Hunger and Highs (BEING REWRITTEN)

One- Intro to Tyler

//edited\\

~Tyler~

Hunger. It was a feeling I had become accustomed to lately. My parents were worried about me, or so they seemed, because I always told them that I wasn't hungry even though I was. I couldn't eat, I just couldn't do it. Every one of my friends told me that I was getting too fat, so I listened and decided to do something about it. I tried just exercising and eating healthier, but it just didn't seem to work.

Now as I stared at myself in the boys bathroom of the school, I felt my hands shake as pain shot through my stomach due to not eating. You could see my bones through my skin, but it still wasn't good enough. I lifted my shirt and seen my ribs that were clearly visible as well. I sighed and put my shirt back down. No one could see that I was trying to make myself better for them. I still got weird looks, and I couldn't tell if they were disgusted or concerned, but it was probably the former.

I was fat. That's all anyone ever seen me as, and I couldn't seem to change it. I hadn't eaten an actual meal in probably three months. Sure I usually ate a few bites of an apple throughout the day, but never much after that. I hated my body. I just wanted to take it back and exchange it for another one. I hated my eyes, my nose, my mouth, my hair. Everything about me, it was disgusting. I hated looking at myself. I grabbed my backpack just as the bell rang and I was out of the building before anyone could even try to say something to me.

I knew I was ugly, I knew that I was an abomination to this world and that the world would be so much better without me. I walked the long way home today, knowing that my mother would definitely not approve of me doing so because it meant that I had to walk through the bad part of town. A lot of mugging, shooting, stabbing, drugs, and drive-by shooting happened around this part, and also some careless drivers. There was always a part of me that wanted something like that to happen to me. But then again, what's worse than destroying yourself?

I was a good target; I was small and weak. I had nothing to protect me from anything but the cold wind that always seemed to be blowing passed me. I was also one of the 'rich kids' as they said, which earned some of the hood kids some cookie points if they could beat the shit out of a rich white boy. I lived in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the entire state. My father was a very well known doctor that traveled all over the state to see people that were willing to pay out of the ass. My mom, she was a very successful cosmetologist that was co-owner of the most popular salon in the city. Somehow, everyone knew me as that; the rich kid who had very successful parents.

That meant that everyone wanted to be my friend. That meant that I was expected to be the happiest person in the fucking world. They thought that I didn't have a care in the world, or that I never had to work for anything. That meant that I was perfect. I was also immediately dubbed as a snobby, stuck up brat that thought of no one but himself. Typical epitome of a cliche rich kid.

Everything I seemed to see was without color. It was all monochromatic to me, black and white with a few bland grays thrown in haphazardly. The words of the world had already dulled my perfect little life into being nothing but mindless motions moving me through this pointless reality check. My jacket hung loosely on my body, much like most of my clothes these days that were too big for me. I had to tighten up all my belts in order to keep my pants up, all my shirts had to be dried so much that they shrunk and they were still too big for me.

I twiddled with the end of my sleeves, bringing them down over my hands as I walked in an attempt to keep them from freezing. I heard some obnoxious yelling coming from an alley that I passed on my way home, and when I looked to see what was going on I froze. Red. It wasn't a bright red, it was quite faded. Almost like a pinkish color now. His face had a little stubble on it from not shaving in probably a few days, and I seen that he had what looked like a cigarette in his hand. Another guy with a large forehead and dark brown hair was dancing around with a bottle in his hand, shouting incoherent words that no one would be able to understand.

"Sit down Brendon!" The other guy with red hair said with a laugh. He seemed relaxed, but something told me that he was far from relaxed. The guy with the bottle, Brendon I presumed, swayed a bit before falling on the ground and leaning against the wall of a building which meant he was facing me. His empty eyes looked me up and down, and his drunk face softened and he held up his bottle almost as if he were toasting to me and then took another swig of the beverage with distaste.

It's like he pitied me. I shook my head and gave one last glance at the red head, but I seen him already looking at me. His eyes were red, and he just seemed lost. I watched as he brought the cigarette back up to his lips, knowing good and well that it wasn't a normal one. It was probably laced with weed or something. I tore my gaze away from him and continued walking in the direction I was headed. I looked straight ahead the whole time, drowning out any type of noise that could possibly grab my attention. When I walked in my front door, my mom was in the kitchen.

"Tyler honey, you're a little late getting home. Is everything alright?" My mother asked gently, trying not to put to much attention on the fact that my clothes were too baggy.

"I'm fine. I just took my time today." I said, not lying, but also not telling her that I went through the bad part of town. "Did you have a good day at work?" I asked, taking a small bite of a cracker that had been set out with others on a plate.

"I did, and your day at school?" She asked, seemingly happy that I was at least nibbling on something edible.

"Alright." I stated simply, even though it was a blatant lie. She sighed, like she normally did when we had this conversation. There was a part of me that wondered why she didn't worry enough to try and help me, but then again I probably wouldn't let her.

"I bought you some new clothes, they should fit better than what you have. Those are a bit too big for you." She stated with a hard face, and I seen her eyes flash with something I'd seen far too many times. "You know that if something is going on, you can tell me right? You can trust me." She said quietly, placing a gentle hand on my bony shoulder.

"Of course." I said with a forced smile. "But I'm fine, mom. Don't worry." Lies. "I've got homework to do. I'll see you later." I told her and walked up to my room where I flopped down onto my bed. I knew I could always talk to her, or my dad, or one of the maids that we had during the day, but I wouldn't do that in a million years. They were all so busy and stressed out with their own busy lives that it would just be too much of a burden to try to talk about my issues. And I couldn't talk to my siblings unless it was by phone since they were all away at college, and they were always so busy with studies; more like parties.

I laid there for a few minutes before I started thinking about the stupid cracker I ate. And you wonder why you're fat.

I got up and ran to the bathroom to rid myself of what I'd eaten. God I needed help.

This story is going to be incredibly sad when it comes to the way of thought the two stars of the story.

Yes Brendon and Dallon will be a thing.

I really wanna just end it all right now, is that acceptable?

Likes and comments are appreciated.