New Kid in New Jersey

I sat the very back of the classroom in double business studies, glaring at Mr Basker as he babbled on about some stupid new assignment that we were supposed to be researching for. I had been flicking dimes at my knuckles all lesson, and they were beginning to bleed. Bleeding over the creaky desk, decorated with the graffiti of every other reject who had sat here. There were dents, dirty wood splinters poking up into my hands. More blood.

I didn't care, I couldn't be fucked to care anymore. It was just one of those days when nothing really matters. When you're just stuck in the same old routine.
Get up.
Skip breakfast.
Miss the bus.
Skip lunch.
Detention.
Skip dinner.

I scratched at the desk. Scratched and scratched and scratched. Making a hole. Splinters in my hands again. Bleeding again. A crumpled ball of paper being thrown at my head again.

No, it's not one of those dumb fuck jocks. It's Gerard again. Fucker does this ever single lesson. He wants me to talk to him, but I won't. Sometimes I want to a little, but I still don't. He doesn't deserve my attention. And I don't deserve his either.

Eventually, he gives up. It's almost lunchtime anyway. My stomach twists into demented shapes and groans against my ribs. I lift my shirt a little and poke at my waist. It moves again. It feels like jelly.

I giggle. People stare at me. I stare back at them. They don't even bother to ask why I'm acting so messed up.

The schoolbell rings and I stand straight up, knocking all the books off some random brunette's desk. I feel her glaring at me, but I ignore her completely as I push past all the people and rush out the door. I dance through the corridors, like a whirlwind through everybody, pushing people aside. I feel like I'm high, but I know I'm not.

I head for the toilets as I do every lunchtime. There's no one ever in there; they're always outside stuffing their faces and getting fat.

Sitting down and locking the door of the end cubicle, I get out my Sharpie markers and begin working on my wall, filling up the blank white space with colour. I draw fairies and unicorns and butterflies. It's all magical and happy and perfect. I love it.

Exactly sixty-two minutes and seventeen seconds pass, before the cubicle door is smashed open, dangling off it's frame like a corpse or something. It makes me jump, and I accidentally draw a huge purple streak across the clouds and the rainbows. Mikey stands in front of me, and I glare at him because now he's made me ruin my picture.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on with you lately?!"

"Nothing." I look at him blankly.

"You and Gerard."

"Nothing." I repeat.

He starts yelling at me; but I'm not even fucking listening. I pour spearmint TicTacs down my throat and hum the tune to 'O Come All Ye Faithful'. I crawl underneath Mikey's legs, and he stares at me as I scuttle off, across the playground and down the road. He's wondering what's fucking wrong with me. I don't even know myself, to be honest.

I hop through my front door, still humming, and I almost drop dead with fear when, sitting on the stairs grinning at me evily, I'm faced with an old, terrifying memory.

"Welcome home, son..."