"Nothing to Prove

And I'm bulletproof

And know what I'm doing"

- Dangerous Woman

Ariana Grande

It was difficult to wake up everyday, yet she made herself do it. She had never been a morning person before but she suddenly found herself waking up at the gods-awful hour of 7:00 AM. This is unnatural. But she did it anyways. She sat up in bed, running a hand through her newly cut hair, briefly marveling at how healthy her ends now felt. She smiled slightly to herself, before rolling out of bed.

She had lofted her bed, which meant getting into and out of bed was an early morning and late night adventure everyday. Her nightgown - for lack of better words since it was really just an oversized field hockey t-shirt - tangled around her thighs, making her feel scandalous. If only she chuckled to herself. She grabbed her glasses from her bedside table - or rather shelf - and put them in their case. Her retainer left a sour taste in her mouth she desperately needed to get rid of, so after going to the bathroom she scrubbed her teeth (after washing her hands of course. Anyone who doesn't is a dirty bastard - just saying).

After washing her face, putting in her contacts, and dressing, she headed for the gym. It was one of her only sources of stress and emotion relief at this place - aside from when she danced around her room each night when her roommate showered. Too self conscious to attempt anything other than the elliptical or treadmill, she stayed for only 45 minutes, making the most of her short exercise time. While she wasn't the biggest fan of fitness, she enjoyed the feeling of being slightly winded, how her t-shirts were always covered in her sweat. It was like a badge of honor, broadcasting that she worked hard to stay in shape, even if she often didn't think her body was much to look at.

As she left the gym, she turned her face to the sky, as she did every morning. Something about being around nature calmed her. She wasn't quite sure what it was; perhaps the cloudy sky overhead and birdsong reminded her of home. The woods had always been one of her safe havens when she felt depressed; there were few things as peaceful as being surrounded by trees and water and animals.

When she got back to her room, she found her roommate still asleep, muttering nonsense as she turned over. She sighed. That chick is never up before 11, even on weekdays. She grabbed her shower caddy, taking over the bathroom she shared with three other girls before her suite mates could spend hours in the shower. She weighed herself as she always did while she waited for the water to heat up. It had become part of her daily routine at this point, but it was something she new she should probably be ashamed of; no one was supposed to be so obsessed with their weight.

That was another thing she enjoyed: showering. She allowed her mind to wander while she squirted shampoo into her hands. Mmmm rosemary. She knew she had probably turned the water up too hot, but she was always cold these days, so she figured fuck it. She sang under her breath while washing her body and applying her in-shower lotion. Her preferred shower song was Love Song by Sara Bareilles, a favorite because she felt she didn't sound half bad when she sang it.

She hummed as she exited the bathroom in a towel, her roommate still asleep. It was Saturday, which meant she didn't need to put on any make-up or blow dry her hair or wear anything fancy, the way her mother always expected her to. Instead, she grabbed her overalls - a most ingenious creation one must admit - and a t-shirt, throwing on her converse while putting her wet hair in a ponytail. Okay, so maybe blow-drying her hair was something she actually didn't mind, but she didn't want to wake her roommate, so she refrained. Stupid oversleeper. She grabbed her saddlebag, stuffing her keys, book, and water bottle into it. It was time to hunt for the ever so elusive cup of coffee.

She placed her earbuds in, dodging around the tourists who didn't understand what it meant to walk. Do they really not have H&Ms back where they came from? I mean really! The Apple Store is on-freaking-line! Get out of my way, asshole! Finally, cranky and frustrated, she arrived at Starbucks, ordering her usual nonfat caramel macchiato and taking it to go. In a slightly more tolerable mood - I mean seriously people! You put one foot in front of the other! You would never make it on the streets of Manhattan - she maneuvered around the tourists towards the harbor.

That was the other place she felt semi-fine: near the harbor. It smelt and felt like being at the beach back home. Though tourists flocked all over the park like a pack of seagulls, she didn't mind. Just being near the salt water calmed her. She would find a bench, plop down, and read until she didn't feel like it anymore - or got too cold… or had to pee. She had already read and finished many a book in this park. The number of worlds she had visited and got lost in seemed almost innumerable to her. She had returned to some old worlds, visited some old friends this year, while also discovering new friends and worlds, some she loved and others she despised. Mostly loved. Lately, it seemed like the only friends she had were the ones that came from between the bound pages of the books she so often escaped to. And most of the time she didn't mind. Most of the time.

She glanced at her phone, though she knew it was futile. Her best friend texted her pretty much everyday, but she was a busy girl, her best friend. She didn't expect her to text her 24/7, yet she couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed when her screen showed up blank. But she was being far too selfish; she already laid all her problems at her best friend's feet. It was far too much to ask her best friend to hold her hand every time she felt lonely.

She shook her head, picking up her book and picking up where she had left off the night before. Her current novel centered around the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff, a luxury cruise liner that had been sunk while carrying German refugees to safety during WWII. 9,000 people had died. It was the worst marine disaster ever, yet so few people knew of it. She hadn't even known about it until she started reading the novel. She was glad she had novels like these to put her in her place; sure, she was unhappy and lonely, but she could be unhappy, lonely, and hunted by merciless Russians seeking revenge for Leningrad.

