PSYCH

chapter 4

Phil begrudgingly found himself awoken by his all too noisy alarm clock serenading him loudly with Super Massive Black Hole by Muse. He soon reached the saddening conclusion that the music was simply too loud for him to sleep through, and struggled through his duvet into a sitting position.

It wasn't the music that annoyed him most about the morning; in fact, he thoroughly enjoyed and appreciated being awoken to the fine sounds of Matt Bellamy's voice being whispered throughout his room. No - it was the fact that of all the mornings to exist, today had definitely produced the worst. It was Monday.

Phil didn't actually have an issue with Mondays on the whole; he in fact was fairly happy that Monday had graced him with its presence. His problem lay mainly in the fact that he'd woken up to find he had a little problem, and that the dream he had had last night... well..... to put it simply, it had been downright hot.

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The younger male's fingers ran over Phil's T-shirt to tickle his spine; little could Dan have known that the gesture instantly set electric sparks erupting in his lower regions. The tanned boy turned him on in all sorts of ways. Phil struggled to keep his dominant side at bay as he felt his jeans tighten unmistakably around his crotch.

The brown-eyed wonder stared at him innocently before rubbing a palm over the bulge, and - unable to help himself - Phil moaned involuntarily and bucked his hips for more friction. Normally, he could never stand to be submissive, but this boy just has his ways. It was only when the younger boy climbed on top of him than Phil finally snapped, flipping their positions and pinning Dan down instead. Gazing into the boys lustful eyes, Phil eagerly trailed his hands and eyes down the younger teenager's body, and upon reaching the hem of his trousers Phil glanced into the chocolate pools of Dan's eyes in search of permission, before swiftly pulling it off.

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After getting a cold shower and pulling on his school uniform, Phil proceeded to make breakfast, making sure to boil the kettle for his Mum for when she got up, which would be in about an hour.

After eating, he shot a swift glance at the clock and noted that he was just on time, that the bus would be arriving in about five minutes. He picked up his heavy rucksack and hurried out of the door to stroll along the road to his bus stop.

The bus came barely a minute after Phil's arrival, and he held up his bus pass to show the driver as he boarded. It had become a monotonous routine, every morning raising his bus pass for brief inspection, then thanking the driver blankly upon arrival at school. The same process, every day.

Phil entered the school through the front doors, rucksack bumping rhythmically against his back with every step. Pausing for a moment, he took out his timetable and groaned quietly as he realised that his first lesson was French. He hoped there had been no homework; if there was, he hadn't done it.

Phil shouldered his bag again and walked along the corridor to room 18 for registration. The tutor wasn't there yet, so Phil left the classroom to make his way to his locker. His didn't have a lock of any kind, but there was never anything worth stealing in it anyway.

Rifling through the mess of textbooks and workbooks, he pulled out the necessary ones and stuffed them into his rucksack. Thankfully, he had Drama and PE as well, neither of which required books, and that meant he only needed to carry his French, English and Chemistry books with him. Monday was never a day of heavy rucksacks - that always fell on a Thursday.

Dragging his rucksack over his shoulders yet again, he paused as memories of the previous Friday attacked his mind. Phil's thoughts rolled and tumbled in his head, disorderly, like clothes in a washing machine. Why couldn't he just forget the events of the weekend? Why couldn't he stop thinking about the chocolate-eyed boy?

Dan wasn't bad-looking, Phil concluded. Not by a long shot. But his brain was riddled with images of the boy in a way Phil had never experienced. This must be how it feels to go crazy, he fretted silently, his feet automatically bearing him along the corridor and back to the form room.

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French flew by like a cobweb. There had thankfully been no homework and no tests and the lesson had been altogether reasonable. Drama was similarly uneventful, and then it was break.

As the bell for the start of Period 3 rang, Phil arrived at his classroom before anyone else and plonked himself down in his allocated seat at the front of the room.

"English," he sighed. He adored the subject, but the twats in his class couldn't interpret poetry for the life of them. Or anything at all, for that matter.

As Mr Lewis started the lesson, Phil started to actually do the work (as opposed to Geography in which he would sit and doodle). They were reading a poem called "Our Deepest Fear" written by Marianne Williamson, and despite the fact that it had a religious emphasis, Phil couldn't help but relate to it and and hold a deep connection with the meaning hidden tantalizingly in the words.
"Our Deepest Fear
By Marianne Williamson

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest butthole is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, Optimistic, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There's nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won't feel insecure around you.

We are meant to shine,
As all people do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of the sky that is within.

It's not just in some of us;
It's in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we're liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others."

Phil studied the words carefully, pulling them apart piece by piece as though constructing a Biology experiment. Blocking out the unsubtle whispers of the girls that Mr Lewis had rather unwisely sat together, he scribbled ideas in his exercise book.