Open Eyes (Phan)

Thirteen

Dan

My shoes scuffed on the floor as I walked slowly down the main hall. The white floors reflected the bright lights in the ceiling above. I watched my shoe laces bounce and swing with every step. I heaved a heavy sigh as I raised my gaze as I approached my locker. The rapid clicks of the spinning combination lock filled my ears while I put in the pass code. I pulled the dented metal door open. The hinges squealed in protest.

Oceans. The night. Snow.

I opened my locker with the intent of grabbing the books I would need for my first few classes, but I ended up staring into the small space for a while, trying to remember what the hell I was doing. My mind was doing absolutely nothing, and practically everything. It felt hollow and crowded. The voices were deafeningly silent. I couldn't figure out what the hell I was doing here. Not just at my locker, or in this building, but on the planet. In existence. Why was I here?

Oceans. The night. Snow.

Eventually I gave up and slammed the locker shut. The bang echoed across the empty hall for a moment, but I was already walking away when it grew quiet again.

I tried to go to my first class, if you count standing in front of the door for five minutes as trying. I used the fact that I was already half an hour late as an excuse to not go in. So instead of being a good student and going in, I turned away from the door. I didn't even go to the bathroom and hide in the stall like I normally did. I went out the back door and into the tiny courtyard behind the school building.

Oceans. The night. And snow.

I could've sworn it took slightly longer for the door to close. But I had my back to it, and I didn't particularly care enough to see who had followed me out here.

I stayed out there for a few hours, sitting on the concrete ground with my back against the brick wall. I smoked a few cigarettes out of a pack I'd stolen from my step father; an action I knew I was going to regret later. I wasn't addicted or anything, I didn't smoke enough for that to happen. But every once in a while, I wasn't opposed to a few.

I took a drag. The smoke filled my lungs, my heart, my chest. And when I exhaled, a thick grey cloud billowed past my parted lips and filled the air around me. Honestly, the nicotine didn't do anything for me. But I found calm in watching the smoke leave my body. In watching as it dissipated into the air. I liked the smell, too, for whatever reason. I knew most people didn't enjoy it. Most people found it revolting. But, as I had come to realize at a young age, I was not like most people.

My thoughts drifted back to Phil. To yesterday. To what had happened. To what he had seen. I was shriveled, deflated. He hadn't texted me at all. And I hadn't tried to reach out to him. I was convinced that he had repressed all memories of me. That he wanted nothing to do with Dan Howell. The abused suicidal kid.

I was so lost in my train of thought that I didn't hear the back doors open. I didn't hear the approaching footsteps. I didn't realize that I wasn't alone back here until a fist thrust itself into my field of vision and wrapped itself around my collar. I let out a choked cry as a hulking figure lifted me off the ground.

"M-Mike!" I stuttered, my voice raising an octave. His face was mere inches from mine.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite little fag," he sneered. He smiled wickedly. His eyes danced with cold rage and flaming hate.

"P-pleas-se!" I cried. Tears welled in my eyes as I begged. But I didn't squirm, or try to get away.

"Please what?" Mike taunted. God, I was so weak. So helpless.