Phil laughs. He does that a lot, sometimes at nothing in particular. I like his laugh. It's almost as good as... I dunno. Maybe my mom's chocolate cake. I'd say his laugh is as good as heroin, but I hadn't discovered heroin when I was fourteen. I hadn't really discovered anything other than my sexuality.
But this is a bad laugh. See, Phil has nothing to do with me at school. This laugh makes me want to go and crawl away in a hole and die there. I'm on the ground in the parking lot outside school, my hands smarting where I broke my fall with them. Kyle tripped me. Phil and Kyle aren't real friends.
But sometimes it makes me wonder. I just wish he'd stand up to them sometimes.
I look around for the notes I dropped, but they're already either in the bin, torn up, or blown out of sight. I groan inwardly and turn my gaze back to the palms of my hands. There's no blood, at least. Just a little bit of skin scraped off. Kyle smirks as I try to get up.
"Did I say you could get up, faggot?" he asks, sounding disgusted. I quietly shake my head, letting him push me back down. I land with a thud on my ass and keep my head down, trying to pick out patterns on the tarmac. One of them says something, but I'm not listening. I'm busy trying not to let this get to me, but as usual, I fail at that. The craving for something sharp on my skin eclipses all else.
"Are you deaf, you stupid man whore?" Kyle spits at me and I shrug. He grabs a fistful of my hair and forces me to look at him. "I asked you a question." I do my best to avoid his cold eyes. I didn't hear his question, and quite honestly, I don't care. Just make it stop. He tugs on my hair a little and I can't help the little wince I let him see. He laughs, and it's as frozen as his eyes. Just make it stop. The bell rings out and they take a moment to decide whether tormenting me is worth the detention that they will inevitably get for missing class. Please, just make it stop. Kyle lets go, shoving me face down on the floor and spits on me again. Please. I lie there, waiting for them to go. I watch Kyle's Converse sneakers walking off into the school building, feeling the grit pressing into my face, the sharp edges of the loose gravelly type stuff digging in. Please, please. A hand grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me up. I'm like a rag doll in their hands. I don't even care anymore. They sit me up and hand me the folder that flew from my hands as I fell. I glance up. He's already walking away.
Phil, darling, you confuse me.
Just make it stop.