The Light Behind Your Eyes (Phan fanfiction)

Chapter 2- School.

*Dan's POV*

My alarm clock goes off, as it does every morning. Beep, beep beep. Like, can you please just shut the fuck up? I have to deal with this every damn morning. . . I hate waking up, so much. When I actually sleep, it helps me get away from the bad things for a little while sometimes. And sometimes, the hell hole that is my life follows into my dreams. It's so horrible, and I can't ever escape it. It's such an effort to just wake up every morning knowing what you're going to face again, and having to have the courage to do it daily. I looked over, at the clock. 7:20. I sigh. I'm so overtired, but I don't even remember going to sleep last night. It was late though. I must've been thinking about something...

Something.

Oh fuck. I think to myself, cringing at the thought, yet also finding complete comfort in it. Although it's just amazing to fill your mind with thoughts of self-harm, I guess I have to actually get up for school.

I can't fucking stand that place. They all hate me, and I all hate them. I have very few friends in this school, if any at all.
But that doesn't mean I would or would not particularly care if the school burned to ashes without myself in it one day.

Even if I do have any actual friends, I wouldn't trust any of them. No one can know about my level of self destruction, no one will. I wouldn't trust anyone enough to tell them. . . That's like trusting someone with your life, in which I still couldn't ever do.

They all make fun of me. I don't know why. I always make sure that I don't dress too flamboyantly or fashionably, I don't want anyone to know for sure 100 percent although they all think they do. . . Which, in actuality, they do.

I try to hide any gayness about me for the entirety of my life that is within the doors of that horrid place. All I wear is black, black long sleeve shirts, and black skinny jeans, although I don't particularly like how skinny jeans look on me. I'm just not. . . Skinny. They poke fun at me for that, too.

I try to take it, let them know it doesn't bother me. But it does, it really really does. "Faggot, fat, ugly, die, unlovable, just kill yourself, no one would even care, you pathetic little bastard, just slit your wrists as all the other emo scum do. . . Why the hell are you even still here, Howell?"

It all hurts.

I try to get my mind off of it and get dressed, putting on a long sleeve oversized shirt, so no one could see my scars or how huge I was. Fuck, I hope I lost weight so bad. I just can't do this anymore.

I wish that I had one special person to just talk to about anything or anyone, whatever's bothering me, my actual feelings, difficulties, anything and everything. . . Oh what I wouldn't give for that.

I look at my reflection in the mirror. . . Ugh. Why me, of all people, on top of everything else horrible about me. . . Why was I given this fucking face. Everything else about me already blows, why couldn't I, at the very least, had gotten a likable face?

I has these ugly, dog shit brown eyes. My hair matched my eyes well, of course, being a muddy brown color. I had a fringe that covered part of my face, which was a good thing. My hair never worked with me, it always looked so greasy and unkept and wild nomatter what I did with it. I had these horribly messy eyebrows, but, I couldn't get them done. . . That's just asking to be made fun of. The fag got his eyebrows done, wow, what a shocker.

I look down, feeling like I'm fighting back tears, as I force myself to look back up at my face. I had such a regular, unmasculine jaw. It wasn't squared whatsoever, it almost looked like that of a female's. I also had these odd lips and teeth. While my teeth weren't crooked and rotting disgustingly, that also were not perfect, either. My lips were quite thin, sadly, and were in desperate need of some chapstick.