-Phil-
My fingers fumble with the rips in my jeans, slotting further into the crevice to come into contact with the skin of my knee as I tap my other hand along the tiled floor. It was Friday, yet it felt like any other day to me, any other day to be sat here on the hard floor in the corner of this quite disgusting bathroom. It had become apparent to my mother that my grades were dropping, quickly, might I add, so now as I sat in this familiar spot, I realized this was the last day I would be able to hide away in here.
A deep sigh escapes my lips and I nearly rise to my feet, but something stops me, that something just happens to be the sound of the door across the room bursting open. If it had been anyone else than the one person I had expected it to be, I would have continued and left the bathroom. But it was him, the same boy with the same sweater with the same tears. His arrival didn't surprise me, as for the past month since I transferred to this school it had been the same thing every morning. Every morning he had bursted in here, with puffy cheeks and the same baggy sweater thrown over his small frame, and every day he had rushed into the same stall and cried the same tears. I assumed those tears were caused by some kind of bullying act, my assumption backed up by the few days he had failed at covering up the quickly forming bruises on his body.
His dark eyes meet mine for a few seconds, and it's all stares and wide eyes until he averts his gaze, thickly swallowing as he rushes into the stall closest to him like I had expected him to. My eyes stay fixated on the door of the stall, flickering from the blue door to his feet that were barely visible under the edge. His soft cries don't go unnoticed as I hear him fumble with something, a few seconds later hearing the sound of pages flipping until it stops.
The next few minutes are spent with me simply staying frozen in place, not wanting to leave the room, the thought of possibly making him feel like no one cared about his problems wriggling its way into my mind. Of course I wasn't actually going to even attempt to initiate in conversation with him, I had gathered over the last few weeks that he was probably immensely guarded. That talking to him would most likely result in either no response or a bad one, so I stayed silent.
I'm snapped from my thoughts as I hear him stand up and stuff whatever he had taken out of his bag back into it, hearing him sniffle as I assumed he was collecting himself before the door of the stall click open. I could tell he was straining to not meet my gaze as he crosses the bathroom to the sinks, standing over one and staring at himself in the mirror. He stayed like that for a while, just looking over himself through the reflective surface, silent.
All of the sudden, he sniffles and looks down at his feet, a few seconds later allowing his gaze to travel back upwards to the mirror, his eyes flickering to meet with the reflection of me staring back at him from far behind him in the corner. I notice the way his adams apple bobs up and down slightly as he gulps before disconnecting our gaze. I watch intently as he turns away from the mirror, hesitating slightly before pulling open the door, disappearing out of it only a second later.
A huff of air puffs from my lips, my eyes closing momentarily before I pull myself to my feet. I smooth out the crinkles in my shirt as I stare at myself in the mirror, my gaze gravitating towards my eyes that looked dull and tired, which I undoubtedly was. Dull, tired, worn out. I was nothing like what I used to be. I blink slowly, shifting my thoughts to ones of a lighter subject as I press my eyelids tightly together before opening them again. The light overhead blinding me for a second before my eyes adjust, and with one more heavy sigh i'm out the door to my first class.
-
I sigh as I tap my fingers anxiously along the stone bench I was sat on, the cold stone feeling crisp beneath my fingertips. I look down at my shoes as I finally make the decision to head to class, I knew I was way past the bell and very obviously late, but I decided to let that slip from my mind as I rise from where I sat. My breath is visible through the air as I make my way across the courtyard towards the large front doors of the school I had quickly grown to hate. It was my fault though, as if I'd actually made an effort to befriend someone or make my experience here a memorable one, but that was unlike me. It was the old me, the me that had friends, the me that was happy, the me that everyone was fond of. Yet people change, and I was one of the few people that took that change and multiplied it by one hundred, changing myself so much to the point of being unrecognizable to the people who used to know me.
I pull the heavy front doors of the school open, being met with empty halls that were silent, and as I passed by classrooms filled with students my earlier assumption that everyone definitely was already in class resurfacing. It wasn't long before I was stood in front of the door I knew belonged to my second class of the day. Another sigh leaves my lips before I warily grab hold of the doorknob, twisting it open and allowing it to slowly fall open, revealing a class full of students who all turned their attention to me.
