She was afraid of many things. Fear of abandonment, fear of the future. Fear of losing control.
She was afraid to die, afraid that she might leave before achieving all that she'd set out to do. She was afraid of herself, of time. Of everything. She was afraid of losing out. Afraid of sickness. Of war. Of losing her friends. A fact that seemed more and more likely with each passing day.
She had friends, many of them, back when she was younger and carefree. She was still carefree now, but it was laced with a hint of cynicism and jaded sarcasm. Where she once took care not to hurt her friends, she now ploughed straight aheard, blunt in her views and opinions, not caring who she hurt or why. She was protective of her friends, yes, to the point that she'd fight for them with her life, but now, those so-called friends were just infuriating. She didn't know who to trust.
Those she could were busy with their own things; those she couldn't were available. She often yearned for someone she could talk to, no holding back, just letting everything out. Someone with a wise counsel, who could comfort her, play Devil's advocate. Someone who could make her blood fire up with just one look; understand her completely by one gesture. No words need to be spoken, just soft, reassuring silence.
However, the people she worked with...They were afraid of her and her temper. Many a time had she affected their mood with her black-temper aura, turning the atmosphere sour. She knew that everyone gave her a wide berth. If any of the boys were teasing her girlfriends, they'd go through all of them and stopped teasing when it came to her. They probably didn't mean to, but it made her feel left out. They would come asking gingerly for her book or chair, and though she'd never give them any reason to, they'd immediately scurry away, mistaking her look of bemusement for one of anger.
She was labeled.
Quite frankly, it hurt.