You Don't Mean It ||Staig||

||Part Two||

TW: Cursing, Eating disorders, Vomit, Mentions of drugs, 

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"Football practice, a test in fourth period... ugh." Stan moaned as he rubbed his eyes. The bus rides were long. They certainly didn't help his thoughts. Shelly had smacked him over the head, it was embarrassing, he still wasn't taller than her. 

She had to be about over six foot tall now, all his parents ever talked about was how amazing Shelly was and how tall she'd gotten. Nothing about him though, no matter how hard he tried to get their attention. 

"Hey Marsh, you good?" Clyde snickered across from him. He was on the seat to his right, Bebe kissing him and cuddling up next to him. Stan looked down at his feet, instead of over at Clyde. He studied his fully stuffed backpack. 

"Ah... are you ashamed?" Clyde asked him, a little smile spreading over his face. Stan quickly looked over at the boy, his blue eyes narrowing. 

"The hell, why would I be?" He asked as he crossed his arm. Kyle popped his head up from behind Stan's seat, watching the interaction. 

"Because you fucking suck, and because I'm better than you." Clyde grinned. He waved his phone around, the screen held some embarrassing picture of Stan last year that Clyde still hadn't gotten over. 

Stan arched his neatly brushed eyebrow. "Clyde, shut the hell up. Go find someone else to agitate." Stan said, he was pretty pissed off. Clyde never left him alone, no matter what he did to try and fix things between them. 

Clyde turned away and said something to his 'girlfriend'. Stan pressed himself against the window, looking down. His hand moved on its own, resting against his torso. He pulled his hand away quickly, feeling sick because he was reminded about how he looked. 

It didn't matter what he did, no matter how hard he worked out. On many days he had run so much that he threw up and passed out against the sidewalk. There wasn't much, but there was still something he could pull at. 

In his mind he was never enough, never strong enough, never slim enough. He couldn't put on muscle like he wished he could. He wasn't as tall as he wanted, not as smart, not as good. Stan sighed through his nose as the bus pulled up next to his high school. 

As he walked down the hall ways, he thought about his mother and how she had influenced him. When he was little, all she would talk about was how obsessed she was with her looks. She had worked out, taken pills. 

She wouldn't eat past three o clock. Stan guessed that had rubbed off on him and how he looked at himself. "Hey Stan!" Kyle greeted from behind him. Stan straightened himself up and put on his signature fake smile. 

"Hey, Ky." Stan said back, his lips twitching back into a frown, but he forced them back up. Kyle smiled at him as he held his books in his hands. The boy's red hair was tucked neatly away in his green hat. 

Stan kept quiet and let Kyle do most of the talking, he possessed nothing that he wanted to share anyways. His mind was a little foggy, it seemed like he wasn't thinking straight at all. He felt weird. 

Stan furrowed his eye brows and gripped against his bag strap. "Hey Kyle, I gotta go... there's uh this football thing in the morning..." Stan lied through his teeth, wincing and hoping that Kyle would take the lie without a remark. 

"Oh, okay. I'll see you at lunch." He said, glancing over at the jock with his emerald eyes. The mention of the word lunch only made Stan feel worse. He waved Kyle away and quickly retreated into the nearest bathroom. 

He looked around every stall, hoping that no one would be there. He couldn't see anyone, so he assumed that it was safe. Stan locked himself into a stall and faced the toilet. He could feel his forehead prick with a cold sweat as he chest tightened up.