The Man Of My Nightmares (Septiplier) **DISCONTINUED**

Ink Drops

Trigger Warning: Eating disorder, self harm, anxiety. Bad shit happens

Mark. Maths. Mark. Maths. Mark. A squared is.. Mark. I couldn't concentrate. I decided to go on YouTube to pass the time and clear my mind. As much as I tried, though, I kept thinking of Mark and his stupid face that drove me wild. If he knew about it, he'd probably hate me, despite the way he treats me now. Honestly, I think it's just because of what I said at Ted's office the other day. The afternoon passed relatively quickly and before Ma could ask if I was going to eat dinner, I showered and went off to bed.

I got to school early and darted to the library to finish my maths homework. I kept thinking about Mark. Call me obsessed, but he is gorgeous. I struggled through the last problem and as I looked up, I saw a pair of eyes fitted with some glasses. I heard a low mumble of my name and adjusted my eyes a bit better. Of course, who else would it be? My beautiful markimoo. Am I allowed to call him that? He smiled at me and went on about how he didn't know we went to the same school, but I just gazed into his eyes trying not to give away my feelings. I realized the stupid look on my face and tried to zero in on his words. Oh, but his voice, his golden voice put me in a trance. Before I knew it, I got my schedule out from the beginning of the school year and he had his out. Apparently we had a lot of classes together. We agreed to meet up during English and Maths and see how it went from there. I said my most meaningful sentence of the day: "Should we like, meet at recess or lunch or something?"
"No, not at school."
"What?" I don't understand, am I not good enough for him?
"Just that we just met and my friends don't know you. I want to ease you in to things." Is he trying to say that he doesn't want to hang out just because we just met?
"Oh." I couldn't think with thoughts like that in my head. Or maybe it was the hunger getting to me. At that, the bell shrieked.

Period 1: English. Mark and I walked side by side to class. Something about poetry and metaphors. I don't understand why the constant teach us the exact same things we knew since 3rd grade. That's what they call it here. In Ireland it was year 3 and we learned Irish as well. She wrote something on the board that I didn't bother looking at, I just copied the person next to me. I always sat in the front, but I'm blind as shit. At the end of the period, Mark gave me a small wink and walked up to me and we went to Math. It was the same shit as usual, I just doodled in my notebook.

I'm not quite sure why, but when the recess bell rang, I darted to the corner of the library and curled up into a ball. I mean, nothing happened, but I started crying? I tried to make sense of it, but my mind was already starting to unravel. I made a detailed portrait... of a suicide attempt. I just got caught in the moment and without knowing, it reminded me how it would be to Mark if I were to take my own life. So selfish, so insensitive. Not to mention my family, having a history of deaths from various forms of self harm, including my sister only a couple years ago. She was beautiful, but she didnt think so. After her weight plummeted so low and she died, I followed in her footsteps. I normally have decent control over my anxiety attacks, but its been different lately. I don't know, maybe I'm getting worse. I tried to calm myself, without being noticed by someone who would force me to a counselor. I breathed. In. Out. In. Out. Then I pulled my hoodie sleeves down past my hands and tried to dry my face, in effect, smearing my face with the salty solution. I grabbed some tissues to silently blow my nose and looked for a book to keep me busy. I didn't find anything interesting, so I did what I did if there were no appealing books. I read the backs of the biggest books in the library (fantasy, of course) in order to find a story that attaches you to the characters. The type of story that you don't want to end. The type of story that is satisfying to read. I wonder if anyone would pick up a book about me. Just your average depressed teenager, oh gimme a break. I grabbed a book. Quite interesting, but rather short. There was a picture of a boy in a swimming pool with the title where his face would be. By the looks of it, it looked like only 300 pages. The Drowning of Arthur Braxton. "Arthur Braxton has had enough. His mum has left, his dad is broken and he's the laughing stock of his high school." Wow, he's like me, minus the part about his mum.. I didn't realize how long I took until the bell rang and I shoved the book into my bag and rushed to my next class.