journal entry || Cyrus Goodman + TJ Kippen

journal 5

Warning: tj faces anger issues. if something like that may trigger you, then stop reading at the bathroom scene and pick back up when it's done ( i'll put a — when it is. ) anger issues will be a new topic introduced in this story, and will be something tj will battle with. thank you.

it's been a few days since i last talked to cyrus. i've seen him at lunch, in the halls and even outside in the bus lot. but before i could say anything buffy swept him away from me. like she's scared i'll hurt him, or the opposite. she's scared he'd actually wanna be friends with me. today i thought a lot about holding his hand again. that's gay, i know. but i thought about it particularly in math, not because i was bad at this subject and wanted a distraction, but because i knew cyrus was a math nerd. i bet he knew almost 200 digits of pi. and today, of course, was pi day. today is pi day, and i just want to hold cyrus goodman's hand.

as my thoughts went on and on about how i'd never see or hold cyrus goodman's hand again got stronger and louder, it became too over whelming.

"mrs. smith? can i go to the restroom?"
i sat up in class already on my way to the door.
"sure, you have five minutes. anymore than that and it'll be a detention."
i nodded and left without a hall pass. i wanted to cry. god, i hate even admitting that to myself. i cant cry. not in the halls, and not in school. not ever. as i got closer to the bathroom the emotions inside me began to mix. anger, sorrow and regret.

i pushed the bathroom door open loudly and went to the mirrors above the sink. i looked at my reflection for a second before hitting the mirror as hard as a could. the glass shattered, most of the shards fell into the sink, the rest were in my knuckles. you're so stupid, tj kippen.

—

Cyrus Goodman's POV

i freaking hate tests. especially chemistry tests. i read the third question over and over again to myself, it made no sense. i reached for my pencil to guess the answer 'B', when my finger brushed it and it rolled off my desk and by the door.

i looked up at Mr. Reagan to make sure it was okay to grab my pencil, and he nodded. i walked over to the door and bent down to grab the pencil, but i immediately stopped when i heard something in the boys bathroom across the hall. glass shattering? i grab the pencil and set it on my desk.

"Mr. Reagan, may i go to the restroom quickly?" i asked and as soon as he nodded 'yes' i quickly moved down the hall. gosh, i'm so nosy.

as soon as i got closer to the bathroom i heard quiet shouting.

"you're so STUPID!"

i immediately recognized the voice, it was Tj's. i quickly pushed open the door. "teej?" i asked quietly.

Tj stood in front of the broken mirror quietly.
"tj? it's cyrus." i said when i was only inches away from him. "i know." he mumbled. "what happened?" i asked, examining the room. "nothing." he replied. still confused, my eyes explored him and the room. glass, blood on the mirror, or at least what was left if it... my eyes wandered down. blood on tj's hand. there's blood on tj's hand. okay.

"tj, did you... hit the mirror?" i asked, he nodded while still not facing me, his eyes glued to the ground. "why?" i asked. no answer. "tj, why?" i repeated. i stepped closer, barely any space between us, and grabbed his arm. "why won't you look at me?" i asked, a little hurt but mostly worried. i waited a minute, but there was still silence. small tears began to weld in my eyes, and i began to make assumptions. did he somehow figure out i'm gay? did he want me to go away? was he mad at me for not talking to him? i couldn't, not until now. buffy wouldn't let me. "tj, why are you ignoring me?" i asked, and i saw him wipe under his eyes with the the arm i wasn't holding. was he crying? i grabbed his other arm, forcing him to look down at me.
"tj, please answer me.." he shook his arms out of my embrace, "i cant." he said. he was so quiet. he turned to the broken mirror again, avoiding eye contact with me. no. he can't do this, i grabbed his arms again and with the small amount of body strength i had, i forced him to look at me again. "tj, tell me. please? you know i wouldn't ever judge you."
there was a small pause, but he started to speak.

"you're so annoying, do you know that?" he said to me. his tone was harsh. i was taken back. "tj- what do yo-" he interrupted me "i mean, you come here and- and you make me feel stuff i KNOW i'm not supposed to feel, and then buffy tells you to stay away, and you do?" he stopped talking for a moment to let his eyes explore the room, explore anything but me. "you just listen to her. you don't think about me. this entire time, i'm wondering if it's buffy making you stay away, or if you really don't want anything to do with me." he turned away from me. "tj, i-"

"you know what cyrus?" he turned to me, no more exploring different objects in the room, just me. his eyes locked with mine. "i don't care anymore." he started, and i felt my heart break. "i don't want to talk to you." he spat at me with a fed up tone. "i don't- I DON'T want anything to do with you!" he yelled, and i felt my bottom lip begin to tremble. he continued to stare into my eyes, his expression cold and his eyes unreadable. it felt like an hour, though it was only a few seconds, before he pushed past me, bumping my shoulder harshly and leaving the bathroom. i was speechless, i was no longer aware of the surroundings or the hot tears racing down my cheeks. i curled up in the corner and hugged my knees, i couldn't breathe.

tj kippen hates me.

—

tj kippen's pov

i shoved him as i walked past, something boiled inside of me, unsurprisingly it was a feeling i was way too familiar with. i cant think of anything, nothing but the feeling in my chest and stomach. i couldn't go back to class, so i slipped out the front door of the school and jogged home. when i arrived i locked my bedroom door and rug out my journal.

journal 5

cyrus goodman doesn't like me. i know he doesn't, he didn't want to talk to me. all he ever does is follow driscoll like a lost puppy, following her every command like she's owns him. and he's okay with it.

brown is no longer my favorite color.

—
hey my beautiful children. was that creepy? yes. will i stop? no. anyways buckle your seatbelts because we are- well YOU are in for a bumpy ass ride.