Be Like Me

CHAPTER TWO

Peter's POV

    My feet went one in front of the other as I tried to keep the bad thoughts out, although several still seeped through the cracks. My eyes were trained on the ground and the only thought going through my mind was "think good thoughts". It worked, as well. If I'm thinking about not thinking bad, than I'm focusing on that and don't have time to think about anything else.

    People bumped into as they usually did, my books almost slipping from my grip. Whether it was on purpose or not didn't matter to me anymore. It probably would if I focused on it and wanted it to enough, but at the moment, it didnt.

    See, the thing is, I can sort of... change my emotions whenever I need to. It's a new thing; I didnt notice it until recently. I can block off emotions if I want to, block off bad thoughts. A lot of people often say "its bad to bottle things up" however this isnt bottling them up. I can't get upset over a thought that never occurred. I prefer to refer to it as a mental wall or a mental block. I can put it up, usually whenever I want. Sometimes, however, the emotions, realizations, and thoughts inevitably seep through the cracks in the wall. I try to ignore them and do damage control as best as I can. It's difficult but—at the same time—easy. It's complicated, to say the least.

    My books finally fall from my tired arms with one last nudge. I bent over to pick them up and hear laughter paired with taunts, as usual, but I did my best to ignore them. I still felt the inescapable drop in my chest each time a new name was thrown... or an old one. Again, nothing but the usual. I told myself they didn't affect me, and normally they didn't, but when I'm in a depressive episode, they do. They do a lot.

    "Hey, Will. Look. I just bumped into the school's biggest faggot." (Should I mention that I'm basing this off of something someone said to their friend about me at school the other day or would that be too sad). He chuckled as he muttered to his friend, presumably Will. They clearly didn't intend for me to hear but, of course, I did. I pretended not to though. Pretend not to hear. Pretend not to care. Pretend not to hurt. Pretend to be fine. Pretend, pretend, pretend.

    I wondered—something I did in times like this—if others pretended as much as I. Of course, I knew there were people out there who felt like this. My question, though, was if it was anybody I knew.

    With my advanced hearing I heard and recognized the footsteps of Eugene Thompson, or his more known name, Flash, strutting his way down the hallway. I knew he was coming. It was third hour and he has a class down the hallway of my second hour. We always cross paths here, just about every day.

    "Ayyy Penis. How yah doin'? You want some help with tha-" He started to pick up my books for me before throwing them across the hallway, into the crowd of moving people. They were kicked and moved around everywhere as passerbyers went on. They looked and gave sorry looks, but from experience knew it would only get worse if they tried to help. "Oh- Oh no! How did... How ever did that happen?!" He gasped dramatically. He continued by pushing me back down the ground just as I'd begun to get up. "Oh gosh! I am soooo sorry Peni- Oh wait. No I'm not."

    He smirked at me as if my continuous torture was so amusing. I will never understand how someone can find another's pain satisfying or amusing. I just dont get it.

    My ears are drowned out with a soft melody as I turn my music up louder. Dear Happy, a duet by Dodie Clark and Thomas Sanders, hummed along through my earbuds. A light smile tugged at my lips due to the adorable tune.

    Flash continued to lightly laugh and say various things, but I didn't hear them. I picked my books and pencil case up and continued on my way, blocking out the bad thoughts. Reinforcements would be needed on my mental wall.