So different, So beautiful || Tronnor

Two.

I wake up shivering, probably due to the fact that I'm shirtless and my blankets are in the floor. I stand up, thankful for my fuzzy sweatpants that at keep at least a little bit of the cold out. I pad over to the window, my bare feet dying to get off the cold hardwood. I look out over my street and see that it's snowing oh so softly, something that happens quite often in Washington. Just great.

I make my way downstairs after putting on a white tee shirt, and I'm immediately in a bad mood. I can hear that my parents have guests over.
I hear them laugh and talk about news and neighborhood gossip. I peer at them from around a corner. It's a couple, a bit older than my parents. They look too happy and a little stuck up. Ugh. Their very conversation makes me sick. How can people be so clueless and so happy when there are people around them suffering? It's almost like I'm in a whole other world than those strangers and their fancy clothes. I'm trapped in a dark cage that they seem to be oblivious of. They're so happy. How? Because they're normal, I tell myself as I finally rip my eyes off of them.
As I sneak over to the kitchen, thankfully staying out of their sight, I think about those people some more. It's like they have a curtain separating them from reality. They're so happy, so unknowing of others. I envy them. I envy them so much. I want happy. I want love. But all I have is pain. All I am is pain.

I silently pour a cup of coffee, thinking no one has seen me until I hear the voices in the living room hush. I take my time making my cup, desperately trying to hear what they are whispering.

"Your boy...is he okay?"

"What do you mean?" My mother says, her voice shaky. I can tell that she is trying to make it all seem okay. It's not.

"Well, for one, look at him!" The man's voice raises.

I hear the woman smack him, maybe on the arm, with her purse. "Harold! Shhhh. He can hear you," she hisses.

Fed up with hearing them talk about me, I make my way upstairs as quickly as I can, making the contents of my cup slosh around and out onto some of the stairs. I don't realize tears are falling until I'm in my room. What did he mean by "look at him." What do I look like?!

I walk into the bathroom and turn on the light. I'm caught off guard by my rough reflection.

My hair is ruffled as usual. My face is drained of color. My usual bright green eyes seem to have turned a swampy, dirty green, drained of any sparkle or interest. I look crazy. I look dangerous. I look like nothing.

I go back to my room, sitting on my bed. I don't bother drinking my coffee. I just sit, staring at my wall. What have I become....

No one likes school. Or at least, no one sane. But guess what? I'm not sane, so I enjoy school. Well, the classes anyway. Not the people.

I have zero friends, which is fine I guess. No one should have to deal with me and my mood swings and my outbursts. Most all of the kids are assholes anyway. And the ones that aren't, well, I bet they're scared of me, just like I'm scared of myself.
I have decent grades. My teachers don't particularly care for me, but that's only because I don't participate. The student counselor knows me very well. I get sent to her at least once a month. Either because the teachers are worried about me, or because I have an outburst, and I beg them to send me to the office and not the hospital. So Mrs. Staples knows me quite well.

When I arrive at school, I put my things in my locker and take my usual spot in my desk in homeroom. I don't stay in there for long until I move down the hallway to first period. I sit in the very back there, so it's my favorite class. I can get cozy and take notes in peace, not having to worry about being stared at.
I take my seat, getting out my math textbook and opening it to the page that it states on the whiteboard. The class has only been going for maybe thirty minutes when things take an unexpected bad turn.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a paper ball land on my desk. I look up from my book and see one of the popular girls glaring at me, then turning around, whispering with couple of boys and one other girl. Immediately, my temper rises. Add that to the long list of my problems: EXTREMELY short temper. I open the ball, carefully. I know I shouldn't. It will probably have an insult or a threat inside, something that will trigger an outburst, but I carry on with my actions.

I'm immediately taken aback. They've  said things to me before. People call people names. But I've never gotten anything like this.

Hey faggot. So I heard you have to go to a crazy doctor. You're crazy and a queer?! You're just a danger to us all. Watch your back. I could have my guys on you, cutting your faggot skin, letting your filthy blood run down the sides of your ugly body. I could have them beating your weak bones, breaking everything. Watch yourself, you disgusting creature.

I drop the note to the floor. I can't breathe. The anxiety takes over. I can't do it. I can't.

I get up suddenly, running out of the door.

"Mr Franta!" I hear the teacher yell as the other kids snicker.

I block it out. I block it all out. I just run. I run to the bathroom. Once I throw myself into a stall, I let anything that might have been in my stomach out and into the toilet. After I stop heaving, I sink down onto the cool tiles, my hands gripping my hair so tight it hurts. Hot tears fall down my face. I let out a strangled cry, taking my hands from my hair to hit my legs.

What have I done?! What have I done to deserve this?!!!

Everything, Connor. You've done everything. You're so disgusting. How could anyone not hate you? You're a disgrace. Disgusting. Sinner. Liking boys is wrong. You're crazy. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

"STOP!" I yell aloud.

"Um, hello?" a heavily accented voice calls from the entrance.

Shit. "Um...." I try to sound calm, but my breathing is going rapid, my snuffling just won't stop.

"Are you okay?" The voice asks again.

I hold my breath as I hear footsteps coming towards the stall door. I pray that I don't know the person in the platform converse shoes. I pray that they don't know me...

(Authors not)

Wow this was long sorry. Thanks for reading anyway