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h i i i ))

Hiiii! I need to make an OC for this, lol

Oop, alright. ))

Angel stumbled into class and sat down. She glared at the teacher that gave her a pitying look and at the students that scrunched up their noses. Yeah, she smelled like alcohol, but they didn't have to be overdramatic. She laid her head down on the desk, ignoring everyone, but answering questions when she was called on. She purposely got them wrong. She knew them, but she had nothing to prove to these pricks. 

After class she packed her things and stood up, going to the door that was being blocked by the schools ‘popular boy.’ She glared, and waited for the inevitable. “Drunk again are we? Does someone have daddy issues?” He asked. She flinched, for the first time she flinched at an insult. She then ran a hand down her face, cold hot rage filling her. Before he knew what was coming, she punched him in the face and shoved him aside, walking out. 

The students stared at her, but she didn't care. She walked down the hallway and out the door. No one really knew why the school put up with her. They didn't expel her, suspend her, or anything. She never really got in trouble for anything either. Probably because she got good grades. Maybe they wanted the reputation of fixing problem kids. They put up with her hitting other kids, although she only did it to the ones that deserved it. They out up with her drinking in class, as long as she didn't outwardly show it. And even when she disappeared entirely, they put up with it.

She went out to the schoolyard and sat down, pulling out her waterbottle that everyone knew didn't have water. She looked at it and sighed, taking a swig and then tossing it aside after putting the cap on. She took out her sketchbook and began flipping through the drawings. They were amazing, with great detail and sharp lines, always indicating what she felt about the scene she was drawing. She began sketching the landscape around her, giving it a darker theme. No color, no life. Just… lonely. She did a quick sketch and then began the outlining and shading. 

She didn't notice the person coming up until they had yanked her up. She stared at them, and leaned against a tree. It was the boy she punched, and he was livid. “You're gonna pay for that.” He said as he swung and his fist connected with her face. She didn't even flinch. She touched the spot, then grabbed his shoulder, pulled him close and kneed him in the groin. She then pushed him down, gathered her stuff and walked away. 

This day was turning out horribly already. That was the thought that went through her head as she walked to the front of the school and sat down on one of the many benches. She ran a hand through her hair, and prodded at her eye. She took out a small makeup mirror and studied her eye. There was already a bruise. She rolled her eyes, and covered it up. “Stupid. So freaking stupid.” She mumbled as she rubbed her neck and reached for her waterbottle again. But it wasn't there. She looked up to see someone holding it. She glared, anger and annoyance filling her once again. 

Corax shifted uncomfortably against the cold, sterile hallway wall, his eyes darting nervously from side to side. He had purposefully missed class, preferring the solitude of the hallway to the chaos of the classroom. The reason for his absence, however, lay deep within his anxious mind, a vivid memory that haunted him like a relentless ghost.

It had happened months ago, a moment etched into his consciousness with painful clarity. The humiliation, the laughter, the feeling of being exposed and vulnerable, all replayed in his thoughts like a never-ending nightmare. Corax had stood before the class, ready to give a presentation, his heart pounding in his chest. But as he began to speak, the words evaporated, leaving him frozen in a suffocating silence.

The mocking laughter of his classmates echoed in his ears, their eyes penetrating his soul with a mixture of amusement and disdain. The humiliation had been unbearable, crushing his spirit like a heavy weight. So Corax had vowed to avoid the spotlight at all costs, seeking solace in the quiet corners of the school, where he could hide his insecurities and shield himself from further ridicule.

But his hopes were shattered when, because of all of this, Corax had been subjected to a cruel and relentless bullying incident that shook him to his core. A group of boys, led by the school's notorious troublemaker, had cornered him in the same hallway, their laughter echoing through the empty corridors. They had taunted him with their hurtful words, mocking his quiet demeanor and his passions.

Unable to escape their torment, Corax had become a target for their aggression. Each blow landed with a force that reverberated through his fragile body, leaving physical and emotional scars that would take time to heal. The memories of their fists connecting with his flesh, the pain searing through him, and the overwhelming sense of helplessness had etched themselves deep into his psyche.

