Vagabond Chronicles: The Diary of Charles Xavier

Entry Three

TRIGGER WARNING: MENTAL HEALTH.

Back at school new issues arrived. 

With the insomnia, chased up by narcolepsy, my attention fluctuated. Either I was hyper aware or catatonic. 

Every second of the day I carried with me the back-breaking burden of loss. It's that lump constantly situated in the back of your throat. It's the prickling of your eyes as you withhold your tears. It's the quake in your hand as you attempt to hold yourself together. 

Rebukings came often and fast. Sometimes it was a slamming of a book on my desk, other days it was the chalk being lobbed at my head, and if my tutor was feeling true pathos on that particular day, I was rewarded with a yelling. 

But a new debilitating factor was added to my life. And I remember the moment it first surfaced like the day is still fresh in my lungs. 

The clicking of my teacher's boots echoed around the freezing classroom. "Can anybody tell me; what is the second law of thermodynamics?" 

Deathly silence. 

I glanced around. Not a peep out of a single soul. Doing my duty, I raised my hand. 

Then all at once, an orchestra's worth of noise converged on my mind. 

'Know it all.'

'Nerd.'

'Teacher's pet.'

'Boffin.'

'Suck up.'

'Brown noser.'

'Smart arse.'

The volume was enough to make my temples throb and I winced. I contorted my neck to look around the classroom. I caught a few eyes, a few aggressive leers. But everyone's mouths appeared to be sealed shut, perfectly innocently. 

My teacher didn't look particularly surprised, it was as if the noise had fell deaf on her ears. "Yes, Charles..." And by extension 'Does anyone else in this class actually know anything?'

My lips parted in attempt to vocalise an answer. But I was too befuddled to speak by her blatant insult. "I'm sorry... What was the question?" 

'Stupid.'

'Idiotic.'

'Not so smart after all.'

'Show off.'

'Let down.'

I swivelled in my seat and scanned the sea of faces. "Have you something to say?" I insinuated, raising an eyebrow. 

A few snorts and giggles erupted from the back of the classroom. The others stayed innocently silent. As if not a word had been said. 

Horror dawned on my teacher's face. "Charles Xavier!" She spat. My head snapped around again. 

'Pathetic.'

'What a freak.'

'Creep.'

'Wierdo.'

It was like out of tune instruments blaring in my ears. Pitchy. Tinny. My brow furrowed with the strength of the noise. It all merged in one bombing of hatred. 

I stood up, knocking over my chair behind me, a vein pulsing in my head with pain. Gritting out the words, "If you have something to say to me, say it to me now!" I growled. 

That's when full blown laughter bloomed in the room. Obnoxious laughter at my expense. Jeering faces, mocking looks, pointing fingers. And above that all, was more insults hurled thoughtlessly at me.