Depressed• phan

15%

Dan pulled me towards his locker. I have to say, he did a nice job at cleaning me up.

I remember when I was 13; after my mum died. I was forced to live with my grandpa.
He wasn't so great. He knew I was gay, and was extremely homophobic. To say the least , I was treated like shit.  When I got hurt like this at school, I would run "home" or to my alternate hell. Besides school of course .
I pushed open the front door, carefully slow. I almost made it through without a sound, until. Creeek! Shit! I stood up straight and waited for what was to come.
"Phillip!" , his eyes were red. He had purple bags under neath his eyes. He was stumbling around. Drunk. "Oi, did poor Phillip get beaten for being the faggot he is?" . I couldn't tell if it was a question or an exclamation . "Shut the fuck up." I said. My throat was dry.
I could practically sense what was coming next. Then before I knew it , my already bruised face, had a fist implanted on the side of my head. I got up. I could barely see. All I could make out was him. Holding something. What was it. A bat? No it was much smaller. Realization hit me. It was a knife.

"Phil? We're here,". I looked at dans face. How it glistens under the soft glow of the yellow tinted lights. How his hair turned a lovely mocha color. How his eyes always seemed to catch the light. How his face naturally had a golden glow to it. How his lips were as pink as pomegranates. How I could just bring him closer, and connect our lips. I realized I had been staring for too long. I tore my gaze away, and nodded.
"Here." Dan handed me a black shirt. Just black. Seems to fit me perfectly. "You should probably put it on, you still have no shirt on."
He said. A pink powder spread through this cheeks, and connected to his ears. I blushed, and quickly slipped the shirt on.
"Phil, um, I." Dan stiffened.
"What, are um, these?" I was confused at first. What is what? Then I felt the soft skin of dans hand grabbing my wrist.

The bruises.