Since that fateful day, Corax had become a prisoner of his own fear, his sanctuary within the confines of his bedroom becoming his refuge from the outside world. The thought of returning to school had become a menacing specter, a constant reminder of the torment that awaited him beyond those classroom doors, but something inside had screamed at him to return even if just for a day, so, reluctantly, he had done so, leading him to this moment.

As he stood there, hidden in the shadows, Corax caught sight of the familiar group of boys making their way down the hallway. Panic surged through his veins, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. Without a second thought, he swiftly maneuvered through the crowded hallway, his movements fueled by a desperate need to escape their attention.

Finally finding solace in the schoolyard, Corax's rapid breaths slowly began to steady. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger. It was then that he noticed an unattended water bottle sitting on a bench nearby. Recognition flashed across his face as he realized it belonged to Angel, the enigmatic girl who seemed to exist on the periphery of their school's tolerance.

With a newfound purpose, Corax picked up the water bottle, clutching it tightly in his trembling hands. A surge of determination propelled him forward as he navigated his way around the school, his feet carrying him towards the front entrance. His heart pounded in his chest, the fear of encountering those boys lingering in the back of his mind.

When he reached the front of the school, Corax spotted Angel sitting on one of the benches. Her disheveled appearance and guarded expression spoke volumes, mirroring the turmoil within her. Approaching her cautiously, he mustered the courage to speak, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Um, excuse me," Corax began, his voice quivering with a mixture of nervousness and genuine concern. "I... I found your water bottle in the schoolyard. I thought you might want it back." He held out the water bottle, his hands trembling slightly as he waited for her reaction.

Her face softened, as she stared at him. Not much, she still looked annoyed. But not angry. She nodded. “Thanks.” She mumbled as she took it and took a long drink. She then capped it and ran a hand down her face. 

She sighed. She had seen this kid around school. He was jumpy. Corax or something. She studied him. He had recently got into a fight. The way he held himself spoke volumes. The slight pain when he breathed in. “You look like hell. What happened?” She asked as she gave him a hard stare. Any other time she would have walked away, but he returned her water bottle, and that meant he wasn't on her number one enemy list like everyone else. She would speak to him once, not much need for anything else.

She sighed as she waited for an answer. This kid had social anxiety. Or so she thought. She remembered that presentation he did where everyone laughed at him. She had stayed silent, because it wasn't funny, and she wasn't sure why those idiots thought it was in the first place. No one on this planet had a good sense of humor. No one had one that was their own. They laugh based off of what others would laugh at so they seem normal. She rolled her eyes at the thought. 

The people in this school aggravated her. But then again, everyone did. She began drawing again, drawing a picture of him this time. The lines were blurred, but on purpose, showing uncertainty and confusion. Fear. She began shading, making it dark. She put shadows behind him with their hands on his shoulders. Doubts. She raised her eyebrows and flipped the book shut, studying him again. 

“Why do you look like you're always about to piss yourself?” She asked, as she saw the slight shakiness of his limbs. “No one should be able to scare you that bad. They're all pricks anyways.” She said with an eyeroll. She wasn't mad at him, but at the situation. She wanted to be at home, but it wasn't much better there. She wanted to be anywhere but in this conversation. But she would endure it, because at least she was doing something halfway productive and not being useless as usual. 

Useless. What a funny word. At least to her. People called her that a lot. Maybe to the world. But she got good grades. They called her a delinquent. Someone who would never get far in life. She smiled at that thought. She never thought she would. She fingered the stickers on her waterbottle that mostly just told people to fuck off in one way or another. This world had never been kind to her, and she ceased to care. She never would again. She was sure of that. Her only friend was this bottle. The numbness that came with it. 

She loved the way the heaviness settled on her bones. She liked the pain of the hangover afterwards. She liked that the light sensitivity, and other things that came with a hangover allowed her to stay away from people. For them to stay away from her. 

Corax's gaze met Angel's, his eyes widening slightly at the unexpected softening in her expression. A wave of relief washed over him as she accepted the water bottle, her muttered thanks barely audible. As she took a long drink and capped the bottle, Corax couldn't help but notice the weariness etched on her face.

Her question caught him off guard, and he shifted nervously under her hard stare. The memories of the recent fight flooded his mind, the pain still fresh in his body. With a heavy sigh, he mustered the courage to respond, his voice laced with vulnerability.

