Lonely, Drunk and Beautiful

It was the damn itch’s fault.

One second I’m walking to school. Just another casual day in hell. I mean really, I didn’t think it could’ve gotten any worse. Earbuds blasting the wrong song, the usual bubble of frustration in my stomach, fists clenching and unclenching. And then I got an itch.

And when I get a horrible crawling sensation in my leg, I’m obviously going to glare down at my jeans in case a fucking disgusting insect has dared land on me.

It was a momentary glance, but naturally I stopped fucking concentrating on where I was putting my legs.

The next thing I knew, I collided with the fucking wall next to me.

“Dammit!” I curse, staggering backwards. A deep throbbing pain radiates from my nose all the way across my cheekbones, the brunt making my eyes water.

I reach up to steady myself against that very wall, scrabbling in my pocket and producing a soiled-looking tissue. I’d normally sniff it suspiciously, but honestly, even blinking at this point only worsened the pain.

I clamp it to my very bloody nose, trying to stem the flow, but that naturally doesn’t fucking work.

When it saturates and begins to drip through my fingers, I give up, tearing it in half and shoving each half up my nostrils.

With that, I quicken my pace. This place may be the embodiment of hell, but at least it has clean fucking tissues.

_____________________________

Every eye in the school is on me as I slam into the cafeteria. My head’s already throbbing from last night’s binge drinking session, and the glaring overhead lights are only serving to piss me off more as the dull throb becomes a sharp agony.

I continue to walk, glaring at any person who dares raise their head. And I probably could’ve gotten away with it, if bright lights didn’t make me sneeze.

By the time I open my eyes, my hands are covered in blood, the jocks are smirking, and everyone else is nudging each other.

“Dammit.” I mutter under my breath, and burst through the double doors.

_____________________________

“Beautiful little performance this morning, Barakat.”

The first voice of the day happens to come from the rectum of Rian Dawson, the most arrogant little jackass to ever walk these halls.

“Shove it up your ass Dawson.” I say pleasantly, reluctantly sliding into the seat behind him. I managed to procure a pair of sunglasses from my locker, and I have fresh toilet paper shoved up my nose. All I really want to do is lie my head on my bag and go to sleep.

“That’s more your style, right, Barafat?”

“Not what your mom seemed to think last night princess.” I say smoothly.

He smirks, turning back round and pulling the blonde whore next to him closer.

I watch him in disgusted curiosity as he twirls a bleach-blonde strand of her hair around his finger, smiling as he pulls her closer and sticks his tongue down her throat. Then, I have to look away.

God, that’s disgusting. Jumped up little prick.

“Baby, I’m so wet.” she purrs.

I bite back some vomit, deciding that’s enough for today, and grab my bag. There’s a spare desk at the back, and my homeroom teacher doesn’t appear to give a fuck today. I tug up my hood.

“Nice to know you’re disgusted by us!” the whore, Holly? Heather? laughs, half-murmurs, but I pick it up anyway.

“Nice to know your bodily secretions are all in order.” I shoot back, lip curling.

“Fag!”

“Whore.”

“Freak!”

“Bitch.”

“Fuck you, Barakat!”

She’s really pissed off now.

“Not if you were the last person on Earth and there were a gun to my head.” I reply bluntly. She flips me off, turning back to Dawson.

I lean back on my chair, surveying the glass with heavy lidded contempt.

Reaching the daily conclusion that I hate every single person in this room, I stare at the clock, watching the second hand tick by painfully slowly.

It’s not that I’m an unfeeling bastard. Just because I could gun down every single person in this building and not feel a fragment of remorse as they dragged me away, it doesn’t necessarily make me a sociopath. I mean,-

My thoughts are sliced short by the door.

I watch a boy slip through, walking over to my homeroom teacher and having a murmured conversation with her.

I don’t know why this particular person grabs my attention, but I don’t hate him right away.

It’s something about the way he walks, shoulders pushed back a little, head up, but his eyes are carefully fixed to the floor, and his thumbnail is dug into his index finger.

It’s also the way he’s holding himself as he talks, projecting laid-back a little bit too carefully.

He looks like he’s making eye contact, but his gaze is on the circles under her eyes. They have been for the entire conversation.

She looks up, surveying the room, and her eyes fix on the empty seat next to me.

Nobody sees her gesture to it, but when he walks over and slips into it, without a hint of hesitation, the class silences.

I let the chair I’m on drop forward. More than a few people wince at the crash.

The guy looks up, a hint of a nervous smile tipping his lip up.

“Why’re you wearing sunglasses inside?” he asks casually, tugging at his sleeve as the eyes of the room rest on him.

Don’t worry, gorgeous. They’re waiting for my reaction.

I could punch him. That would be the normal, after all.

After all, it’s been a while since I’ve broken anyone’s face.

“I have a hangover.” I mutter instead, and I don’t know if the room or me are more shocked.

Did I just engage, in a non-violent manner?

Even my homeroom teacher is staring. Jesus.

“Okay then. Can you tell me why everyone is acting like I just jumped off a building because I dared speak to you?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

Fuck off butterflies.

“Because you may as well have.” I say shortly, and return to staring at the graffiti on the desk.

Bad things happen to people that associate with people like me.

The silence lingers for what seems like years.