{Skephalo} Because I love you. ~Murder duo~

Death of an old enemy

I genuinely think my writing has gotten a lot better. Compared to my older works, this doesn't even look like something I could even attempt to write. I really hope you enjoy this chapter. To tell the truth, lately I've been procrastinating writing anything at all. It's been in the back of my mind, but as of late, I've felt I can't just leave the story unfinished. I swear I'll finish this. Promise.

Kk boring ass lecture over here's the chapter.

Tw//: F slur, gore, death, violence, some implied lemon

~\Zak/~

Another day, another attempt to live what those call their normal years in highschool.

Except I'm not normal.

I'm pretty sure normal people can keep their fists to themselves.

Can stay passive, and simply brush off the weakest words even spat in their direction.

Yet I roll up my sleeves.

I ask myself everyday as to why I'm like this, why I've done this, and why I continue to.

Perhaps it's like a forbidden drug; a feeling disgraced by society, yet fills you more than any form of love ever could.

Or perhaps the feeling of someone loving you for such acts pushes you further into the feeling, the addiction.

Perhaps that's what's happening now.

The feeling of my pencil sliding between my hands is enough to stimulate my physical needs, my mind going into a deeper tangent. 

My teacher has several slides, all rendered useless in my dissociative state, blurred over, words bleeding into ineligible, sloppy smears.

The kid next to me is doing much of the same; scrolling through his phone endlessly for any form of escape from the unbearable lecture.

From my distance, I'm unable to see the his exact keystrokes, but can find He's texting someone.

He types rather quickly, much as if there's a time limit, or as if he was a horror movie's protagonist, fumbling keys into the car's keyhole as the threat looms closer.

"Hey, do you mind?"

I'm snapped from my trance as my eyes follow up from his hands, greeting his irritated expression.

"My bad, bro." I reply, redirecting my gaze away from him.

He goes back to typing, and I wonder what he's even texting about.

Who is he, anyways?

An asshole, for sure. But what else?

I've seen him around school; he seems to know quiet a few people. Seems to always have an audience, laughing and cracking bombshells as everyone else laughs along.

I guess you could say he's popular.

As someone who wishes to find friends and well, A semi normal life,  I think it would be useful to have someone who knows so many people.

I clear my throat.
"This is a boring-ass class." I comment to him, slightly over an average whisper.

"Honestly." He huffs an answer, keeping his eyes on his phone.

We fall silent again.

I find it seemingly hard to try and get a conversation going, as I feel as if I was to continue such a talk, I would only get a one word responses, if any at all.