"I... I got into a fight," Corax admitted, his gaze dropping to the ground. "It didn't end well. It wasn't pretty… at all."

He glanced up at Angel, his eyes searching hers for any sign of understanding. It was rare for anyone to show genuine concern, and he found himself cautiously opening up to her, his guarded walls momentarily crumbling.

Her next question caught him off guard once again, and Corax's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and anxiety. He fidgeted with his sleeves, his voice barely above a whisper as he responded.

"I... I have social anxiety," Corax admitted. "It's... it's always been hard for me to be around people. The fear, the constant worry of saying or doing something wrong... it's overwhelming. I know they're all ‘pricks’, but... it's still hard."

He glanced down at his trembling hands, his thoughts swirling with self-doubt. The weight of his own insecurities seemed unbearable at times, and he couldn't help but feel like a burden to those around him.

"But enough about me," Corax said, his voice tinged with a hint of bitterness. "What about you? I've seen... things. Heard rumors. But I don't know the real story. Why do they let you get away with... everything?"

As he spoke, a mix of curiosity and genuine concern filled his voice. Angel's reputation had always intrigued him, and he couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the surface of her seemingly rebellious persona.

(it's so short, i'm sorry- i can't think straight right nowww-))

(It's fine. Type whatever you can. <3)

She listened to him. “I don't think you got into a fight. I think they beat you up. Who was it? Randal? His gang? They absolutely piss me off. You would think they would know not to mess with people just to mess with them.” The anger inside her, making her stomach turn, and her pulse race. She rolled her eyes as she glared at him for a moment. She was angry at him. Slightly. For not defending himself. But, she also had to admit, it was mostly Randal she was angry at. The amount of times he had grabbed her, or asked her out, had made her beat him up a number of times. Her fist connecting with his flesh the only thing that made her anger subside if only for a second. The look on his face was disbelief, as I he never thought a girl could beat him. She shook her head, coming out of the thought before her anger grew anymore.

She studied him, and he studied her. There was understanding in her eyes. She knew what it felt like to get beat up on. She knew what a lot of things felt like. But why should she show it? Not like anyone would notice anyways, and there was no need for feeling bad for herself. She always wore long sleeves. Always long pants. Always covering up. Nobody asks. Nobody thinks to wonder why. They just assume it's part of her rebellious nature. Or she likes it. She doesn't care either. She smiled as she toyed with one of her sleeves, the fabric of the black cloth thick, but soft. 

“Yeah. I assumed it was something like that. Anxiety. But- the fact is. You can only mess up in others eyes. As soon as you stop agreeing with them, then it will stop bothering you as much. You can choose to not always think you messed up. If only you could change your outlook. That's my advice for someone like you. Now, if someone said that bullshit to me. I won't change. Because I don't want too. I am perfectly fine being a screwup.” She traced shapes on the stone bench she was sitting on. She felt the rough ridges in it and saw a trace of white powder on her finger when she brought it up to inspect it. 

She watched him as he looked at his hands. She studied the way they trembled. It had been a long time since she had seen someone's hands tremble like that… A memory tugged at her subconscious, begging to come forward, but she pushed it out of her mind and focused on the small breeze weaving it's way through her hair. It brought the scent of grass, and damp leaves, due to the rainstorm last night. The memory began tugging away again and she quickly grabbed her waterbottle and took a couple drinks, welcoming the numbness it brought with it.

She raised her eyebrows at the bitterness in his voice, and her face darkened at the question that came with it. A  question… about her. One that sparked many feelings that twisted their way through her gut. Sadness, anger, fear, something else… disgust? Yes, that must be it. She closed her eyes and tilted her head downwards. In a split second decision she decided to focus on the last part. ‘Why do they let me get away with everything.’ She clicked her tongue and stood up, smiling as she walked behind him and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Ah, that's the million dollar question. Let's see if we can answer it. Maybe it's because they think they know everything about me. From the plethora of hospital records, police reports, and personal records the school counselor has. Maybe it's because if they ‘fix’ the problem child, people will be impressed.” She did air quotes with her fingers on the last part before continuing. “Maybe they feel bad for the girl who has to use alcohol to get through every day. Maybe. They're scared.” She raised her eyebrows and stepped back.