She continued reading till she couldn't feel her fingers anymore, then she figured it was probably time to go. But instead of heading back towards her dorm building, which was a mile away, she found herself walking towards the promenade that bordered the harbor. The wind picked up the closer she got to the water, and she pulled her jacket closer around herself, though it provided little protection from the cold. This would be the perfect time to have a boyfriend to wrap me up in his arms and keep me warm. She shook her head, shaking such silly thoughts from her mind.

She walked right up to the railing, leaning against it, staring down into the gray waters. The water was so tame compared to home. She missed the violence of the waves; it often reminded her of the unsteadiness she felt just under her skin all the time; of the anger she worked hard to keep locked up. Something about seeing the waves hit the shore, something about the raw power and force, calmed her. Though she could never let her anger swell the way the waves did, she could let go of it vicariously through the ocean.

But she wasn't home. These waves were pathetic, mild, and more than ever, she had to keep her rage contained. Though she never had to worry about hurting people around her - let's be honest, there's no one here for me to hurt- she had to keep the rage locked away tightly. She absolutely could not let her emotions get the best of her in public here. It was one thing at the gym, where she could channel it into pushing herself harder, or at night when she would occasionally allow herself to cry, but never never never could she let her emotions show in public.

She closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath, letting the sea breeze carry away her dark thoughts. Screw this. You don't need this. Just two more weeks. You just need to survive two more weeks. She couldn't really bring herself to accept that she was almost done. She was about to leave this place really soon. The oddest part about her situation was the fact that she didn't feel anything. Well, at least she didn't feel any happiness about the fact that her year was coming to an end. She felt, well the closest word to describe how she felt was empty. She felt nothing.

She opened her eyes, staring out at the horizon. She knew she should probably be excited. She had already had some good news, her time in Purgatory - what she coined her location - was almost over, she'd see her best friend soon, yet she couldn't bring herself to be happy. Maybe she just resisted happiness; she always had been the type of person who looked at the glass as half empty. Maybe she just couldn't accept that she was done until she saw Purgatory in her rearview mirror - which she actually would since she was driving home with her father. Or maybe she was still too broken.

It had been a trying year for her: arriving in Purgatory, only to make no friends and develop the lifestyle of a hermit, all while losing a close friend and sinking into a pit of depression. Her best friend had been there the whole time, keeping her from falling into the abyss totally, but once more, she hated feeling like the burden she was, and she didn't tell her best friend everything. There had been times when she had considered doing the irreversible. What if I just pitch myself off the promenade? Those rocks would end it before anyone would be able to do anything. I wish this pane were not here, so I could just fall into oblivion. Maybe I can just slice my vein, let my roommate find my body in the shower when she gets back from class. But she had never been able to act on such thoughts. She suspected it had something to do with her stubbornness. Plus, she couldn't off herself before she had lived in Manhattan or fallen in love, or at the very least had sex. These were the things that stopped her. She was too selfish and vain to kill herself.

She made a fist with her right hand, digging her nails into her palm before turning and walking away from the water. She thought of the one time she had seen dolphins, back before she realized she was in Purgatory; back when she thought she was in Eden. She had thought the dolphins were a sign of good things to come. So much for that. Fairies and pixie dust and Peter Pan were simply just stories; there was no flying boy coming to rescue her from her surroundings, and the dolphins were not good luck charms.

She took the back roads on the way back to her dorm, unable to tolerate anymore slow walkers. Plus, she could steal some lilac from the church. What do I care if I steal from a church? I'm going to Hell anyways. When she was in middle school, the house next to the school had a lilac bush (was it was bush?). She remembered the first time she had inhaled the sweet scent, how it had filled her up and made her smile. Lilac still made her smile, and she wanted one bunch to press in her book. It was the least Purgatory owed her for making her put up with it for so long.

And so, she picked herself some lilac, inhaling deeply before putting it into her bag, holding her book in her hand in order to make room. Her mind wandered, going all philosophical as she thought about characters from various books she had read. Her thoughts kept circling round to all her favorite couples. She simultaneously hated and loved it when she thought about couples. For all her anger and depression and loneliness, her hopeless romantic ways hadn't disappeared. Seeing people in love made her feel both extremely happy and terribly lonely. She refused to ever voice out loud how similar she was to other single girls her age, who longed for boyfriends and to be called beautiful. But she always thought this way. In fact, she was probably more boy crazy than her friends from home.

She knew how pointless it was to wish for a love like the ones she read about. She was realistic; she knew it was not in the cards for her. If she couldn't even make friends, there was no way she could attract a male companion. Plus, she'd been told she was unapproachable, and she knew this would stick with her forever, possibly preventing her from ever actually being approachable. Still, she could never prevent her brain from inventing a fictional boyfriend. Even when she was focusing on something else, he still sat in the corner of her mind, waiting for his chance to steal away her attention.

She arrived around the block from her dorm, and she finally allowed herself to acknowledge her grumbling stomach. She would stop by the store, buy a bag of pretzels, maybe a chocolate bar, before heading back to her dorm. She glanced at her watch. Typical. My day starts and ends in a matter of hours. She knew once she got to her room, she would not leave until the next morning. Whatever.

As she perused the candy section, she sighed, trying to ignore the two girls her age giggling nearby. Two more weeks. She only needed to last two more weeks. And in the meantime, she should figure out what fan fiction she wanted to read tonight. Yes. This is what my life had become. She shrugged, smirking to herself, and went to pay.