--Frank--
Don't you just wish that you could take it all back?
Take away all the pain and clean up the mess you've caused?
Don't you want to do the world a favour and end your existence?
The answer is yes, I've wanted to for years.
I sat in the school's library, the only decent place in this fucked up place, the only place that doesn't tolerate shit-heads making smartass comments, the only place that doesn't allow technology to interfere, the only place I could be completely comfortable and where I could be in my own reality. My safe haven.
It was just after our third period, the bell had rang, signalling that it was lunch. I enjoyed sitting in the library, it was quiet and there were hardly any people, besides that one raven-haired kid in the back, who draws non-stop.
Then there's me, the person who constantly writes paragraphs upon paragraphs, in a matter of minutes, that describe in detail about my own reality, my thoughts and worlds, my place of understanding.
As I sat in the blissful silence, the scratching of my pen on the paper was the only sound to be heard. I was so lost in what I had been writing that I hadn't noticed the raven-haired guy moved to the same table as myself, and had been trying to start a conversation.
Being the introvert I am, I brushed him off, he seemed like an asshole anyway. I quickly gathered my notebook, pens and anything else that I'd been using, stuffed it into my beaten-up backpack and left without a word, leaving the once-smiling green-eyed male, with a slight frown - it was almost cute, almost.
---
As I got home, I ignored my mother's constant ranting as soon as I opened the door, I run upstairs into my darkly-lit room, shutting the door almost immediately. I threw my backpack to the ground, not caring if I had damaged anything. I got my guitar and brushed my fingers along the strings, plucking one every now and again, creating a soothing melody.
It was an old - shitty guitar, but I treated it with care, it was second hand to start off with, but I made it my mission to take better care of it than the previous owner.
As soon as I began playing the precious instrument, I wrote down the riffs of which I liked, blocking out whatever was happening downstairs with my not-so-sober mother. I wasn't exactly in the mood for any yelling or arguing at this moment.
After a while of occupying myself with the instrument, I set it down, with care obviously, and took out my notebook that I'd written in earlier today, I found myself reading over what I had wrote in the library, my thoughts drifted to the raven-haired male, he was rather a strange one, he didn't really fit into any stereotypical school category. You got the jocks, the nerds, the preppy bitches, the anime dorks and of course, the emo kids, which I was apart of, unwillingly might I add.
But this kid, this beautiful, black-haired and green-eyed male didn't fit into any category whatsoever.
He was, a category himself, and I think that I might just have taken a liking to him, sure he seems like a complete asshole, but why not give it a go.
Let's just hope that I won't get punched in the face, like I did with his brother, fucking arrogant asshole.
