I Couldn't Even Get A Smile (Short Story)

Chapter 1

I woke up one morning, and got ready for school as usual: I dressed in a black shirt, with a black sweater on top to cover the cuts, along with black sweatpants, and gray shoes. I left my hair in it's usual attire after getting up from my bed, or in some cases, the floor. I brushed my teeth, grabbed my backpack, and skipped breakfast.

I sighed when there was fog and gray clouds in the sky, going along perfectly with my shoes I had on.

I walked to the school campus, ignoring the stares I was receiving as I entered the building.

Someone shouted, "Hey, fag!," as I continued towards my first period. I ignored him and proceeded towards my destination. I became desensitized to these remarks as time passed.

Back when the name-calling began, I would come home every night with tears in my eyes, but eventually, I became numb to these derogatory terms, and instead came home with a blank stare, no emotions physically present.

After class began, I asked for permission to use the restroom, and was in the bathroom shortly after.
When I saw that all the stalls were empty, I looked into a mirror above a sink to see the recent damage done by my father. To not raise suspicion, I quickly grabbed a make-up kit from my bag, and began applying what would be able to cover up the cuts and bruises that were on my face. It was tough to cover a gash on the side of my cheek, but I managed. The only other feature I couldn't conceal were the noticeable bags under my eyes.

I began scratching at one of my cuts on my wrist that was trying to heal, but being the person I am, I didn't stop. I soon let all my rage out on that little wound, and it was soon bleeding again like it did when I first made the cut. I quickly dampened a paper towel and pressured it on the open slit until it was dried up.

I, once again, entered the classroom, but I saw someone sitting next to my desk in the back of the room, someone I've never seen before.