A slow fall

Chapter 6 - Caleb

After my Sunday low, as much as I dislike school, I was happy for the distraction the over crowded, obnoxiously loud and teenage angst filled building offered.

More so, I was grateful for my friends.

My mental state was toeing the line between a bad place and one of no return. I was trying to prevent myself from taking that final step into the abyss, but for so long I've felt like I was fighting a losing battle. Being out of my house that no longer offers the comfort of being called a home provides a temporary escape that I relished in.

My facade is put in place, so effortlessly perfect you couldn't tell. It feels deceitful, like I am lying to everyone by hiding, but I didn't sure how else to cope. I didn't feel ready to share with people that I was struggling, though I worried that, with the way things were going, people would find out regardless.

Either through my words or my actions.

I watched in amusement as Shane ate the canteen's spaghetti, pasta sauce smeared around his mouth and, somehow , nose, and wondered how I called this boy one of my best friends.

His hoodie sleeves hung precariously close to his bowl and I was counting down the seconds until one of them made contact. His childish eating habits, though disgusting, were something to marvel at. The way he still managed to get food everywhere at eighteen was a testament to his character.

"Dude, you've got food everywhere. How much of it has even ended up in your mouth?"

Shane looked at me with a frown before assessing the damage he'd caused to his clothing and the table.

"It's all in my mouth." He replied around a mouthful of pasta after checking once more that no food had escaped him. I just shook my head in response. His mental age was that of a toddler—I really shouldn't have been surprised.

I gestured to everything that was evidently not in his mouth. "And all of that?"

"Crumbs." His expression was proud, as if what he said made logical sense.

Before I could probe him, further Marcus dropped down into the seat beside me. His bag thudded heavily on the floor, is annoyance evident.

"Brody's an absolute dickhead." Marcus didn't tend to swear—or use any words teetering the line—so this was serious.

"Care to elaborate?" I asked.

Marcus came into school already relatively frustrated today. He'd run out of contacts and was forced to wear the wire frame glasses he hated so much. It was less so the design and more his obsession with his appearance and the negative impact he believed they had on it. From an objective perspective, it couldn't be disputed that Marcus was attractive; The glasses in no way changed that fact.

His dirty-blond hair gracefully fell to his shoulders in thick waves. His tall stature, straight nose and well defined jaw displaying his Scandinavian heritage. His elegant, put together style was influenced by his sister and made him appear more mature than his years.

Shane was the opposite.  While he was still, objectively, handsome his braces and rounded face made him appear younger.

Much like me, he tended to wear oversized hoodies and jeans that swamped his figure. Style wasn't at the forefront of our minds, just comfort.

"Yeah, I do. Dumbass was copying all my answers for the test, and I'm fine with that, but he suckkkkks so bad at Math. And I know I'm great, but it was blatantly obvious. When Miss read over the test she called us out on it.

"Now we've both got detention and need to do a make-up test because he's an idiot who doesn't know copying etiquette."

Shane looked up at him, strands of spaghetti handing out his mouth. I watched in amusement as drops of pasta sauce landed on his chest. Idiot.