~Everything about you is so terrible~
Y/N is simply... average. She doesn't mind it, really. I mean, who's she trying to impress? Sure, her life isn't anything perfect, but whatever. It is what it is. She had no interest in becoming popular, but my...
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There I was...
An average, unsuspecting teen, sitting alone in the back corner of the most terrifying place in the entire universe...
A high school cafeteria— An absolute clusterfuck of teenagerscomposedof raginghormones being obnoxious assholes.
I'm living the life,aren't I?
Well, could be worse, I guess. There is food, after all— Shitty, low-quality swill, but after sitting through mind-numbing classes all morning, I'm just glad to have something in my stomach. Out of a lack of literally anything better to do, my eyes survey the scene, observing my peers as if they were the stars of some wildlife documentary, my mind even adding it's own exaggerated commentary just for a laugh. I might also be... Mentally pretending I'm a part of their groups. Fine, I'll admit it, I'm friendless! So, sue me!
Why bother anyway if all they're going to do is stab your back once it's turned? Everybody's out for number one here. Sure, some will have a flock of people to surround themselves with, but it's just for show eight times out of ten, a way to make themselves look good and fluff up their egos. I watch a new case every day. I mean, just moments ago, I watched as this poor dude's best friend was playing footsie under the table with his girlfriend, while he obliviously chatted with the both of them. It's sickening.
However, I'm only human, and not all friendships look so terrible, at least from the outside. The good parts are very enticing, but I've just seen too much and know better, so I save myself the heartache. Hell, even if I did put myself out there, no one would want me anyway.
Stalker, creep, weirdo.
The list of names go on, really. I've had to sit through two agonizingly long years of high school hearing all that and more, but credit where credit is due, they're not exactly wrong. I am a creep by technical terms. I like observing people's behavior. I find it fascinating. People-watching is a hard habit to quit, and in no time at all, I was noticed and labeled accordingly.
Fine, whatever. I don't care.
A dry sound echoes out of the straw of my small carton of chocolate milk as I suck on it, signaling that it was empty and making me groan in annoyance as I glare at the container.
'Balls.' In a small fit of frustration, I toss it over my shoulder, expecting the carton to land in the trash that was literally right fucking there only for it to bounce off the rim and drop into the floor.
