TW
The second the teacher tells us we can leave, I push past some unexpecting girl to get out of the classroom as quick, who turns around to me, shouting something unrepeatable. Phil asked me if I was okay, which sounds innocent, but there are so many things that make it the opposite.
People are not nice to me. I have no exchange of polite words with anyone. Nobody says hello to me when they see me, and nobody asks if I'm okay, because nobody cares, and it's most likely that anyone speaking t me is one of the reasons why I'm not.
"Hey girl!" I hear a girl shout with a hint of spite in her voice, placing a hand on my shoulder and spinning me around. "Oh wait, that's not a girl, it's Daniel." She adds, earning high-pitched giggles from her group of friends, paired with the chuckle emitted from her boyfriend Kian who just so happens to be here too. "But then again, maybe you are a girl. What, with that skirt and pink sweater."
"I'm not a girl." I mumble, too quiet to hear, her grip still on my shoulder.
"What was that, pretty boy?"Asks a boy, who I guess is Kian, adding to the mockery going on.
"I'm not a girl."
"Of course you are, Danielle."
I kick the girl, who I think is called Patricia, in the legs so that she loosens her grip on me, and run off faster than I've ever done before in hopes of not being chased down by her psychotic boyfriend. As soon as I reach the boys' toilets for the second time today, I enter one of the stalls and lock it instantaneously. Although it could be considered safe, anyone could find a way to get into the small stalls with the door still locked. It sure as hell has happened before.
The tears are already making their way down my cheeks, and I brush my hair out of my face to avoid it sticking to the dampened skin. My breathing becomes rapid, loud and ugly sounding sobs escaping my mouth. I could try to be quiet, but everyone's seen and heard me cry, almost. Phil is terrifying, I don't want to know what he'd do if he saw someone crying.
I keep the cover down on the toilet, sitting down and opening the front pocket of my backpack. From it, I take out a small razor blade which I keep with me at all times. Sometimes I have the urge and need something to use when that happens. I pull up my sleeves to my elbows, exposing the damaged and terribly scarred skin of my forearm.
I sink down the blade into my skin, not causing much pain. I feel more emotional pain than physical pain, so it's easy. I begin to set slits on my wrist, some diagonal, some horizontal, some vertical. It's not in my bothers what they look like, as long as they make me bleed, giving me a sense of relief.
People think they can't offend me because I take joy out of flower crowns and pretty colours.
YOU ARE READING
TOO GOOD ; Phan
Fanfiction"Too good to be good for me, Too bad that that's all I need." //Some chapter will have TW written at the top if I decide they need a trigger warning// [COMPLETED]
