Inspired by the Tumblr account, unblockingwritersblock, who posts writing prompts -- like this one.

vexed (adj): difficult, much debated, problematic. annoyed frustrated worried.

Three. Two. One.

I ripped my head up from the couple inches of lukewarm water that still sat in the tub. Bathing used to be relaxing but not anymore -- the water turns cold way too quickly, kind of like how I have been lately. You can fix bath water but I struggle to fix myself.

That was almost two minutes without oxygen, I thought. I can do better. I know I can.

I don't want to die. The burning in my lungs is not deliberate. I find out of all the things I can't control these days, I take solace in the things I can. Like trying not to breathe. I get out of the tub and reach for the lavender towel that rests next to me on the toilet. The black and white tile that makes up the bathroom floor feels clammy against my feet and I feel as though my body isn't my own. As I wipe off my face and try to wipe away my thoughts at the same time, I look into the mirror.

The person staring back at me isn't someone I know anymore. He made that impossible. Ever since... that day. The dark circles that are prominent on my face are almost the exact hue of my eyes. I opt to just change in the bathroom because I can't stand to confront my mother who is always worried now. As a single mother, it makes me sick to have her worry about me instead of my two younger, innocent sisters. Her eyes tear into me whenever we are alone. I can't stand those eyes because they are also mine.

I can hear her now, thinking of a conversation we had just yesterday.

"Ryan, I barely see you anymore. You're here but you're not," she said.

I kind of just rolled by eyes and shrugged, biting the inside of my cheek. I could feel the anger just start to bubble up in my stomach, making it hurt. I welcome it, though, I'll take anger over anything else. Especially the thought of him.

"What's wrong? You barely talk to me anymore," she cried. "I feel as though I'm walking on eggshells, every second, trying to calm you down...and I don't even know why I need to!"

"I am calm. I am nothing but calm all the time," I stated, as a matter of fact. I knew this was a lie, also as a matter of fact. The bubbling in my stomach continued, steady and annoying. I feel sick. I need to go. Now. Anywhere but here.

"No, you're not. You're fifteen seconds away from starting a fight at all times," she countered. She looks like she is also fifteen seconds away from crying. I feel bad but I don't say it. I simply tell her I need to leave for school. Also a lie, I'm not going and haven't for a week. I can't see him.

I weave through the kitchen and into the front hall, approaching the front door. I'm drowning in my thoughts, kind of like in the tub this morning. I don't hear my sisters call me. I don't see them run to the door to wave goodbye. I can't look at them right now. They are twins. Look just like a mixture of Pop and Mom. Why am I just like Pop these days?

An ugly truth, I thought.

It's hot at the park. I can't breathe, but I can't usually. The AC in my car is broken and I have neglected to get it fixed, kind of like I neglect a lot of things. Must be in my DNA. I drove here almost robotically, the windows down all the way, in silence. I don't even know why the fuck I even came here. I'm not looking for him. I don't know that he skips here sometimes. It's probably the third period, he has Earth Space Science. I don't actually care, though.

Something in my brain says I do, but I push it away.

As some sort of horrible irony, I see someone on the swingset. This can't be real freaking life right now. I should leave, I think frantically. I know I can't because he's already seen me. Jace looks up from his lap, eyes wet. My heart jumps. Dammit, I really hate him.

Why is he crying? Why do I feel the need to cry?

I push my dishwater blond hair back, which is now close to passing my shoulders -- making me look more and more like my piece of shit father. Wherever he is. Jace holds eye contact with me, without blinking once, beckoning me to move forward. The green that I have grown to know so well bores through me, making me feel like I'm buck naked.

He has his black hair in a ponytail, which is very unlike him. Somehow, it suits him, though. I plop myself down on the swing next to him, facing the opposite way. We sit in silence for a while. I really didn't want to see him today. I really did want to see him. A life full of inconsistencies and coincidences that aren't really coincidences. I came here on purpose, though I continue to act aloof.