It wasn't long before the woman stood at the front of the class who I assumed was the teacher turns her attention to me, her expression wavering as she looked me up and down, "Lester, you can't keep missing so many lessons, take a seat." She gestures to the rest of the class littered with seats that were all full of people staring back at me, looks of pure judgement written across their features, something I had grown to be familiar with.
I let my hand push the door closed behind me, the sound of it clicking shut being heard as I allow my eyes to scan over every desk in an attempt to quickly find an open seat to avoid being up in front of everyone any longer. My gaze finally raking over the back corner of the class, and I have to do a double take after my eyes scan over the sight of a grey sweater mixed in with the rest of the students. It was the boy from the bathroom, and his eyes were staring directly into mine. I let my gaze linger for a few seconds before I catch sight of a free desk right beside him. I immediately make my way over, glad to finally be able to move out of the spotlight, something I was much less than comfortable with.
My eyes flicker down to sweater boy as I pass by him, expecting to have my eyes meet his in an awkward collision, yet his eyes were set on my left arm as I passed by him. I immediately assumed that was because of all the tattoos littering my arm that usually attracted many eyes, again something I was used to. Its not long before i'm sliding into the free seat beside him, setting my bag on the floor as I stretch my legs out beneath the desk.
A few seconds pass before I daringly allow my eyes to travel over to sweater boy, surprised as my eyes meet his in a brief exchange. I stare into them for a moment, noticing how different they looked when they weren't bloodshot with the company of tears. I got so caught up in the pools of brown that when he looked away I nearly audibly sighed, letting my gaze wander to the front of the class to the lesson I was far from paying attention to.
I hear the low whisper of a distant voice speak, grabbing my attention at their words, "Is the fag checking out the new kid?" I immediately tense, realizing that by the frivolous insult he meant sweater boy. Going by my assumption that by the phrase 'new kid' he meant me. I shift in my seat as I hear the low snickers of someone behind me at the boys words.
The rest of the class passes by in a blur of an endless lecture from the teacher about the boring topic of whatever it was she was going on about. I had zoned out soon after the whole run in with sweater boy. My thoughts overriding with the boy that was sitting behind hims voice in my head the entire time, leaving no time to even begin to think about the actual topic of the class.
The bell soon rings, tearing me from my thoughts like a bandaid off of skin, except it didn't hurt, and all I felt was rushed as sweater boy and the rest of the students immediately rush to their feet.
He throws his bag unceremoniously over his shoulder, his chocolate eyes briefly meeting with mine in a quick exchange. As soon as our eyes meet, he's already detaching our gaze, following after the mound of students rushing out the door.
A few seconds pass before I realize that I was nearly alone in the class, so I pull myself to my feet and throw my backpack over my shoulder, immediately heading out of the room into the already crowded halls.
I make my way to the next class I had, making it to the designated room with a minute to spare. I lean against the wall as I wait for the seconds to pass by, hopefully quickly as I was growing more uncomfortable with every stolen glance at me from everyone passing by.
I mindlessly tap my fingers against the wall behind me, realizing just how much I carried out the act. It was becoming more of a nervous gesture than anything else, and I had found myself tapping my fingers along any surface as I waited for anything over the past few months.
I'm torn from my trance as the bell sounds loudly around me, some of the surrounding students making their way into the classes they were designated to enter. Urging me to do the same, as I enter the class, I don't take too much time in finding a seat, mindlessly sitting down at a desk in the far right of the class. Just far enough from the teacher and too many other desks as I was comfortable with.
I pull out my notebook and a pencil as the classroom floods with students, immediately opening it to a sketch I had been working on recently. I let my mind snap from the present as I continue with the drawing, not paying much attention to my surroundings as I shaded the nose of the figure I was drawing.
Soon enough, the loud chattering of voices slows to an end until it's mostly silent. My eyes flickering from the tip of my pencil to just ahead of my desk where I heard a voice obviously directed towards me.