“Hmm, rumors, rumors, rumors. Did Angel go to jail for beating an unidentified male up? Did she? Yes. Was he in a coma for a few days? Yes. But nobody asks if he deserved it. What he did. It's all about Angel. What I did.” She paused and stared at the leaves on the trees for a moment. They were moving slowly, kind of like her mind. She studied them, contemplating the best way to draw them, what shading techniques to use. 

“Why is the screwup the way she is? Hmm? Maybe. Just maybe she's tired of people asking that. Maybe she wants to sit and drink her alcohol and make the world disappear. Maybe she wants to be alone.” She crouched down with her hands on her knees and studied a carving on the ground. A heart with initials in the middle. A + J She raised an eyebrow and stood back up in one swift movement, her sleeves lifting up slightly as she did so. Revealing many tattoos, and many scars. 

She ran a hand through her hair, making it look even messier than it already did. “Why does she hide away behind a cool and calm, if not a little angry façade? Is it real? Or a mask? Why put on a mask that doesn't please others? These are the many questions I hear people ask about me in the halls. The ones the counselors ask me. Everyone is asking questions. It gets so… tiring.” She didn't know why she revealed that tidbit. But something about the way the moment lined up. The dogs barking in the distance… the kids talking about meaningless things… just something.

“I don't like talking about myself, because maybe there just isn't a mystery to solve. Maybe I just drink because I like the taste. Maybe I'm not hiding.” Her eyes said a million things, one of them being that this wasn't true. At all. She smiled and looked away. “That was a lot. Bet it sent your head spinning. The tiniest look into how the ‘messed up kids’ head works. Go tell everyone. It may earn you some popularity.” She said with a small eyeroll as she walked over to the bench and sat down again. 

Corax couldn't help but be captivated by Angel's raw honesty, her words resonating deep within him. As she spoke, he felt a strange sense of understanding and kinship, as if he had finally found someone who saw through the façade he had carefully constructed.

The curiosity in Angel's gaze led Corax to believe that she had recognized him around school. He had always been the jittery one, avoiding the spotlight and preferring the safety of the shadows. The recent fight had left its mark on his body and his spirit, and he could only hope that Angel wouldn't judge him for his lack of defense. The way she studied him, the way her eyes seemed to hold a glimmer of understanding, gave him a small sliver of hope, though he said nothing.

He watched as Angel traced shapes on the bench, her fingers leaving behind a faint trail of white powder. The sight stirred a memory within him, one that he couldn't quite grasp, but it was quickly pushed aside as Angel grabbed her water bottle and took a few drinks, the numbness washing over her.

The way she spoke about herself, the pain and self-deprecation that danced beneath her words, tugged at Corax's heart. He longed to reach out, to offer some form of solace or understanding, but he couldn't find the right words. Instead, he simply stood there, taking in the weight of her revelations.

His gaze followed Angel as she crouched down, studying a carving on the ground. The heart with the initials seemed to hold a deeper meaning, a glimpse into her own hidden world that she rarely allowed others to see. It was a vulnerable moment, one that left him wondering about the stories behind her tattoos & scars.

Her final words hung in the air, a mixture of defiance and weariness. Corax could sense the exhaustion in her voice, the weight of the constant questioning and scrutiny she faced on a daily basis. It struck a chord within him, reminding him of his own desire for solitude and escape.

He took a step closer to the bench, his eyes meeting Angel's. There was a silent understanding between them, a recognition that they were both navigating the turbulent waters of adolescence in their own unique ways.

"I... I'm sorry," Corax finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never meant to pry or make you uncomfortable. I just... I don't know, I guess I wanted to understand. To connect with someone who sees the world differently, who... who understands.”

He paused, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “And as for popularity... well, I've never really cared much for that. I'd rather have a genuine connection with someone who sees me for who I truly am, flaws and all."

"And, I won't spread rumors," Corax said. “Your story is yours to tell, not mine."

Corax hesitated for a moment, his gaze lingering on Angel. He wanted to say more, to delve deeper into their shared struggles, but words failed him. Instead, he offered her a small smile, a silent reassurance that he would be there for her, should she ever need it.

