Chapter 8: Nobody Understands
1599 Words
I stared at the messages until the words began to blur together.
"Have you noticed how he doesn't like you talking to other people?"
"That's not an accident, Alicia."
My heart pounded against my chest.
For several seconds, I simply sat there.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of my phone screen. Outside, the neighborhood was quiet. Everyone in the house was asleep.
Everyone except me.
I read the messages again.
Then again.
Then one more time.
Finally, I typed a reply.
Who are you?
The response came almost immediately.
Someone trying to help you.
I frowned.
Then tell me your name.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
Not yet.
I sighed.
Of course.
I shouldn't have been surprised.
Every time this person messaged me, they acted like they knew some secret I didn't.
A secret they refused to explain.
A secret I was somehow supposed to figure out on my own.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
Then I typed:
You're wrong about Benjamin.
This time, the reply took longer.
Almost a full minute.
When it finally arrived, my stomach tightened.
I hope I am.
I stared at the message.
Then I locked my phone and placed it on the bedside table.
I didn't want to think about it anymore.
I didn't want to think about anonymous warnings.
Or strange messages.
Or warning signs.
I just wanted things to stay the way they were.
Because for the first time in years, I was happy.
And I was terrified of losing that.
---
The next morning, I woke up feeling tired.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The kind of tired that came from thinking too much.
Breakfast was unusually quiet.
At least for the first five minutes.
Then Kevin spilled milk everywhere.
And normality returned.
"Seriously?" Toby groaned.
"It wasn't my fault."
"You knocked over the glass."
"The glass was in my way."
Sheldon burst out laughing.
Dad pinched the bridge of his nose.
Mom grabbed paper towels.
Meanwhile, I sat quietly watching the chaos unfold.
Usually, moments like this made me smile.
Today, they just felt distant.
"Alicia?"
I looked up.
Mom was watching me.
"Are you okay?"
The question caught me off guard.
For a second, I almost told her.
Not everything.
Just enough.
Maybe I could tell her I was confused.
Maybe I could tell her something felt wrong.
Maybe I could tell her—
"I'm fine."
The answer came automatically.
Mom studied me for a moment.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
And just like that, the opportunity disappeared.
Part of me felt relieved.
The other part felt disappointed.
Because sometimes I wished someone would ask twice.
---
School didn't make things any better.
I spent most of the day trying to ignore the messages from the previous night.
Every time I thought about them, I reminded myself of all the reasons they couldn't be true.
Benjamin was kind.
Benjamin cared about me.
Benjamin made me feel seen.
People didn't warn others about kind people.
Right?
By lunch, I had almost convinced myself that everything was fine.
Then Benjamin sat down across from me.
Immediately, my mood improved.
It was ridiculous how quickly that happened.
"Rough day?" he asked.
I blinked.
"What?"
"You've been staring into space."
I laughed nervously.
"Am I that obvious?"
"To me, yeah."
There it was again.
That feeling.
The feeling that he noticed things nobody else did.
For a moment, I forgot about the warnings completely.
---
After school, things got worse.
Not because of Benjamin.
Because of home.
I was halfway through my homework when Mom knocked on my bedroom door.
"Alicia."
"Yeah?"
"Can I come in?"
"Sure."
She stepped inside carrying a basket of folded laundry.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then she sat down on the edge of my bed.
"Alicia, you've seemed distracted lately."
My stomach tightened.
Here we go.
"I'm okay."
"You keep saying that."
Because I was.
Mostly.
Probably.
Maybe.
Mom sighed.
"You know you can talk to me, right?"
I looked down at my notebook.
The answer should have been yes.
But somehow the words got stuck in my throat.
Because every time I imagined opening up, I pictured being misunderstood.
Being dismissed.
Being told I was overreacting.
Being told everything was fine.
So instead, I nodded.
"Yeah."
Mom smiled sadly.
Then she stood.
"Okay."
And just like that, she left.
The moment the door closed, guilt settled heavily in my chest.
She had tried.
I knew she had.
But talking felt impossible.
How could I explain feelings I barely understood myself?
---
That evening, Benjamin texted me.
For nearly two hours, we talked about everything and nothing.
At some point, he asked:
What's bothering you?
I stared at the screen.
Then I surprised myself.
I told him.
Not everything.
But enough.
I told him I felt overwhelmed.
Confused.
Frustrated.
I told him I felt like nobody understood me.
His reply came instantly.
I understand you.
My chest tightened.
Another message followed.
Maybe better than anyone else.
I closed my eyes.
Those words hit harder than they should have.
Because part of me believed them.
Part of me desperately wanted to believe them.
Maybe that was the problem.
Maybe I wanted someone to understand me so badly that I was willing to overlook things I shouldn't.
But I wasn't ready to admit that yet.
---
The following day, something happened that stayed with me.
During lunch, I noticed a girl sitting alone near the back of the cafeteria.
She looked nervous.
Awkward.
Out of place.
A little like I used to.
For a moment, I considered walking over.
Maybe I could sit with her.
Maybe I could make her feel less alone.
Then Benjamin sat down across from me.
The thought disappeared.
And for some reason, that bothered me.
Because before Benjamin, I knew exactly what loneliness felt like.
So why wasn't I doing anything about it now?
The question lingered long after lunch ended.
---
That night, I opened my journal.
The pages were beginning to fill faster than ever.
I uncapped my pen and started writing.
Dear Journal,
Have you ever felt lonely even when people are around you?
I used to think getting a boyfriend would solve everything.
I used to think being noticed would solve everything.
But sometimes I still feel confused.
Sometimes I still feel alone.
And the worst part is that I don't know why.
I stopped writing.
My eyes settled on the sentence.
Then I added one more.
Maybe the problem isn't that nobody understands me.
Maybe the problem is that I don't understand myself.
I stared at the words for a long time.
Then slowly closed the journal.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Benjamin.
I smiled automatically.
Then another notification appeared.
Unknown number.
My smile disappeared.
Hands suddenly cold, I opened it.
There was only one message.
"You're starting to notice it now, aren't you?"
A second message arrived immediately afterward.
"The loneliness never actually left."
- Writer
