All Saoirse ever wanted was to be genuinely acknowledged, praised, validated. But you made it so hard for her to achieve those feelings, and the worst part was that you were so nonchalant about it.

How could anybody do the things you did so easily? And I say I don’t care, I say that I’m fine. But you know I can’t let it go.

As the top two students in the college, Saoirse was beyond pissed whenever you got a better grade. You were so effortlessly good at something that took her all night to even understand. It made her so sick.

And I think about your voice when I think I’m not enough.

From a young age, her parents were always so critical of her mistakes, training her into perfection. So, whenever she’d see you brush off what you consider an easy A and ask about her grade, which was often a little less than yours, all she heard in her head were her parents’ voices.

“A 97…” Saoirse blinked in disbelief, “You got… a 97 on the final? You didn’t even use a cheat sheet.” She bitterly looks at the 90% on her packet, a cheat sheet stapled to the back.