Sweet Touch of Poison

Its strange how I seem to glide through school like I'm invisible, people don’t bully me however they don’t seem to see me. Sure I have friends but there all just mutual friends: acquaintances. I can’t complain though because I have various traits that are typical targets for bully’s; I’m openly gay, I’m short, I always wear gloves and I won’t let anyone touch me-not even a passing brush of elbows.

I don’t mind being short or gay, in fact I’ve always been proud to be a bit
different but not letting anyone touch me is torture. I can’t let anyone feel
my skin because I am poison. I literally have poison running through my skin
cells, crawling through my nerves like a deathly shadow only striking through
physical touch.

I never really minded not touching anyone as a child because I have always been voluntary secluded from everyone else, only finding bliss from playing my
beloved guitar pansy. Nevertheless high school has been difficult, everyone
getting boyfriends or girlfriends and being able to gently hug them, hold their hand and kiss them. With nobody knowing the curse that I have had imposed upon me since birth they cannot understand why I can only long for the contact of another.

The only people, who knew about my...situation, were my dad and my school
principle. I was reluctant to tell the school, but I was reassured by my dad
that it would be for the best and this was proved correct. As I have a pass to
leave classes early so I don’t have to walk through the congregation of
teenagers forced to socialise and learn six and a half hours a day, bustle
through a tight hall; attempting to eventually reach their destination without
crossing paths with the other cliques.

Leaving math class I am greeted by an empty corridor and the only sound is the
undertones of chatter attempting to burst through the walls but gradually being reduced to a whisper. These few precious minutes were the only times at school I can pull off my worn skeleton gloves without the risk of burning through some one's veins compelling them into a senseless sleep.

“What are you doing?” Someone voiced behind me, curiosity lying in the typical New Jersey accent. I turned to see who had willingly communicated with an outcast as such as me. I recognised the boy as the unaccepted kid from the year above me. He wasn’t liked by anyone, he was tormented for being gay, dying his hair black, wearing eyeliner and not liking the latest music. The peculiar thing is: I am exactly the same. But it seemed that everyone had a mutual respect for me, I felt empathy for him completely understanding how it felt to be out of sync with everyone else; not on the same wavelength with the rest of the population.

“Going to my next class.” I replied facing the floor out of pure awkwardness from the situation at hand. He stepped closer closing the gap between us to less than a mere meter between us.
“Hmm, what’s your name?” He asked softly
“Frank Iero, you?”
“Gerard Way; the bell’s gonna go soon we should go, but do you want to meet up at lunch by the gym block? If you don’t want to that’s fine- I mean I'm not the most liked person bu....” You could tell the nervousness was seeping through his words.
“Sure, that sounds awesome see you there” His eyes lit up at this acceptance as it must be a rare occurrence for him.

I was looking forward to talking to Gerard, to see how he survived with the
emotional pain he is getting put through every day and maybe even to make a actual friend, and well I wouldn't complain if we went any further because honestly; he is hot. But that would be impossible to maintain a relationship without the slightest of touches, having to resist the magnetic surges when you’re together, just to feel the embrace of the one you love.

My next lesson felt like an eternity when in reality it was only 60 minutes, 3600 seconds: never stopping nor slowing down- a constant reminder that everything moves on: eventually.