My eyes meet with those of a girl who was standing before me, her eyes dark and her lips red, her top cut too low to even be remotely appropriate for school.
I immediately sigh as I recognize her appearance to be the same of the girl who had flirted with me a week prior. My mind flitting back to when she had shamelessly walked over in the middle of class and sat on the edge of my desk. Biting her lip and showing no shame in asking me if I wanted to hook up with her.
I had immediately responded with a no of course, as I definitely wasn't interested in her, or her entire gender for that matter.
"Hi Phil," She starts, her eyes flickering from my hand then back up to my lips as I stare blankly up at her. "You're looking fine as ever today." She smirks, obviously not catching how unfazed I looked by her sad attempt at flirting.
I let the words leave my mouth before I can even think twice about them. "Shut up Marissa, I don't need your shit right now." I glare up at her as a frown overtakes her features.
"Well fine, if you want to be that way," She scoffs before continuing, a smirk finding her lips again, "but if you want we can meet in the janitors closet next free period?" She bites at her tinted lip as she speaks, making me nearly audibly groan at how desperate she was.
I sigh as I decide to just give her the message even further, "Get the fuck away from me, I'm not interested." I bite back, her face scrunching up in a way that only showed pure confusion. She obviously hadn't been rejected very many times before if this was how she reacted to it.
She scoffs as she thankfully turns away from my desk, urging a soft sigh of relief to escape my lips. It's then that I briefly turn my head to the right, my eyes widening as they met with none other than sweater boy. He was sat just beside me like in the last class, and I wondered if he did it intentionally or if it was just a coincidence. I couldn't tell if the shocked look on his face was from the blunt way I had spoken to Marissa or if it was from realizing he was sat next to me.
Either way, his eyes were wide and I couldn't help but stare into them before I deemed it too long to stare at someone, guiding my gaze back to my notebook.
I begin flipping through pages mindlessly, just letting my thoughts wander to each remembered occasion I had drawn each and every one of them.
I'm snapped from my reminiscing thoughts as the teacher begins speaking, "Today, I'll be allowing you to simply write your thoughts, just let whatever you're feeling out onto the page. You have the rest of the class to do this." He finishes, and I twiddle my pencil though my fingers as I ponder of what to write about.
He said to write down our thoughts, and it just so happened that my every thought was built around the boy in the sweater across the aisle of chairs from me.
So I begin writing on a new blank page, soon filing it up with my barely legible handwriting that was guarded from anyone, as if they'd tried to read the words it would be nearly impossible.
It's not long before my hand cramps and my mind stops reeling, and I drop the pencil to the page with a finalizing thump.
When the bell rings I quickly shut my notebook, itching to continue writing although I knew that if I could I would sit here all day writing about the intriguing boy I had been thinking of non-stop since I'd transferred to this school.
As I sling my backpack over my shoulder, my mind wanders to all the mornings I had watched sweater boy rush into the bathroom, his cheeks stained with tears and the bruises on his pretty face telling me the story of his pain with just one glance. And how I'd wished I could have made it okay.
But I don't know sweater boy, and sweater boy doesn't know me. So therefor the fear of rejection lingers in the back of my mind relentlessly. So I keep my distance, not physically but socially, as it seemed I just kept running into him. I've found that I usually stay away from most people, and that I don't have anyone I could call my friend. But from what I'd gathered from watching sweater boy for the last month, he didn't have anyone either.
I shake the thoughts from my mind as I make my way through the crowded halls, occasionally having a younger student bump into me. A look of pure horror on their face as they looked up at me like he could snap their neck right then and there.
I always forgot how undoubtedly intimidating I look until a scenario like this plays out. Or until after a long day I look in the mirror at my pale body adorned with the sleeve of tattoos on my left arm, the usual black clothes covering my body and the matching pitch black hair atop my head.
Yet despite my appearance, I have never felt intimidating, and I don't think I ever will.
-
A huff escapes my lips as my eye quickly scan the room for what I was desperately looking for.
Grey
Grey
Grey
"Where the hell is it?" I mutter to myself before my eyes land on the tube of the dull acrylic paint sat atop a nearby table.
