Three words

Chapter five

Chrissy's POV

"What a loser!" Chaz shouted across the cafeteria, causing the whole student population to erupt into laughter. I just stood there, fighting back tears, and staring down at the better-than-nothing lunch food that was splattered against my shirt and the ground. What a birthday. Oh, should I mention that? I'm turning 18. 

I sniffed, but not daring to let out a tear, and slowly picked up my tray and put it on top of the trashcan, shuffling out of the cafeteria and trying to ignore the laughter and insults that were being propelled at me from dirty teenage minds.

Once I'd gotten out of the cafeteria, I ran towards the place I knew best; The abandoned janitors closet. I wouldn't say abandoned, clearly it wasn't by the suggesting cleaning supplies, but not many of the janitors used this closet. There were about thirteen different janitors closets that were scattered around the school but this one was in ward four, a corridor with almost no classes and almost no students in the classes that existed in the ward.

I'd come here during many of the times I'd been laughed at or made fun of and it really helped. The doors were sound proof but that's what made me glad to always call this closet my escape. I'd lock it, since the lock was positioned on the inside, and cry until I felt better. 

Then, after that trauma, I'd wait about another hour, telling myself stories and waiting for the pink and swelling in my blood shot eyes to go down. It really sucked that Nash and my other friends didn't come here, neither did Laura. She went to a design academy on the other side of West Yorkshire. 

I brought my hands up to my face and wiped the tears, even though I knew there'd be more. There was always more.

I quickly locked the door and sat on a face down olive colored wasg bucket, bawling my poor blue eyes out. I'd frequently look in my mini-pocket mirror and study how the red in the whites of my eyes clashed with the electric blue irises. I liked to study how colors mixed, the way one made the other pop or even the way they were so good together that they both popped and turned more than noticeable.

I had my bag propped up against the side of the door and I opened it, taking out my pre-stored packet of tissues.  I wiped my eyes and nose, not even bothering to put on something to cover the swelling in my eyes. 

I never wore make up, it was something that made me feel fake and it added to my insecurities. You mask ask, how does make up add to insecurities? It covers up your insecurities, but it makes mine even more visible. 

Like, 'Is my make up okay?' 'Does it make me look desperate for attention?' 'Would people make fun of me for it?' 'Did I put too much?' It's kind of hard to overpass those questions when all you do is beat yourself up and remind yourself of your insecurities. 

I felt a vibrate in my pocket and I took out my phone, seeing someone was calling me. I glanced at the caller ID, Nash, and picked up.

"Hey.."He said, sounding down and grumpy. 

"Hi." I mumbled. I could practically see the frown on his face; He knew me too well to not know something was wrong.

"Chrissy, what's wrong? Something's happened. Are you in that dang closet again?"He questioned, causing me to sigh and feel the tears rolling down my cheeks again.

"I wish I could take virtual school.." I whined, not bothering to hide my sharp intakes of breath whenever I needed air from crying.

"Chrissy, what happened?" He asked, shuffling around from the racket I can hear on the line.

"You called, you tell me what you needed." I said. I only told my friends about the closet that I hid in, but never ever telling them about what happened at school. They thought I was an average girl. Boy, they thought wrong.