years ago, sitting there young and cross-legged and lonely, looking so lost and so sad, with her long blonde hair and misty expression, longing and wondering, feeling so young but looking so old. As I shut the door behind me, I feel haunted by the ghosts of those past Lillia's and what they wanted me to do. Be a rockstar, twelve year old me whispers. No, a famous actress! Ten year old me chips in. Fourteen year old Lillia sighs. Be an artist, she says. Express yourself. I hear myself at eight, toothily grinning and saying that I should be 'a puppy doctor.' And then I hear last years me, completely uncertain, but knowing she wants to change something. The burden settles on my shoulders, and I walk off, leaving the ghosts of my past behind me.