I spent that night, just as I had spent that last two months worth of nights. Lying in bed, unmoving, staring up at my ceiling, scared that when I closed my eyes, I couldn't see what was coming.
Of course, I always kept my light on.
Every sound and movement made me gasp, and I'd cry or stare blankly until I fell asleep.
I woke up in the morning to the sound of my alarm clock, screaming violently at me. I flitted to it to turn it off. Loud noises had begun to bother me very much.
I looked in the mirror, remembering the first time I'd seen my reflection after.
Medium, dirty blonde hair falls messily over my pale forehead. I peer at the mirror, no life in my eyes. I'm all cried out and I cannot deal with any other emotions.
My eyes, almost a white grey have no shine to them anymore, and they stare tiredly back at me. My nose, boxy, causing it to often be compared to the snout of a pig, is red raw, as is the skin framing my eyes. Crying. My dark eyelashes still hold the tears as evidence. My mouth is pale, my lips no longer full. I stare at myself and I look dead.
No- I shouldn't say 'dead'. Gaunt. I look gaunt.
I sigh, and yank a set of clothes from my wardrobe, not caring at all what clothes I have selected (I won't be leaving the house at all today anyway. I'm only getting dressed because of the routine of it. Normalcy is the best thing for you, Callum, I remember my therapist saying.
What does he know about my exact problem- about my exact feelings? He only tells me what I'm supposed to do with the feelings that I'm supposed to have, rather than dealing with the feelings I genuinely do feel.
But normalcy is helping.
And it had helped. I mean, I was back at school now, right? I took a plunge back into society, and survived it, didn't I?
At least my therapist, Dr. Tanner, hadn't ridiculed me, or suspected me of making the entire thing up.
I liked Dr. Tanner. He had helped quite a bit. But I believe that what he hasn't helped so far, he never will be able to- and that's what I need help with. That's what I need to get rid of. This hate.
I looked in my mirror again. My hair, still slightly unruly, was brighter and blonder now. My skin less pale; it didn't look as translucent. I naturally had pale skin, but now it looked healthy. My grey eyes had turned a deep blue, and my lips were fuller. Of course, my eyes were puffy and red, but that's because I still cried. Some nights.
I sighed, before getting ready for school.
I hated that I hoped that I would see Stuart. I was disgusted that I was excited.
I was so confused.
The school building, as always, seemed ominous to me. The greyscale theme of the exterior, the glum weather, and the thought of thesehours surrounded by people who hated me.
Sighing, I ascended the stone steps, and entered.
I tried to keep my head down, as always, and managed to block out the whispers that still seemed to linger in the hallway.
It was eight 0'clock. That meant seven hours. That's just fourteen half-hours. I could do this.
I always found myself breaking down the hours. It seemed to calm my mind (and my fear) down with the thoughts of the day.
I remembered then, that my first lesson of the day was English. I would see Stuart again. It sickened me how I suddenly felt excited.
These grimy, off white walls, with the lazily put up decorations; the constant smell of cleaning products; the loud babble of students. These all used to feel like Hell to me. Now, they enticed me. I was excited. I didn't know if it was because of him, but something had changed.