The Stares
244 Words
Chapter Sixteen
The stares are worse than words. Words I can fight, laugh off, swallow. But staresâthose stay. They stick to your skin like glue, cling to you even when youâve turned away.
In the hallway, in the cafeteria, even walking home, I feel them. Eyes flicking over my clothes, my hair, the way I sit. Some are sharp, like knives daring me to bleed. Others are softer, curious, like theyâre trying to solve a puzzle I never asked to be.
Today in class, I caught one from across the room. A girl, her eyes sliding from my hoodie down to my shoes, then back up, like she was scanning for something that didnât add up. I wanted to disappear into my desk. My hands went cold, gripping my pen so hard it nearly snapped.
Itâs not just strangers. Even at home, the stares creep in. My mom lingers too long when I wear something baggier. My dad frowns when I donât answer fast enough to âyoung lady.â Nobody says anything outright. But they donât have to. The silence is loud enough.
By the time I crawl into bed at night, the stares still cling to me. They follow me into dreams, faceless and endless.
I tell myself they donât matter. That one day, Iâll stare back and not flinch. But for now, the weight of all those eyes feels like it might crush me before I get the chance.
- Writer