A breath of relief escapes my lips as I wrap my hand around the tube before squirting some onto the surface of a small table and hastily dipping my brush into it before continuing with the painting I had been working on for nearly four hours.
I continued on with the art that I was quite proud of, not even realizing how fast it had slowly become nighttime, the pastel colors of the sunset fading into darkness outside of the large window beside my easel.
A couple hours pass before I was finished, swirls of grey, black, brown and milky white paint melded against my pale skin.
Some of it peeled and flaked off, yet some bled in through the dark fabric of my t-shirt, but I couldn't find it in me to care at the moment.
Because it was finished, and as I stare up in awe of what I had created, a small smile tugs at my lips.
I have no idea where the idea had come from, but my inspiration had undoubtedly been the boy i'd been thinking of all month.
His signature baggy grey sweater was hanging over his body that was sprawled over the grass, his covered arms spread widely around him, his hands grasping at the green earth cradling him.
There was a smile on the painted boys lips, something I had yet to see in person, but in my head I had imagined that he'd look beautiful while he did so.
My eyes travel up to the flower crown I had painted upon his mess of chocolate hair, the same pink and yellow flowers nestled in his hair messily painted in the grass surrounding his body.
I end up staring at the painting for so, so, long, before my eyes gravitate to the clock on the wall beside me. Upon reading the time deciding that since it was just after 2 am that after a quick shower I would just fall into bed.
So that's just what I did.
-
My fingers pick at a bit of dried paint on my arm, and I try to keep a smile from overtaking my lips as my mind gravitates to thoughts of last night. When I had let everything flow from the deepest parts of myself, through the paintbrush and the paint, and onto the canvas to create the most beautiful scene I had ever laid my eyes on.
As if on cue, I catch sight of a grey sweater on a small frame, it was sweater boy, and I could tell he was desperately trying to stay hidden in the crowd of students rushing to get to class, staying mostly hidden due to his shorter height. I watch from at least forty feet away as he makes his way through the crowd, and I knew that the way he was headed was the opposite direction from my next class, but something in the back of my mind was telling me to follow the small boy.So I did, I followed far behind him all the way down the long hall, my eyes keeping the top of his head in sight as the boy nearly gets lost in the sea of people littering the room.
Then suddenly, he stops, and I wonder why until I see from around a corner comes two boys I hadn't seen before. In an instant, sweater boy is pushed up against a locker, his mouth opening slightly as his head smacks against the blue metal door. An undistinguishable feeling rises in my chest as I watch the scene play out before me. I immediately feel the burning need to end it before it started, but it was too late. There's already a fist to his cheek and a bruise forming on his collarbone, making me recognize the feeling surging through me.
Anger.
I immediately stop in place, doing the opposite of what I knew I should have done as I watch his small frame be kicked and completely ruined. I try desperately to collect myself in the quickly passing seconds before my feet are carrying me faster than I can process towards the scene that was quickly gathering onlookers. I trudge through the crowd of students bunching up around the scene unfolding, hearing the sound of laughing sound around me, making me feel sick to my stomach.
I push through the last layer of the crowd hastily, bursting through the line of people all staring at me like I was crazy as my eyes dart towards sweater boy, his eyes meeting mine in a confused exchange before they were knocked closed again with the impact of a hard fist to his cheek.
My hands ball into fists at my sides but I try to keep calm despite the continuously surging anger that coursed through me relentlessly. I knew that I couldn't physically do anything to stop him, not without getting expelled again at least. And though I desperately felt the need to punch the kids face in that was hurting him, I knew I couldn't risk it. So I watch for a few more seconds, screwing my eyes shut at the sound of his soft groans as the punches continued until I couldn't take it anymore. It was silent around the entire hall, no one daring to speak, and I almost hesitated before I spoke up.
