Under My Skin (BoyxBoy)

I slam my locker shut in a pissed off form and let my back become supported by the cold metal. My eyes lock on Drew Ryan.

Perfect looks, perfect friends, perfect fucking life.

Needless to say, I fucking hate him.

He smirks at me, noticing the already forming bruise over my eye from the previous PE class. He walks past with his perfect looks, perfect friends and perfect girlfriend.

I hate him for he is himself.

He hates me because I am myself. We weren’t always sworn enemies. At one point we were best friends. Then again that was four years ago. Before he looked like an underwear model and way before he became a cocky and arrogant ass. I clutch the strap of my bag firmer and make my way out of the school. Only a year left of this hellhole and then I’m off to Harvard. Being only a week away from summer break the sun pelts down on my face, immediately heating me. Within ten minutes of walking I’m regretting my choice of clothing of a black hoodie, beanie and black jeans. My choice of style is precisely another reason of why Drew Ryan hates my guts. He wouldn’t dare hang out with one that rather darker colour than the bright colours of the rainbow. But hey, I might as well reflect how I feel on the inside with my clothes on the outside. I bite my lip as my house comes into view. This would either be a good day for my mother or a bad day. To be honest I hoped for a bad, in that way I’m not the one to piss her off.

As soon as I open the door the smell of baking smacks my face. Good day then.

Fantastic.

I had hoped that I could slink past her, unnoticed. But instead she pounces on me when I’m three steps in the house.

“Ace honey! How was school?” she jumps in front of me, a tornado of blonde hair and brown eyes and smiles.

“Okay.”

She beams at me and grasps me in a hug. I awkwardly stand there. She pulls back, frowning.

“You’re all bone, Acey.”

I mentally cross my fingers that she doesn’t pick up on anything.

“Lucky you having a fast metabolism,” she grins and I let out a sigh of relief. “Honey, we’re going to have some friends over tonight so wear something nice,” she looks me up and down again, “instead of your usual dreary demeanor.”

“Who?” I ask, daring to speak.

“The Ryan’s. We haven’t had them over since you and Drew were young! I ran into his mother the other day and we both said it’s a brilliant idea.”

I just stare at her, my jaw hanging open.

“The Ryan’s?” I choke out. Her face drops. Uh oh.

“You should be pleased about this!” she turns from sickly sweet mother to raging bitch in seconds.

“I’m not going.”

“Yes you are, you ungrateful brat.” A deafening slap to my face of which I flush red from. “Go upstairs and get ready, they’ll be here in an hour.”

Knowing it’s better to leave her I make my way upstairs to my room, which in all reality is the size of a shoe box. I may be exaggerating but it only has room for a single bed, a shabby wardrobe and no windows. Not that our house is the smallest house ever. It’s just that my mother wanted to hide me away from society. So that’s why she put me in the smallest room in the house. A room that was originally made for storage. I pull the small string in the middle of the room to cast a light. The uncovered bulb rocks back and forth unsteadily. I look at my reflection in the body length mirror on the back of the wardrobe. My pale skin practically shines and my dark hair falls over my forehead and the majority of my brown eyes. My cheeks are sunken back into my face, giving the illusion that I have prominent cheekbones. I take off my shirt in front of the mirror and trace my ribs with my fingers, feeling the bumps of bone beneath skin, then tracing them down to the hollow of my stomach.

Not good enough.

I bite my lip and pull out three t-shirts, pulling them on one after another and then pull on a checked red and black shirt, leaving it open. This kinda gives the illusion that I’m not as skinny as I am.

By the time the doorbell rings I’m deep in the works of Bram Stoker. I hear voices of happy chatter and then someone coming up the stairs. I assume that it’s Mom, about to scream at me to go downstairs. But instead the door opens and Drew steps in. The pathetic light barely illuminates his face. His cheekbones cast shadows and his bronze hair is tousled masterfully over his forehead. He raises an eyebrow at me.

“You live in a closet,” he states, looking around in a disapproving manor. I continue reading as if he isn’t there.

“Yeah, real mature,” he scoffs and looks around once more. “Fine, I’m going.” He pulls the string of the light and the room is cast in pitch black. I hear the slam of a door and the faint click of the lock. I shoot off of my bed and stumble across the floor. I jiggle the handle to find that it’s obviously locked.

“I will kill you,” I shout at him. I hear a chuckle in response.

“Now you don’t ignore me. Ironic huh?”

“Would you like me to list out all the things that I plan to do to you when I get out?”

“I doubt you could do very much, twig,” I can literally hear him smirking.

“You’re a dick, do you know that?” I hiss at him.

“At least I have one.”

I can hear him going back downstairs. I bang on the door. “Open the fucking door, Drew!”

No response. Bastard. I hate him. So much. 

After a few more minutes of banging on the door, I give up and decide to find some source of light. I spend ages on the floor, feeling around for a box of matches I know I have somewhere.

“Ready to come out yet?” Drew’s obnoxious voice comes again. I scramble to the door.

“I’m ready to kill you.”

He makes a tutting noise, “That’s not the attitude. I’ll just tell you’re mother than you’re an unsocial emo prick.”

I clench my fists, hoping that my dislike for him is seeping through the door.

“Ask nicely,” he tells me in a sing song voice.

“Can you pretty please let me out, Drew?” I take a breath, “I promise I won’t kill you.”

“At a boy,” the door opens. I swing my clenched fist to meet his jaw. Drew goes flailing backwards.

That felt so good. Drew springs forward, knocking me over. He’s soon on top, slapping me.

I let out a laugh.

“What the hell are you laughing at?” he demands.

“You fight like a girl.”

"Boys!" my mothers voice comes up the stairs. Drew backs off of me and stands up. Mom looks up the stairs. 

"What happened?" 

"Ace just had a bit of a fall," Drew tells her with one of his signature smiles. Mom smiles back and walks off, perfectly fine with that excuse. 

I resist the urge to bite him. 

*

New boyxboy!

I hope you're interested (:

I'm going to upload in 6 votes, which gives me time to write more. 

Picture is of Ace. 

<3