He leant heavily against the door as it closed with a soft snick behind him.
He smiled, pretending that the words didn’t affect him, pretending that the words didn’t hurt. He turned his head away from the still laughing crowd and frowned into his bottle as he pretended to drink. His smile fell when their backs turned, his façade falling away. A façade - that was all that his life was.
Coward. The words rang in his ears. Freak. He was unable to look into their eyes. He lacked the courage to respond with words, the strength to respond with actions. Coward. So he ran.
Running, running, forever running. A coward, for that was all he was. He treaded up the stairs slowly, feeling a sense of calm pervade his body. The terror that plagued him all but disappeared; his heart no longer tried to jump out of his chest with every step.
No regrets, no turning back, he told himself. The metal felt cool to his heated hand. No regrets. His finger curled slightly, but he couldn’t find it in himself to continue. His eyes slipped closed as he tried to calm his pounding heart. No regrets, he told himself again. His hand was knocked away suddenly. His eyes opened slowly. He watched green eyes widen almost comically as they drank in his appearance for the first time; his small, almost feminine, nose, his oval brown eyes, his long lashes, and his long tapered fingers, fingers that were currently curled around his only chance for peace.
He could almost see the thoughts forming in her head. He could already see it written on her face.
He stepped silently into his bedroom, the feeling of familiarity sweeping over him.
He avoided looking into the large, ornate mirror in his room as he felt his face tenderly. He ran his hand over the bruises that he knew were forming, especially the ones over his eyes, eyes that he could barely open without screaming in agony. He knew he looked a right mess. His tormentors didn’t believe in mercy. He could still see blue eyes taunting him even as he stared at his bookshelf. His entire being ached, a steady throbbing of pain that he welcomed, embracing the feeling with open arms. It was a change from the numbness that always held him in its grips now.
He slid the bottom drawer of his desk open, listening to the small whoosh as the slightly worn wood rubbed against itself in the process.
He stopped, surprised, as a drop of red splashed onto the back of his hand. He lifted the limb and looked at it curiously. The vibrant mark marring his pale skin held his attention, as the drops started to fall faster, spreading like a plague over the available area. A plague – that was what he was.
He ran his fingers along the ivory, mindlessly following the contours of the inlaid pattern. Cool metal met his fingertips as his hand trailed higher. He pulled his hand out, feeling the comforting weight grasped lightly between his slender fingers. A single finger curled in; a slight twitch of his finger would end everything.
Numb, numb, that was all he felt. That was all he knew.
He laid the side of his head against the metal lovingly, a familiar action. His hands no longer shook. He was at peace.
That was all he had.
That was all he wanted.