I live for her

Chapter 2: Just A Thought

I woke up and made my way to the bathroom to splash my face with water. I stare deeply at the face in the mirror, the bags under his eyes say he's only had 2 hours of sleep, but I feel so alive right now. My face... I've always wanted better facial features, always thought I was a horrid creature... but she makes me feel like a prince charming. (Okay, I'm lying, she makes me feel like I can walk in public without people wanting to take a picture with me because my ugliness made the Guinness book of records.). She makes me feel like nobility, like a dark knight. (Only the latter is true because a knight in chess only moves in an L-shape... which is an apt metaphor because I'm a loser. The kind of loser who writes a book about living for a girl.). I really wonder what she sees in me, wonder what her pretty eyes see in my ugly guise. I inhale and exhale, to reset my mind... It's too early for such pessimistic thoughts, it's too early for me to beat myself up, it's too early for my self-esteem to crumble. I slap my right cheek three times (because three is some magical and charming number or something). I try to ignore the signs of my unattractive skinny frame like the huge ditch above my clavicle. I try not to stare at my protruding clavicle, I try not to scale the size of the radius of my wrist, I try not to condemn myself because of how defined the foot of my right ulna connected to my wrist is. I try to ignore my unattractively skinny frame... I try to ignore the ribs peering at me, reminding me that I'm skinny. I try, I try, I try, I cry.

I slam my hands hard against the rim of the sink and yell, "Fuck!". ( The profanity was a euphemism for "I'm so stupid and I really wish a bone cracked or fractured or broke... but it didn't"). I quickly remember my dad is home, I turn the tap on and splash water on my face, I hastily clean up the evidence that I hate my body. I place my thumbs on my temples and massage them, I whisper to myself, "It's not a big deal. LEROY... It's. Not. A. Fucking. Big. Deal... ". I feel my emotional tidal waves subside, I feel my breathing normalise, I feel myself believing my lies and I remind myself that Emily loves - no, "loves" - me. (I flick the little devil on my shoulder and resume the remembering). I remind myself of her marshmallow-warm hugs and hot-chocolate-warm voice, I remind myself that her beautiful body fits perfectly into my arms... I remind myself that there's nothing I can do about my fast metabolism - as I brush my teeth, shave my 'stache and shower. I get out of the shower, and I make the tallish sad figure smile. He laughs, he laughs because he has a weak sense of humor, he laughs because pain makes him laugh, he laughs because only retarded people smile at themselves like he does with the mirror. (I smile because my fake smiles are getting more authentic.).

And the only reason I walk out the door and head towards the bus stop is because the following lyrics from "Johnny Boy" by Twenty One Pilots snapped me out of my mental skirmish: "Get up Johnny boy, get up 'cause the world has left you lying on the ground, you're my pride and joy, you're my pride and joy, get up Johnny Boy because we all need you now." It always sounds like he screams that "we all need you now" and every single time - it squeezes my cold numbed heart into a squished mess of red and cardiac tissue that always asks me, "Why are you wasting your time pitying yourself?".

And I'll be honest, I don't know why anyone would need me... Or miss me. My dad, he's too busy trying to juggle the trials of heartbreak, the stress of being a doctor and the patience mum and her brain tumour surgery require. My mum, she's too busy trying to hang onto Life... (but I see the Grim Reaper's scythe tickling her weakening arm. In some dreams he makes a slash. Light blood spews. And mum falls into this dark abyss. And Life is an angel, so it looks down at its, his or her feet surprised because it's carrying less weight with its, his or her wings - and then it flies away and I stay awake for the rest of the early morning.). And Emily, Emily...

She doesn't know the real me - she doesn't know this me and she won't even understand him. Emily doesn't even know me, so why'd she miss me?

With my hand tucked into the pockets of my red hoodie and my feet walking across this white concrete sidewalk, I ponder opening up to her. I contemplate telling a human being everything my face is good at masking. I ponder telling Emily that I'm forever on this never-ending rollercoaster that has anxiety-breeding descents and heart-gripping ascents. That every time it goes up, the beating of my heart is viewed as a gift and when it goes down, the toiling of my heart to keep me alive seems to be in vain and being a coward sucks because I know pain-free ways to silence my heart's beat but I can't employ any of them.

A/N: Yes... I know, I put in another Twenty One Pilots reference, but do not be dismayed, it's not gonna be a regular occurrence 😄 so do you think Leroy has the guts to open up to Emily?

And if you liked it or could relate in some way don't forget to drop a star and tell me what you think in the comments section 🐶

And I just want to say thank you so much to every single one of you, my readers, I've been receiving some awesome comments and support on this book and it's very heartwarming to read. Thanks a lot guys 😘❤️

(And this chapter should have been published ages ago... But I dunno what happened, like a glitch or something: so you'll get two chapters today I guess 🐶)