Do You Realize? |l.s.|

II

Lunch is probably my least favorite time of the day ever. It could be because the school lunch is absolute shit, but it could also be because I get beaten to a pulp like 99% of the time. I sit down at my usual table, at the very end where no one else sits with me because I'm the joke of the entire sophomore year. A lot of people are decent, sure, but no one bothers to be friends with me because, well, being my friend is a free invitation to becoming the second punching bag of the grade.

My lunch consists of the shit fish sticks which I'm too afraid to eat, soggy chips with no sauce because they ran out, and a green banana. Wow, what a cuisine. I pick apart a bit of the chip out of pure boredom when an opened carton of milk lands on it, the milk spilling out and splashing all over my shirt. I stand up quickly, cursing to myself and knowing exactly who is standing behind me: Nick Grimshaw. He's a bit older, sure, but only by a year and so he's sort of in on all the drama for this grade.

"Thought you'd like it, since you so closely resemble a cow," he jokes. He's never been funny, really.

"It's a bit sour. Is it freshly squeezed from your tits? I thought they were sagging a bit today," I shoot back. I've always been a lose cannon of a child, that's why mum stopped bringing me to bring a child to work day. I used to go into random people's offices and draw dicks on their desks with permanent marker and call numbers and tell them I was kidnapped. When the cops actually got involved, mum found out and to say she was pissed is an understatement.

Nick charges at me, punching me square in the jaw and managing to knock me on the ground, getting on top of me and punching me a bit before getting up, leaving one last kick to the side before walking away. He's always been such a stereotypical bully, and I absolutely hate it. I mean sure, I talk shit to everyone, but the bullying does get to me a bit. I mean, how could it not if I'm being told daily things like I'm ugly, I'm fat, I'm stupid, I'm a faggot, and I should kill myself. 

The rest of school goes by slow, my jaw throbbing and when I get home, I go straight to my room, not being bothered by Zayn who is calling for me in the kitchen. I hear him yelling for me, so I turn on my music loudly and the shouting stops. Zayn knows I'm in a bad mood when I do this, only he doesn't know there's an actual reason for me to be. He says I have the mood swings of a pregnant woman, but I blame Nick for that.

One time, Zayn walked in because I don't really lock my door, and I threw a textbook at him and the corner hit him in the eye, so he doesn't bother me anymore. A bit goes by of me just thinking about everything Nick said, when there's a light knock on my door. By now, I've turned my music down due to the headache I got from it.

"Louis," Harry says from the other side of the door, causing me to furrow my brows and lay down. "I'm gonna come in, please don't throw anything." I panic, knowing I can't let him see the bruise, so I bury the side of my head in my pillow, just enough to hide it. The door opens and he walks in, and I hear him chuckling. "The kid's asleep, Z! Save him a slice!" he yells as he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.

I don't leave my room for the rest of the night because the boys sleep over in the living room, although I do wish I could at least get something to eat for dinner. I end up finishing my homework quickly and showering before going to bed at the time of 11 o'clock, already dreading the idea of going back to school and facing Nick tomorrow.