"Why are you even here," I question, acting like I don't care he's about six inches away from me. When did I become so hyper-aware of him? I don't even like men. Another lie. Do I like him? I can't admit it. "I'm sure you missed some sort of pop quiz today, super dweeb." I pick on him because I hate myself and can't stand to be the only one who feels like shit.

He snaps his head up quickly, anger flashing in his eyes. It subsides just as quickly. Jace opens his mouth and closes it several times, only to wipe his eyes a little. Usually, he has some snarky remark and we'd end up on the ground of this playground -- pushing, punching and spitting in each other's faces. It seems as though he's not in the mood for that either. I can't say that I wasn't hopeful. I lie too much and that would've been a lie.

Last time we fought, we kissed. It was horrible. It was everything. I was already angry with life and now I'm confused and even angrier.

"Why are you even speaking to me, Ryan? You haven't even looked me in the face for an entire week," he said, not looking at me either. Actually, he is pointedly trying to not look at me. He wipes his nose on his sleeve and sighs.

Something in my chest cracks. I wonder if I upset him but I wouldn't dare ask because: 1) He'd immediately make it into some asshole joke and just piss me off, and make me regret even coming here, or 2) he would say that it was my fault and I'm not sure how I'd even react to that.

I kind of reach out on a whim and briefly touch the space between his shoulder blades, but just as quickly, he stands up. He turns rather abruptly to face me and his face is full of anger, confusion and sadness -- and something else that I can't quite pinpoint. I look away because I need to hide the shade of red that my cheeks have turned.

"I don't understand you. You're an asshole one second, you're kissing me the next and then you ignore me," Jace whispers, though no one is around. "I know I should've asked before I made a move on you, but since you kissed back, I thought it was something you wanted!"

The breeze picks up as his voice picks up, which is kind of hilarious to me. Like the universe is on his side. I can't look at him. I draw my jawline tight as I feel my anger start to build again. I can't control myself these days, even more, now that this dude won't seem to fuck off out of my life.

"Okay, bro," I saw with my mouth in a thin line. I try to watch my words. I'm almost positive I'm trying to pick a fight. "I already told you we'd never talk about what happened here again. I hate you. You hate me. We aren't boyfriends or anything because of some kiss. I've heard about you, you know. I'm not like you."

I laugh to myself on the inside, almost painfully. Man, I can't believe how much I lie nowadays. I don't even know how I feel or if I want to, but I know I'm not even remotely close to processing what I could be feeling for him. Instead, I do what I'm genetically predispositioned to do. I'll pick a fight with him even though I'm not in the mood to do so, and I'll make sure it ends without us on the ground, mouths locked.

Jace's face flushes with embarrassment and he kicks the gravel that surrounds the swing set. Picking up a piece of it, he chucks the small rock at me, missing my face by a hair. Did he want it to hit me? Either way, now I'm truly pissed off. My hands start to hurt as I begin to realize I've been white-knuckling the chains that hold the swing to its frame.

I stand up quickly too, to match height with him. I'm still just a tad bit taller than him, so I try to play on that to make myself feel superior. I don't though when I see his face.

He's wearing a red shirt, like the baseball tee style. I could've sworn his face was almost the same firetruck red. Now getting a good look it, he has a developing black eye that I know is not from me. His lip is busted. It's all fresh. He hasn't been to school -- he doesn't even have his bookbag with him. Suddenly, I feel regret. What happened?

I go to open my mouth, but he quickly shoves me back and I fall straight on my ass into the gravel. I swear and go to get up, but he's standing over me now.

"You think everything I do and think is about you," he shrieks. "The world isn't constantly the Ryan Show, you know!! Don't think so fucking highly of yourself!"

He turns on his heel and breaks into a run, returning to his car. Not even missing a beat, he drives away fast, barely giving his car a moment to start. I'm stunned.

I sit on the ground for what feels like a while, holding my stomach. Still hurts, since this morning. A dull ache, that has only amplified since my bath. I make a sad smile to myself and get up to leave.

Why the fuck can't I leave that prick alone? I think to myself. I stare off to where his car just was and curse to myself. Damn. Why did I do that and why do I care so deeply?

I can't leave him alone and I fucking hate it.