CHAPTER ONE - NAOMIE'S WALL
808 Words
Naomie never liked Mondays. Something about the way the week began felt like a warning - like life was clearing its throat before delivering another blow. But this Monday was different. This Monday, Naomie didn't even have the strength to get out of bed.
The sun pushed through the curtains of her room like an uninvited guest. It bathed the messy floor scattered with clothes, books, and a photo frame turned face-down on the carpet. Her phone buzzed for the seventh time in five minutes, but she didn’t move. It could be her mom again. Or Daniella. Or maybe even Jason. But none of them could reach her now - not after last night.
Last night broke her.
She blinked at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the faint cracks that had been there since she was a child. When she was younger, she used to imagine they were rivers leading to somewhere far away. A place where people didn’t lie. A place where love didn’t hurt.
She used to believe in love.
Naomie sat up slowly, her fingers unconsciously reaching for the silver necklace on her nightstand. The one Jason gave her. She stared at it for a long moment before flinging it across the room. It landed somewhere near the closet with a soft thud. Just like that - soft. Quiet. Useless.
Her reflection caught her eye. The mirror by the wardrobe didn’t flatter her today. Puffy eyes. Dry lips. Hair in a half-bun, half-mess of yesterday’s curls. But the worst part was her eyes. They looked like someone else’s - tired, haunted, betrayed.
She dragged herself into the bathroom. The cold water slapped her skin, but it didn’t wake her. She was already awake - too awake to the reality she wanted to escape. Jason’s voice still echoed in her mind.
"It’s not what it looks like."
The lie of the century.
The image was burned into her memory: Jason in the art room. Her best friend’s lips on his. Their hands wrapped around each other like promises they’d never made to her. It wasn’t just betrayal - it was an earthquake. One that shattered every good thing she believed about love, loyalty, and herself.
She returned to her room, towel wrapped tightly around her, and glanced at the messages piling on her phone.
Daniella: Please let me explain. It’s not what you think.
Jason: I messed up. Please, just talk to me.
Mom: Naomie, are you okay? Your school called. You didn’t show up today.
She powered the phone off.
There was nothing left to say. Nothing worth hearing.
She dressed quickly - jeans, hoodie, sneakers. Something plain. Invisible. She didn't want to be seen, recognized, or talked to. Not today.
Naomie stepped out of the house and into the November cold. The city was loud, but she was quieter. Her steps took her nowhere, just away. Away from the memories. From the apologies. From the pain.
Somewhere near the old library downtown, she stopped.
It was an old building, long abandoned but still standing like it was daring the world to forget it. She used to come here as a child. Read for hours. Hide between shelves when her parents fought at home. She hadn’t been back in years.
She pushed the heavy door open.
Dust. Silence. And stories.
The air was thick with the scent of old pages and something else - something comforting. Maybe the ghost of her old self. She walked between the shelves until she found the far corner where the light didn’t reach. Her safe place.
And she sat. Just sat.
Minutes passed. Or hours. She didn’t care.
Then she heard footsteps.
Someone else was here.
Naomie stiffened, heart thumping. Maybe it was a guard. Or worse - someone who thought this place was theirs now. But when the footsteps stopped, and she turned, what she saw was unexpected.
A guy. About her age. Curly hair. Hands in his pockets. Cautious eyes.
He looked just as surprised to see her.
"Sorry," he said, backing up a step. "Didn’t mean to interrupt. I come here sometimes to write. I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place."
Naomie didn’t respond.
He studied her for a second longer. "I’ll go."
"No, wait," she said, the words surprising even her. "You can stay. Just… don’t talk."
He nodded. Sat down a few shelves away. Pulled out a notebook.
And didn’t talk.
It was the first time in hours Naomie felt something other than anger.
Maybe... maybe not everyone was like Jason. Maybe the world wasn’t completely rotten.
But love? No. She wasn’t going back there.
She couldn’t afford to.
Love made you stupid. Love made you blind. Love made you believe in people who only ever saw you as temporary.
Love was a lie dressed in flowers.
And Naomie was done believing.
- Writer
