Some Boys are Monsters

Them and Us; Part Two

Warning: This chapter contains sexual content

Craig's song of the day: Not at Home by McCandless

My feet shuffle quietly against the tile of the hallway floor. They squeak frustratingly loud, but the sound is drowned out by the heavy footsteps and lively voices of other peers. As usual, I end up being banged around quite a bit. I always get ignored and pushed around when Craig isn't with me. Little grumbles of dissatisfaction squeak their way out of my throat, but I'm doing a surprisingly good job of staying calm in the congested halls all by myself. My messenger bag bumps lightly against my hip bone as I change direction, veering away from the endless mass of bodies and disappearing into the senior bathroom. There are a couple guys at the sink when I walk in. They scrub lazily at their hands while chatting amongst themselves. I recognize them, but barely. They're just a couple nameless faces that fade in and out of the background, just like everyone else. When they dry off their hands, I lean up against the white brick wall as if I might blend in enough for them not to notice me.

They do notice the twitchy freak standing by the door, though. I guess I'm kind of hard not to see with what an eye sore I am today. With the combination of my bright red pajama bottoms, humongous knitted sweater, ugly ass crocks, and Craig's jacket draped around me, I look like a five year old who just dressed himself for the first time.

Not a word is spoken to or around me as they leave. Once the door is shut behind them, I drop my bag almost carelessly against the floor. Almost.

Walking up to the sink, I turn on the faucet and let warm water run over my nervously vibrating hands. I notice a small red mark plastered on my head when I anxiously peek at the Tweek in the mirror. I cover it with my pointer finger in disgust and hold it there for a few moments as if the small disfigurement will disappear with enough pressure. Mirror-Tweek mimics me, of course, but the unsightly red line doesn't go away. Upon closer inspection, I realize just how many little bitty marks of slightly raised skin litter my billboard of a forehead. It's nothing too noticeable, but it doesn't exactly help with my less-than-average looks. Huffing, I splash the warm water carefully onto my face, my features scrunching together in slight discomfort.

The bell rings.

I'm late for last period.

Lowly, I groan in irritation before tugging hard on my hair. Tardy. I'm tardy! I'm late for class and I don't even have Craig to blame for it this time!

Craig... I hope he's doing okay.

Oh, Lord. Don't think about him. He got in trouble because he was being a butthole to the teacher, and that's not my problem. There's no reason to be worried, either. He was only sent to the principal's office like the ten thousand other times something like this happened. He isn't being suspended, expelled, or anally probed. He's fine. I'm fine.

Still, he's on my mind. Still, I'm worrying about him. It's like some kind of brain disease or something.

Crancer.

Cramonia.

Craigitus.

I have Craigitus in my brains.

It's spread so rampant that I swear to God I can smell the cloud of cigarette smoke that sometimes lingers around him. It's... actually really strong. Dear God. I've gone insane, but instead of seeing things that aren't there like normal psychos, I just smell things that aren't there.

I'm smelling things, and, also, I'minsane. They're gonna put me away in the funny farm like they did Clyde's sister! I don't wanna go to the funny farm. The cows would step on me.