That night, I sit on my bedroom floor with a notebook. I write the truth no one will ever read: I am seventeen years old, and I am in love with a boy who thinks of me as a convenience. A ride to school. A source of free coffee. A pair of ears that listens to his stories about other girls.
My name is Hayley Davies, and I have spent most of my life feeling like a supporting character in someone else’s story. You know the type: the dependable friend, the quiet sister, the girl who always hands you the correct pen during an exam. I don’t mind it, most days. There’s a safety in the shadows, a comfort in not being watched.
Davies. Not Hayley. Just my last name, like I’m one of the guys.
When Liam looks at me, his eyes don’t linger. They pass right over, like I’m part of the furniture. A lamp. A rug. Jake’s little sister.
That night, I sit on my bedroom floor with a notebook. I write the truth no one will ever read: I am seventeen years old, and I am in love with a boy who thinks of me as a convenience. A ride to school. A source of free coffee. A pair of ears that listens to his stories about other girls.
My name is Hayley Davies, and I have spent most of my life feeling like a supporting character in someone else’s story. You know the type: the dependable friend, the quiet sister, the girl who always hands you the correct pen during an exam. I don’t mind it, most days. There’s a safety in the shadows, a comfort in not being watched. hayley davies pov
Davies. Not Hayley. Just my last name, like I’m one of the guys. That night, I sit on my bedroom floor with a notebook
When Liam looks at me, his eyes don’t linger. They pass right over, like I’m part of the furniture. A lamp. A rug. Jake’s little sister. A source of free coffee