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-))

She ran a hand down her face. “We're not alike. You are scared of people. I'm not.” She said as she pointed at him. But it wasn't true. She was scared. Every day. Of going home. Of her alcohol running out. Of lots of things. She just never said it. Never showed it. She was scared of people. Just not in the same way. In the way that they were unpredictable. And she didn't want to see what was going to happen next. She absently fingered her jacket, tracing invisible lines where her scars were. “We're not the same.” She repeated. But she knew, she was afraid. Because she liked the kid. And now she was trying to push him away. It would be easier that way. It was always easier to push them away rather than pull them closer. Let them see what went on inside her head. Let them see her pain, her weaknesses, the way she shook before opening the door to her home.

Her hands were shaking. She looked down at them and reached for her waterbottle. She grabbed it and quickly uncapped it, taking three gulps. The waterbottle was cool in her hands, with the roughness of the stickers. It made the world seem a little better. Helped steady her hands. The alcohol burned going down, and she coughed and closed her eyes. “You watch me like I'm something interesting. But I'm not. I have nothing to contribute to this world accept alcohol preferences and the best place to go to hide from people.” She said as she looked up at him. “I can't make friends. I can't play nice. I can't answer the simple questions that swim around in my head, because I'm always drunk.” She said as she recounted all of the things people said about her. That they thought she didn't hear. But it was okay. Because they didn't think she had feelings. That she was dead to the world. Able to insult and nothing more. 

“You piss me off. You don't fight back. You sit there and you let them walk all over you and you do nothing! Anxiety my ass. If you don't stand up for yourself there's nothing to live for.” She stood up and walked closer to him, glaring. “You can be scared of talking to people. But you can't let them hit you. You can't. You just can't. Or you'll end up like…” She trailed off and ran a hand through her hair and went into a crouching position, staring at the ground. “You need to stand up for yourself. And don't give me bullshit about it. I'm not in the mood to listen.” 

He reminded her of someone. Someone she wouldn't talk about. Someone she had suppressed the memory of. Never thought about. Someone who was once dear to her… She shook the thoughts out of her had and got up, grabbing her water bottle and drinking again. “It's fine. You can ask questions all you want. Doesn't mean I'll answer them. I understand the curiosity. It's the same stuff I looked at you with when I saw you freeze up during that presentation.” She said as she looked at him for a minute. She studied his smile. “Don't do that.” She said as she ran a hand through her hair. “Don't do that.”

“I can't- if you- I can't. She said, the words not forming right. She paused, trying to gather her thoughts. ”If something happens. And I come to you. And I tell you. And I open up. If that happens and you leave or something happens to you. I won't be able to live with it. So don't give me that look." She said as she rubbed at her arms. Thinking of all of the mistakes in life. How she wasn't really living. Just surviving. It's all she did. She looked at him and then sat down on the bench and put her head in her hands. 

“Nothing ever works out for people like me. There's always another shoe to drop, or something else that will happen to break our spirits. Make us wish we never tried in the first place. We act like nothing fazes us. But we lie. We don't like losing people just like the rest of the world. So we push people away. I'm a loner. I don't need others, and they don't need me. Because when people get close to me disaster strikes. They leave, or something happens and I'm left reeling, trying to figure out what the hell happened and cope with it.” She said as she looked up at him, something in her eyes telling him she wanted it to work. That she couldn't bring herself to try.

She picked up a stray leaf and studied it. It was dead, and slightly damp. She felt the veins on it and turned it over. She wondered how they could ride on the breeze like nothing fazed them. They just waited patiently for another breeze to come pick them up and take them to their next destination. She wondered what it would be like to be carefree like that. She smiled, and looked up at him, a pained expression on her face. “I guess it's time for you to go, huh? Next class will start soon.” She said as she looked away.

She didn't want him to go. She wanted him to stay. She wanted to become friends, but she knew the closer they got the more she would try and push him away. The more afraid she would get of him hurting or leaving her. The more worried that everything would go to shit. “I won't be in the next couple of classes, so don't expect me. I will be other places. A lone wanderer. I wish you the best. I hope you learn to stand up for yourself. I hope you learn to live like there is no tomorrow. Get out of your shell. Talk to someone. Connect with someone. You deserve it.” She said as she grabbed her waterbottle, prepared to drink away the pain. 

(Another 5000+ characters and 1000+ words!)