"Stop!" The word leaves my lips rushed and frantic, my concern obvious from the way I had spoken the single phrase. The boy who had been beating up sweater boy turns to look at me over his shoulder, his eyebrows creasing into a confused expression as I stiffened in place. I knew that I really had nothing to worry about, that I was undoubtedly more experienced in beating people up to the point of being hospitalized than he ever would be. Despite it being something I wasn't proud of, it was reassuring in a sick sort of way. Possibly just because I knew that if I wanted to I could scare him away and leave the trembling and bloodied boy before him safe.
The boy turns fully around in place now, his expression one of pure confusion as to why the lanky kid with the tattoos had interrupted his sick enjoyment. "What was that?" He slightly chuckles as he speaks, his voice wavering slightly as if he couldn't believe his eyes. I swallow thickly before hardening my gaze. "Stop it, just-just leave him alone." I stammer, my voice gradually growing quieter as I finished the sentence, hoping I hadn't sounded too aggressive as I was told by my therapist that was something I needed to work on.
The boy turns to the guy next to him who was slightly shorter than him in height, chuckling as he gestures towards me with his hand, "look at this," he starts, the curly-haired boy beside hims green eyes flickering to mine before back to his. "He thinks he's tough doesn't he?" He laughs again, this time more full of actual amusement. The green-eyed boy swallowing visibly before he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he does so.
"Chris we um, let's just go." The boy speaks, directing his words towards the boy who had been recently beating up sweater boy who I just noticed was still stood frozen against the same locker as before.
"Pj, really? You're just gonna let him talk to me like that?" The boy scoffs, my eyes gravitating towards his knuckles which were beginning to bruise by each passing second.
The boy, Pj, or whatever his name was, purses his lips as his nearly translucent eyes flicker between me and the boy beside him whose name I had forgotten. He finally speaks, a hushed sigh rushing out before the words do. "Can we just leave it? It's not worth it Chris." He returns his gaze to him as he speaks, the boy scoffing slightly at his words.
I'm surprised when he complies to what Pj had suggested, the taller boy grabbing hold of his arm as he turns away from sweater boy. Giving one last look over his shoulder at me with a slight furrow of his eyebrows before following along with the shorter boy.
I assume everyone who had gathered around the scene was surprised as well by the way things had turned out, leaving me to assume that Chris was usually someone to not back down easily with these sorts of things.
I stay in place as everyone around me filters out of the circle they had formed to watch all that was going on, mostly everyone late to their next class as the bell had rung many minutes ago. I had barely even remembered hearing it as I had been too preoccupied by the whole situation at hand.
After scanning over the quickly dissipating crowd, my eyes eventually land on sweater boy who was a mound of defeat laid on the ground against a couple lockers ahead of me. I immediately rush to where he sat, gulping before hesitantly offering my hand towards him, he looked quite confused at the gesture, as his eyes were filled with hesitance and distrust as he stared up at me. I slightly raised my eyebrows to hopefully send the message that I wanted to help him up, and it seems that he realizes as he slowly reaches his shaky hand out towards mine.
Our hands meet in an awkward clasp, and I immediately pull him up as he was incredibly light, almost like a feather. His eyes look full of confusion as he stares at me from where he stood, still pressed against a locker. After a few quiet seconds, his mouth opens, and before he can speak a word I silence him by cutting him off.
"No need to thank me."
An unexpected smile settles on my lips as his mouth clamps shut at my words. I assumed I had taken him by surprise at everything I had done in the past few minutes. It didn't seem like he had ever had someone help him out of that situation before, and I couldn't help but be glad to assume I was the first.
I finally took notice of the small patch of redness slowly growing wider by the second just over his left collarbone. My eyes widen slightly as I realized how badly Chris really had messed him up. The purple bruise forming on his cheekbone was gradually getting worse as well.
I ponder of what to do for a moment, noting two options quickly in my head. Option one was to turn away from the small boy and leave him alone in the hallway, bleeding and bruised. Which was something I deemed unacceptable to do, I had a heart, surprisingly, and I knew how to use it, well at least sometimes. The second option was to help him, which I had already concluded was the route I was going to take, I couldn't just leave him here after all.
After a bit of light thinking on the decision, I decide to just do it quickly, as I had already missed about ten minutes of my next class.
