TOO GOOD ; Phan

t e n

Morning arrives faster than I expected, so now I have to go to school, the shittiest place on earth. My wounds from yesterday are still excruciatingly painful, so every movement sends a spike of pain throughout my body. Today would be a bad day to get beaten up, so I need some sort of way to prevent it, and I have one which could work.

I walk over to my closet, opening it and searching for what I'm looking for. When you see my closet, it's completely pastel, but at the back, underneath a few pairs of white jeans, I have something hidden. I dislike wearing black clothes, but when it really comes to it, I have something.

I put on a black t-shirt, then throwing the black hoodie over my head. With a slight struggle, I pull on my black jeans. When I look in the mirror, I don't see myself. I look somewhat like Phil, clad in black, except I have more of a dull expression than; not exactly what you'd expect. I feel 'normal'. I don't like it, but if it stops the bullshit I go through, then perhaps I'll wear this more often.

I don't fear the walk to school now; because people almost certainly won't recognise me. I used to wear black whenever I was at home because I wanted to seem invisible. I thought that if I wore black, then my parents wouldn't be able to see me, and then they wouldn't be able to hurt me. It never worked. It almost feels like the same thing happening again. 

I have another History lesson third lesson today, I have to sit next to Phil Lester. He's got to be pretty intimidating to convince a tattoo parlour to give him sleeves before he's even turned eighteen, so that's another reason why he's scary and I hate him.

Usually, my first two lessons on Friday, Maths and Geography, go exceedingly slowly, but today they've gone fast, meaning it feels like sooner that I have to spend time next to Phil. It feels like the third lesson has just snuck up on me from around a corner, because the next thing I know is I'm walking towards Phil, his eyes piercing into me.

"Where's the pastel boy gone?" He says, half joking, but also seeming partly serious.

"The pastel boy? Oh- well, uh- all of my pastel clothes are waiting to be washed because I seriously can't be bothered, so I have to stick with this."

"Why don't you just get one of your parents to do it if you can't be bothered."

"They're, uh, too busy at the moment."

"Right, well, at least you've got parents. That's a good thing." He says, and if he's trying to show me the bright side, then it's really not working because, in reality, I don't have parents to live with; they're locked up.