I sometimes feel like the world just needs to hurry up and end already. It would put people like me out of their misery. The days I've spent longing for the sun to descend into the horizon so I could let my tears fall freely without fear of judgment or punishment were too many to count. Every night I would let the tears fall to cover up the scars, to let out the pain and fear, as if the substance falling from my tired eyes captured these feelings and expelled them from my body. When I fall asleep, the pain and thoughts return. When I wake up, I'd force a smile upon my face and lie to everyone.
"I'm okay."
"It's nothing."
"It's all good."
"I'm fine."
All lies. None of these statements were true. They never have been.
I slammed my locker door closed, and the horrid names people had called my stared me in the face. My locker door had been written on by many people. The words written weren't pretty. "Cretin," "Exile," and "Failure," to name a few. Another name was added daily. Another combination of letters that destroys my self confidence. I've learned to brush these things off, but it doesn't change the fact that it still hurts to know people think about individual people like that.
The truly horrid part is why they started this to begin with. I came to school covered in bruises and with a black eye. They pretended they gave a damn and asked what was wrong. I told them the truth: my father had beaten me that night. They're reaction? Laughter and joking. They thought I was lying. Sickening.
My father was an alchoholic and a worsening drug addict. When sober, he's mean and vile. When drunk, he's abusive and cruel. He would hit me and call me names, if I cried he'd mock me and hit me harder. It's disgusting how people would laugh at someone for these reasons.
Now I stared at the locker that represented a full year of this bullcrap. Once again, I wondered it they were right. Maybe I was an abomination. Maybe I didn't belong. I slammed my fist into the locker, sighed, and turned around.
Meeting my stare was a pair of eyes I waan't used to seeing. Standing in front of me was a girl around my age. She was around my height and very beautiful, her black hair tied behind her head in a ponytail. I had never seen her before in my life. Her eyes were blue, and she was wearing a dark grey hoodie. I adverted my eyes to the ground. I've always had issues with eye contact. But for the brief second I was looking at her eyes, I noticed something different. They weren't cold or menacing. They were kind and welcoming. Keeping true to the philosophy "looks are decieving," I stood in silence.
"That's truly aweful," she said. Her voice was soft and, like her body, beautiful.
I nodded, still not sure if I could trust her.
"What's your name?" She asked.
"I'm... I'm Josh. Josh Miller." I said. It was more of a murmur, but she understood.
"My name is Alane," she stated. She placed her hand on my shoulder, and I pushed it away in defiance.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes," I lied. She didn't looked convinced.
"Well, if you need anything, I'm your new friend."
She handed me a slip of paper. It had ten numbers handwritten across it. A phone number.
"It was good meeting you," she said. With that, she dawned a friendly smile and walked off. I smiled, too. This time, I didn't have to force it.
yellowyoshi101
By 