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Viewing Single Post From: The Funny Thing Is, I Keep On Returning Over and Over
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party wurmple never sleeps. only dances.
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Bryony tried to breathe a silent sigh of relief, but her lungs still felt like they were being trapped in an iron vice. Isaac was leaving, but she didn’t think she’d be able to properly react until he had left the building and people stopped looking at them. Either that, or when she was at Alice’s house, away from all these prying eyes, and in a place she knew she could be comfortable and safe.

Speaking of which, she still hadn’t called her parents yet, had she? She should probably do that sooner rather than later. She fumbled with her phone with still shaking hands, trying to scroll down to her home phone number.

Then she, and surely half the rest of the café, heard Isaac’s parting shot, and the phone slipped slowly from her grasp as she felt her heart stop dead.

Then it started again and she was all too aware of her surroundings and everything going on. The eyes staring at her and at Isaac’s retreating figure, the muttered musings, people judging her, everything suddenly becoming all too loud and yet all too quiet…

No. No no no no, Isaac was just spouting bullshit to be spiteful, just to hurt her because he wasn’t gonna get any self-gratification from all of this. It wasn’t true. Alice had shown that this afternoon, hadn’t she? It couldn’t be true. It was everything she’d been working on to avoid these last few years, and it was everything she was scared of. It couldn’t be true.

And yet now that the seed of doubt had been planted in Bryony’s mind, it was impossible to get rid of it, because no matter how absurd it was, there was always the possibility that it was true. She could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and before she could prevent them, they started falling, splattering against the table top. She wiped them away, but more just took their place.

Bryony scrambled for her phone, shoving it into her bag, then stood up hastily, her chair scraping loudly against the floor. More people were probably staring at her now, this loud, unpopular girl who just couldn’t stop fucking crying, no matter how hard she tried.

“I-I’m sorry… Alice, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I can’t… I can’t…”

Before Alice could respond, Bryony turned and ran out of the café. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t stay with Alice, not in this state. She couldn’t go home. She slammed open the door of the bathroom, locked herself in one of the cubicles, and sat with her legs tucked up into her atop the seat.

Face in her hands, Bryony only stopped crying when she heard the bathroom door swing open.

Bryony didn’t know how long it took until she trudged out of the museum’s entrance, and began the long walk back home. Her eyes were bright red, and there were still tears forming in the corner of them, that she had to constantly brush away. She didn’t know how to explain this to her parents, and God forbid Bethany catch a glimpse of her.

Anywhere was better than back there, though.

((Bryony Adams continued in Poe's Poems Pwn Posers))


"bryony and alba would definitely join the terrorists quote me on this put this quote in signatures put it in history books" - Cicada Days, 2017
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The Funny Thing Is, I Keep On Returning Over and Over · Kingman Museum of Art and History