My mouth opens before clamping shut again as I pondered of the perfect proposal, deciding in the end to just be straight forward with it as time was passing quicker and quicker.
"Let's get you to the bathroom, yeah?" I gulp nervously immediately upon asking, his eyes flickering from where they had settled on the floor to mine in a wide-eyed gaze.
He quietly nods in response, and I realize then, as he lifts himself from where he stood leaned against the locker, that I had never once heard him speak a single word since I had first come into contact with him.
It was weird to be quite honest, as usually everyone around me was quite verbal and didn't hesitate to speak their mind, yet he didn't speak at all.
He follows beside me as I head around the corner to the nearest bathroom that just so happened to be the one I had found myself at every morning since I'd transferred. It felt weird to say the least as I lead him inside of the empty room, as usually I was sat in the corner, watching as he fended for himself.
He looks hesitant as the door falls shut behind him, the finality of the noise making the silence seem more prominent in the small room. His eyes dart away from mine as soon as ours meet each others, and I purse my lips before gesturing towards the sink.
He looks a bit confused by my gesture until he realizes and positions himself by the sink, staring at himself in the reflective surface. He didn't look happy with the aftermath of what Chris had done to him. It made me even more angry for a strange reason.
His pale fingers ghost over the skin of his cheek, slightly wincing and pulling his fingers away, making me nearly flinch as well. It oddly pained me to see him hurt, even if I didn't know anything about him other than the fact that he wore sweaters every day.
His shaky hand turns the sink knob, water rushing out onto his hands before he wipes it over his face. It helps with a bit of the bleeding, and he wipes it off with a paper towel from beside him. I know I probably should be helping him, but I couldn't help but feel awkward as I stood off to the side of him.
He finally took notice of the red spot that had thankfully stopped growing in the past couple minutes, his eyes slightly widening after the realization. His eyes dart to mine, and he looks a bit surprised when our eyes meet, swallowing and looking away as soon as I do.
I decide that he needed to be quick if I wanted to get out of here. I don't have time for this, and as much as I strangely want to help him I know that I need to get back to class.
I take a couple steps forward, pulling a large paper towel out from the dispenser as he watches me hesitantly. I wet the towel quickly under the running water and turn to him immediately after.
He seems confused at the gesture, but as his eyes staring at himself in the mirror trail down to his bloodied collarbone area, he realizes.
I take a shaky breath as I near the towel to his neck. Hesitatingly allowing my fingers to pull down the collar of his sweater, revealing a quickly forming bruise over his collarbone.
Upon pulling the fabric down further, blood appears, a large cut in his skin proving as the reason. I sigh before pressing the towel to his wound. He winces at the pressure, the low quality paper towel probably feeling less than comforting against his skin.
My eyes meet with his briefly, "it hurts doesn't it?" I ask with a sigh, sadly knowing fully how it felt to clean yourself up with scratchy paper towels from the school bathroom after getting beat up in the middle of the day.
He noticeably swallows before nodding, not meeting my gaze as I continued. Soon the paper towel becomes drenched in the dark maroon substance oozing from his wound. I quickly deem it unusable as I throw it away quite quickly, still feeling as squeamish as ever at the presence of blood despite how many times I had been in the same situation as him.
His chocolate eyes flicker to mine as I turn back to him, and for once, he doesn't look away, he keeps his gaze settled on me. The seconds drag on, time passing as we both stared, yet it felt like time had slowed. It's appropriate to say that i'm rather surprised as his lips open slightly, a single phrase drifting from between his lips.
"Thank you."
He's quick to leave me no time to respond, as he turns on his heel immediately after speaking, pulling open the door of the bathroom, giving me one last look before disappearing from my sight. The sound of the door shutting loudly behind him is the last sound heard before I break the silence.
"You're welcome."
And although he would never know I responded to him, it was enough to raise a smile to my lips. It confused me, and I immediately wipe it from my lips. My eyebrows furrow as I shake my head slightly as if that would make the happy feeling rushing through me go away.
But it didn't.
I wasn't sure if I was okay with that.
-
-5339 words-
This chapter was kind of long compared to the others, so that's fun I guess.