Floating Face Down (boyxboy)

Chapter Eight

[A/N] Sorry this took so long, I have been so busy... my schedule's all messed up ahh.... \(-⭘-")/

We had lunch first, which was a sort of lunch buffet, except the options felt more like breakfast and I doubted they would be different for dinner. I didn't care, I was hungry and scarfed whatever down I could. 

I sat with my roommates who talked casually amongst each other and didn't really seem to notice me sitting there.

That felt nice. Disappearing felt good.

On our way to the first activity, as the group came together and moved through the camp grounds I felt someone brush beside me and looked up startled to find Victor moving past, just barely glancing at me, winking.

I felt embarrassed for staring at him like I did, but a small giddy feeling entered my chest.

The first activity was abseiling, a long tutorial about how to correctly put on the safety harness and then a short climb down to the bottom of a patronisingly small wooden cliff. Our groups were split up between two different courses to make it easier for the instructors to handle and I realised the larger chunk of kids that were problematic for me were in Patrick's group.

That didn't stop them from messing with me, naturally, whenever we met in the middle there was a little snickering as they looked back at me, sometimes I felt someone shove me hard and I'd have to apologise if I knocked into anyone.

It occurred to me that I hadn't really met a lot of the kids from my year simply because I'd been so wrapped up in being invisible, and part of my subconscious still had this idea if I couldn't see them they couldn't see me. I tried not to look at anyone, tried not to say much or hang around them. The more kids that hated me the worse it would get for me.

I dreamed of it sometimes.

Being lynched by them all. Something light hearted, something barely bothersome, escalating fast as they egged each other on, laughing like they did. I hated that maniacal laughter, it featured in my dreams, worse and worse, louder and more high pitched, still I was dragged out into the field, onto the football pitch or into someone's basement.

Every time in a dream like that I was filled with abject terror, felt the trainer stepping on my face like it was real, cold rubber in a crisp pattern, some abrasion softening the middle of it, and more laughter.

But they didn't realise they were going too far or they didn't care. I knew in that dream, always, I knew I was going to die. I woke up normally with some kind of shaking, a tremor in my hands that did not ease until I sat up with Milk in my arms for a while, sometimes picking him up from his bed to put him in mine for the comfort. Sometimes my legs were shaking so bad I slumped over in his dog bed and crawled up beside him.

A terror that eased but never left me. I was scared of them.

But the other kids in the year weren't like them, they weren't that bad, they didn't even seem to consider making fun of me, yet anyway. If Patrick led by example that would change soon enough. 

But still, it was like for a brief moment I stepped out of a bad dream and I was just about to realise that was all it was.

Then our groups merged again to do rock climbing on the massive fake rock face, and even the kids in our group that were fine hanging around me, that were more or less friends with or lackeys to Patrick, started shifting their focus to me.

I wasn't sure around when that happened.

Victor teamed up with me as we went down in pairs. He seemed to be trying to get on with me, maybe out of sympathy, but I could tell he must be nervous about Patrick.