My Story Ends Here. (Book) Part 1

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My Story Ends Here. Chapter 1: J The dream always started the same. Violet. She stood there like a dark-haired goddess, a vision of perfection until the air turned cold. In my dream, her eyes didn't sparkle; they curdled with disgust. My eyes snapped open to the shrill electronic scream of my alarm. I sat up, heart hammering against my ribs, sweat sticking my shirt to my back. It was just a dream, I whispered to the empty room. She doesn’t hate you. Not yet. I groaned, dragging myself out of bed. School. The place where I spent six hours a day trying to be invisible while simultaneously wishing she’d look at me. I pulled on my "armor"—the same faded jeans and oversized black hoodie as yesterday—and headed downstairs. "Heading out, Mom! Love you!" I called, already halfway out the door. "Bye, hon! Have a good day!" She didn't look up from the marble counter, her focus entirely on the steam rising from her first cup of coffee. I envied that coffee; it had a purpose. I just had Chemistry. *Time Skip* I sat in Mr. Light’s room, staring at the black lab tables, trying to force my brain to care about atomic structures. But my mind was a broken record, playing her name on repeat. Violet. Was she in the office again? Another fight? My foot tapped a frantic rhythm on the floor. "James!" The voice cracked like a whip. I looked up. Mr. Light was looming over his podium, the fluorescent lights glinting off his bald head. "Yes, sir?" I stammered. "Look, kid," he said, leaning over his desk. "Class is almost over. You’ve spent fifty minutes staring at a blank screen and looking at the walls. Get it together." A few people snickered. My face burned. "Sorry, Mr. Light. I’ll... I'll finish it in my study hall." "See what you do. Alright, everyone, pack it up. Get your butts out of here." I lunged for my bag, desperate to escape the embarrassment, and slammed straight into a wall of cotton and perfume. I stumbled back, hitting the floor hard. "Hey! Watch it!" The voice was sharp, jagged. I looked up, and my breath caught. It was her. Violet. For a second, her face held that exact look from my dream—pure, unfiltered irritation and rage. My stomach dropped. Here it comes, I thought. The tragedy starts now. But then, her expression shifted. The hard line of her mouth softened, and she reached out a hand. "Oh. It's you. Hey... next time, watch where you're going, okay?" I stared at her hand, paralyzed. "Sorry, Violet. I’ll try harder... wait, 'next time'?" She laughed, a sound that made my chest ache. "Yeah. I mean, we’re friends, right? We don't talk much, but I think we should change that." She flashed a smile that felt like a localized sunrise. "I think you’re actually pretty cool, James." She walked away before I could even find my feet. I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart doing a painful dance. She thought I was cool. But as I watched her disappear into the crowded hallway, a cold shiver traced my spine. It was the same feeling from the dream. In stories like this, the higher you fly, the harder the fall. And I fell hard.