Count The Stars

twenty-six

The days following what I liked to call "the incident" were hell. I spent the weekend sat up in my room with my head shoved deep into my pillow and only walking out to get food or take a piss. Other than that, my schedule was packed with nonstop sulking and overthinking about every single interaction I've had with Adam.

Why didn't I leave right away when we first met? Why did I jump so quickly into being his friend instead of giving the usual background check? Why was Grace so jealous?

I didn't understand why what could only be described as a stupid crush had snowballed into chaos. The kind of chaos where I was questioning my friendship, my relationship, and myself. It was a bit scary, laying silently in a pitch black room and just thinking. I stared at the peeling paint on my ceiling and let everything run through my head like a movie. By the time Monday rolled around, I was running on three hours of sleep and a pounding headache that had yet to subside.

I walked into school on Monday with two cups of coffee in my hands and deep purple bags under my eyes. I didn't care to do anything but sit and watch everything pass before my eyes.

I made it all the way to football practice without having to talk to anyone. It was surprisingly easy. Grace didn't try to talk to me in any class we had together. Instead, she just watched me like I was an animal at the zoo. She shot me looks full of pity and regret, but I didn't look back. I watched her out of my peripheral, waiting for her to say something like "I'm sorry," or "that was so stupid of me." I really hoped she wouldn't, because knowing how I am I would find a way to both forgive her and blame the whole situation on me. And in this instance, it was way too easy.

Adam didn't even spare me a glance when we passed each other. Every time our paths crossed, his features would harden and he would grip the straps of his bag in a way that made the black and blue splotches on his hand stand out. The whole bad-boy-who-loves-fighting look didn't suit him at all. Maybe to some of his friends, who I always heard asking him if he got into a fight with a underclassman or something, to which he always replied no. They thought he was lying. They made him out to be a tough guy, but the Adam I knew would cry over a particularly good Frank Ocean verse or spew random astronomy facts just because.

He was never the dangerous one. I was.

I always put our friendship in danger by getting into shitty situations. Believing rumours, telling people confidential bullshit, liking him, kissing him...

I groaned and slammed my forehead into the cold, metal door on my football locker. I didn't feel a thing.

"You alright, Eli? You look a little shitty," Marcus remarked from beside me.

"Cheers," I mumbled.

"Seriously," Blake asked, lowering his voice, "Are you alright, mate?"

"Fuck off," I hissed as I ripped off my shirt and shoved it into my locker. I wasn't in the mood to deal with his fake friend bullshit. I wasn't even in the mood for football, which was surprising, because I was always in the mood for football.

Oliver turned around from where he was getting dressed and gave my body a once over. I never really felt self conscious about how the bones in my chest naturally poked out a bit, or how despite the fact that I worked out nearly everyday, I had a lot less muscle built up than the other boys on my team. I was just a small kid. But in the locker room, I always felt like I was getting stared at and evaluated by everyone else.

"Eli, your arms! Did a cat get you or something?" He asked, his voice laced with concern but the smirk plastered on his face telling me otherwise.

I rolled my eyes and quickly went to reach for my kit, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me before I could get it. "Please let go."

"I'm just worried about you," he assured me before going to touch the scrapes and scabs around my fingers and arms, "was it another panic attack?"

My eyes widened, then quickly narrowed as I ripped my arm from his grasp. "What are you on about?" I grumbled.

"What? You think we don't see you having one of your moments whenever you fuck up in a match? Or even just around school? You really are a messed up kid, Eli," he told me, the other guys snickering and forming an intimidating clump behind him. Blake stayed next to me at his locker, staring inside like he couldn't hear everything that was going on. I fought the urge to ask him for help and instead I turned back to my locker, hoping that whatever he says will just go in one ear and out the other like everything else today.

"What are you so scared of all the time?" Marcus asked.

"I think he's afraid his girlfriend will find out he's cheating on her with that tall Asian lad," Oliver said.

I froze in my place, my hand halfway into the locker. "What?" I spat. Blake and I, our backs both turned to the other boys, made eye contact for a split second. He looked at me like he wanted to help; like he was begging me to just let it go so he could turn around and get the rest of the guys to piss off. But despite the fact that I was small enough that they could mow me down in laps and skinny enough that one punch to the chest could be detrimental, I was tough. And now I knew I was tough. "Don't be stupid, Oliver."

"Oh, right! My girlfriend told us about the fight you and Grace had with him! And she was all like, 'stay away from my man!' And you were crying and all like 'no! Please come back to me!'" Alex laughed from behind me. I was too busy focusing on my somersaulting stomach to realise his impressions were a bit offensive.

Oliver placed a clammy hand on my tense shoulder. "I guess you do have a lot to worry about. It must be hard being crazy and a f-."

"Mate," Blake spoke up, whipping around and pushing Oliver's hand away from me. I stayed turned around, my eyes squeezed shut as I counted each shaky breath I took.

Before anyone could make another joke at my expense, I pulled my shirt over my head and slammed the locker door shut, the clang of metal on metal echoing in the silent room. I stormed out, but not before snapping, "I quit, you ugly piece of shit," to Oliver.

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Oh boy Eli is really having a tough time huh? Do y'all think it's smart he quit, or should he have stayed? Honestly I think no because Oliver is a massive asshole. This chapter was hard to write. It hurt a little bit. :(

Thanks so much for reading even after my messy uploading schedule! Lots of love for yall

~Teddy