Don't Worry, I'll Keep You Warm

The guidance office of Vic’s high school was a place he never, ever wanted to go to, mostly because the receptionist sitting at the front desk was a rude, plump lady with cat eyes and a sharp nose. Really, all of her features could be described as ‘sharp’. Her raspy voice croaked with the sound of too many cigarettes. As he walked up to her, he noticed the stale smell of smoke still on her.

She peered at him over the top of her red, thick framed glasses. “Can I help you?" she sneered.

"Uh, I don’t really need to make an appointment but-"

"Then why are you wasting my time?"

Vic frowned and took a deep breath. “Look, is Martinez free?"

"Are these school hours?" asked the receptionist, not even looking at Vic anymore. Her eyes were on her computer screen as her long acrylic nails clacked on the keyboard.

"No," answered Vic, shifting his backpack on his shoulders. It was before school hours, meaning his guidance councilor wouldn’t have any appointments. “Kay, thanks for all your help."

She didn’t give him a response as he just walked by her desk to get to the door with the word ‘MARTINEZ’ carved in to it just under the small window. There were four guidance councilors at this school, each of them getting a fourth of the students to work with on schedules and help with college or anything else they might need. In Vic’s case, he had a few questions.

He knocked on the door, noticing it was cracked open. “Come on in," said the pretty Hispanic woman cheerfully.

Vic pushed the door open and stepped inside, taking a seat across from her desk. A window flooded the room with light; the atmosphere was much nicer than that of the front desk outside where the grouchy receptionist still sat.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, frowning at the agenda with a list of all her appointments and seeing the first one was definitely not him.

"Uh, its… not really school related…" Vic started awkwardly.

"Having some trouble?" she asked. “It’s not bullying, is it?"

Vic cleared his throat and scratched the back of his head. He remembered sitting in this office earlier this year after a few friends found out about his sexuality; she had merely meant to ask if he was alright and offer support. She was one of the most understanding school officials that he’d ever met. Therefor he should have no trouble explaining the situation to her.

"Well, I had a question, actually."

She smiled, resting her chin on her hands. “What’s up?"

"Do you guys keep records of students? Like, you can access them right?" he was sitting on the edge of his seat now, nervously tapping his foot on the ground. Was that a weird question?

Her facial expression almost fell. “Well, we do. But I can’t exactly share anything with you. Why are you asking? Or, more specifically, who did you want to know about?"

Clearing his throat again, Vic thought of how to word his question. Figuring there was no delicate way to put it, though, he just went for it. “Kellin Quinn."

She frowned.

"He was a freshmen two years ago. I guess he’d be a junior now, like me. Do you know him?"

For a moment, they stared at each other, until Mrs. Martinez nodded her head slowly. “He was actually one of my students."

"Can you tell me anything about him?"

She eyed him curiously, and almost warily. “Why?" she asked.

Vic sighed and leaned back in his seat. He was afraid he couldn’t answer that question. “I uh, I work for his parents now. I see pictures of him everywhere. I guess I got kind of curious.. I even got to go up to his room and stuff, but his parents don’t know about that. I’m just… curious, you know?"

"You want to learn more about him, which is hard when he’s half dead," she said bluntly.

"Yeah," Vic nodded. “Pretty much."

A sigh escaped her lips as she swiveled in her chair, looking at the file cabinet. “I don’t even know if we still have his file, to be honest. But," she said as she turned back to him. “I can tell you he came to me once or twice asking how to get a few kids to quit picking on him. I had to call the kids in and sent them to the dean and he never came back. That was towards the beginning of the school year."

The news wasn’t very surprising to Vic after what he’d seen in his room. The contents of the paper box still haunted him when he thought about it. “Do you know anything about the accident?" He didn’t know why he asked this question, or why it even occurred to him to ask. It just… did.

She sighed and rested her chin on her palm again. “Another couple of students were the ones that hit him. They blamed a chipmunk in the road and the curb or something.. I don’t really remember, but you might be able to find the newspaper article on it. It was a really sad day."

"I’m sure it was," said Vic, looking at the carpeted floor. Suddenly the bell rang throughout the school, signaling the start of the day, which meant Vic had to head towards his first period class.

"Have a good day, Vic," said Mrs. Martinez as Vic got to his feet.

"You too," he called over his shoulder, walking out of her office, passed the bitter receptionist.

—

Mop the kitchen and wash the counters.

Run the dishwasher and clean the bathrooms once more as well.

