Not your fault

1. Crash

Deathly, pale skin; visible, sharp, cheek bones and terrible, black bags. The puffy, soft, hoodie to hide his skeleton like figure. Bland eyes without the old shine, watch things like it's a boring peice of junk. Submerged into darkness and closed, locked, doors, he doesn't even eat anymore. Losing appetite and depression starts to take over.

He walks out of the freezing, antartic room. Walks down the ecohing corridor and placing his hand on the bronze, carved, door handle.
"Mom?" askes, peering into his parent's room. the white curtains were drawn to let light flow though, slightly blinding the boy. He sneaks over to the heaps of blankets resting on the bed and he kneels down to be eye level with a peep-hole. "Mom, I got to go school today. If I don't, I'll lose grade. Dad should be back home today. Later we can hopefully cook together." He only made food for her if she didn't help and only made himslef food if she was there with him to see him eat. Her frail hand reaches out of the covers to caress his soft cheek as she rubbs soft circles to let him know she heard. Her hand retracts into the sheets as he gets up to leave, stopping at the door to look back at her before leaving the house and locking it behind him.

The walk was far. He hadn't been going to school in order to look after his mother, once his father left for work in England. She became ill after a few week he left. He never understood how, all that the doctors prescribed her with clinical depression. Hoping that his father coming home will help aid her, he continued the walk to school with his soundproof headphones blasting My chemical romance and Panic! At the disco. He left early to avoid confrontation from teachers/bullies or the crowds, that he did, but not from the boisterous, popluar (childlike) student named Patton.

Patton wore a blue polo-shirt with a grey cardigan over his shoulders - he says it feels like someone giving him a hug - with Khaki pants. He has dotted freakles splashed onto his rosy cheeks and under his 'Harry potter' like glass. His hair is a dirty blond shade in soft curls and eyes as blue as the sky. His smile spreads from ear to ear, making his whole face light up. Patton wasn't that much taller than him. If you didn't see them close together, you would say they are the same height.

"Virgil!! You're back!" Patton knew eveyone in the school, even if they are close or not. In this case, they were not close, and it surprised Virgil anybody (other than the teachers) realised he was gone. Patton ran over and stopped infront of the quite, sickly pale boy with a small smile and frowed eyebrows in worry. "Are you okay? You're pale."

"I'm always pale." He shot back and scooted around Patton to carry on walking to the libary. It wasn't that Virgil didn't have friends... okay that was a lie. He never understood why people had friends. Friends could always go behind your back. But Virgil was quite an anxious person; socially awkward aswell. He understood that friends made you smile and you could laugh with them but with him, the glass was always half full with them around... but friends always leave... one way or another.

He continued his walk towards the libary and pushed the heavy door with a grunt. Managing to get inside to the warm, and delightful smell of books hitting him, he sighed in pleasure. The libary was his safe place: it was quiet, few people and a calming atmosphere. Walking up to the front desk, he greeted the Librarian with a small smile.

"Ah. Virgil, haven't seen you in a less than a month. How are you?" The librarian - Mrs. Ariti - smiled. Her pale complexion and high, sharp cheekbones made her look young and quite stunning. Plump lips and caring eyes gave off a kind glow. Brunett hair tied in a messy bun and loose strands caressing her face. Daffodil coloured dress, woven brown belt and an indigo cardigan.

"I... been busy. Can I-I... the key?" He asked playing with the sweater paws his hoodie provided him. She nodded in understanding and reached under the desk into a draw to pull out the black lanyard with a single key attached.
"Of course flower." She placed them into the palm of his hand with a smile before continuing with her work as he walked to door at the back of the room. Dark wood gloss painted the door with a silver handle and keyslot. Jiggling the key into the lock, the door opened to a petit, gloomy closet like  room, but it ment so much more to Virgil. The dim lights gave off a soft glow so he isn't surrounded by the heavy shadows and not to bright to give an uneasy feeling during his states on panic. Purple beanbags and black pillows on the left-hand side corner for comfort, spare headphones, sketch books and other distractions to help his metal-health state.

Dropping his bag next to the door, he staggered to the beanbags, collapsing once he reached them. Staying with his legs tucked into his chest and arms around the nightmare before Christmas themed pillow, the bell rang, signalling he needed to be in class in the next 5 minutes.

Rushing. Running. Screaming. The corridors were louder than he remembered. Cheerleaders on theirs phones, not caring they need to be in class in 3 minutes. Jocks throwing the American football  around, seeing how far they can get before it hits someone or they get told off, either way, not a smart choice. Then the normal students pushing through the crowds to at least make the bell. And of course, the nerds who are most likely already seated at the desks.

He tried to push though the crowds with no avail with his hood up and sweater paws shoved into his pockets.  All I needed to do was make it down this corridor, turn right and it's to door on the left. Easy. Looking up at the corridor before him, he knew easy wasn't the right choice in words. It was the exact oposite of 'easy'. 2 minutes left.

"Roman Catch!" Jocks. Jocks everywhere: and ones before him now are the most wreckless, sporty and prankster ones in the school. He looked up when he heared pounding of shoes drawing nearer towards him. Ice. Pain. Numb. He didn't know how, but he was on the floor with a numb, painful, but numb shoulder.

"Oh my god! I am so sorry!" The man dropped the ball - which he caught - to the ground help the shook boy from the floor, reaching his hands out, which Virgil cautiously accepted, wincing at the shooting pain in his shoulder, now feeling the aftermath. Hoisting the boy up, Vigil shoved his hand back into his pockets with his head down and studing the tiles on the floor.

"I'm sorry." Virgil looked up at the boys eyes before continuing, "I should have moved out of the w-"

"Don't blame your self. You didn't do anything, I was the one who ran into you." Only now did Virgil notice the boys features. Soft, Wavy locks in the colour of chocolate coated caramels. Sharp jawline with lips the colour of a strawberry milkshake. Jade eyes that shone just as bright as the stars. Pure happiness-filled smile showed his pearl teeth. He was wearing the typical Jock outfit: skinny, white jeans, red v-neck shirt and the Jock hoodie that read 'Pr1nce5' on the back and on the left shoulder. That was when it struck the dark, emo boy. Why is a jock apologising to a nobody, freak like me? 
30 seconds left till the bell...

"I'm sorry I got to go." Pushing off to get past the no-named boy, Virgil sprinted to class, just makeing it to class before the bell. Unknown to him that the Jock watched him with sad, yet determind eyes. to figure out who that boy is, and hope to see him once again.