Vic hardly heard them, he was just silently begging for them to say they weren’t going to be there while he worked. And luckily for him, they were going grocery shopping and would appreciate it if he had the kitchen clean before they got back.

As soon as the door closed, Vic practically started buzzing around the room. He did everything as fast as possible, but he made it a point to actually get the job done right, too. The last thing he needed was to be called out for doing a messy job.

The reason he was rushing to get upstairs was to go in to Kellin’s room. As he took the steps two at a time, he knew this was rather invasive. It was practically trespassing. But it was the only way he could get to know the boy that hadn’t spoken to anyone for two years.

The doorknob, like usual, was cooler than it should have been. He considered in his mind that that was probably just his mind playing tricks on him again, but he didn’t care. He pushed inside the boys room, letting his eyes fall back on the desk, where the paper box was exactly where he had left it last time. As he stepped in, he found himself going towards that desk again, searching through it.

Papers - mostly homework. Some drawings (he was actually rather talented), a few poems. He had such messy handwriting. As he sifted through the contents on the desk, he wondered if there would be anything else ever written in such messy scribbles.

Finally, his hands found a journal, tucked between two books, both of which were from the ‘Harry Potter’ Series. If what he was doing was wrong, then reading this journal was even wronger; but Vic was going to do it anyways.

He sat down on the bed. It creaked only a tiny bit with the weight of another person on it that it hadn’t felt in about two years. Slowly, he flipped open the pages of the journal and read the first few lines.

I hate my life. I think a lot of other people hate it too. Or maybe it’s just me they hate, not my life. I don’t know. I’m writing to get it out though. Maybe one day I’ll off myself and then the police will find out why.

I bet my mother will cry. I mean, how could she not have noticed her baby son was so depressed? It’s okay mom. Please don’t cry. I’ll be so much happier when I’m dead. Maybe I’ll bleed out. Maybe when I’m sixteen, I’ll crash a car. Maybe I’ll jump off a building. I don’t know… I just don’t know.

That was the end of the first entry. Vic didn’t know what to think. He felt numb and sick. This poor, poor boy, with the bright smiling eyes and the parents that loved and missed him so much… How could he have felt so hated?

It made Vic wonder what it would be like if he’d moved here sooner. If he would have known Kellin from school before his accident.

Would he have hated him too?

He bit his lip as he turned the page. The entries were as messy as the handwriting, and between them were little drawings. Doodles, compared to what Vic had seen on his desk. Sometimes it was angels or demons, sometimes roses or music notes. He was a fascinating person.

Venting. Today while at school we were passed back tests from English. I was the only one in the class to earn a perfect score. I actually smiled; it was a difficult test. And of course the others wanted to know if anyone had actually been able to achieve such a high score… and the kid behind me, his name was Zack, called me out.

"Kellin did! Little faggot probably cheated!"

Yeah, totally. When in reality I got bored enough to study because I don’t go out drinking every night. Sorry that I’m actually going to go somewhere and you’re not. Maybe one day I’ll offer you a job… Anyways, they all started making fun of me. The usual insults.

Walking home they honked at me and shouted at me. I don’t get it. I’m the only one bullied this badly because I’m gay. It’s like I’m diseased or some shit. I have one friend, and he’s only more of an acquaintance as it is. I think I hate it even more when people feel sorry for me and try to be nice.

I push them away when I probably shouldn’t… but I like to think I’m better off alone.

When he was done with the entry, Vic couldn’t help but feel sorry for the boy as well. He had so much depth to him and it seemed like he was talented too, and intelligent. But he was being bullied because he was gay?! Vic had never been bullied that much. People tossed insults at him one way or another, but all of his friends had been supportive. And when he came to this school now, he managed to surround himself with the right people.

Closing the journal and placing it back where he had found it, Vic slowly backed out of the room, letting his eyes drape over the posters once more. He’d only spent a mere five minutes here. It was eerie, and yet it was so comforting. It pained him to be dragged away from the room, back down to the bathroom to scrub the floors and sinks until the Quinn’s came home again.

—

~I walked through the halls with my head down, praying no one noticed me. That’s how it is every day, I just pray that no one will notice me. It never works. I stick out like a sore thumb. Sometimes I blatantly feel like a sore thumb, if that’s even possible.

Someone will see the long, black hair or the skinny jeans and know that it’s the faggot. He’ll point, call me out. Someone will stick a leg out, tripping me so I land flat on my face.

I hate it here. I reflected so much on how much I hate everyone when this happens. I wish this day would end.

I wish this life would end.