deadlox's pov
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he let me out the next morning.
It was weird, he let me pick out my own clothes and hairstyle.
It probably was a doctors order.
Something stupid like 'he needs to find who he is again!'
my hairstyle was really long so it covered most of my face. That way I get noticed less, I can hide bruises and scars, no one can tell if im crying or offended as long as I get my voice just right. Plus, I look badass. Not the cool kind though. More like the unwanted jungle man kind of badass.
I wear long{very worn} grey jeans, a long sleeve white V-neck, and my most valuble thing ever, my headphones. They are black with a little green light on the sides.
Have to hide as much as I can.
I walk towards the school.
I would run to prevent my brother coming, but im to sore.
It was a disgusting, humid, cloudy day. It would probably rain.
I get a few looks.
Dont look up, just let them think theres no place else you rather be.
I just get even more looks, someone was laughing at me very loudly followed by more people laughing, and once a slut grabbed my ass, but I ignored them.
Damn them all to hell.
I hear a voice out of the crowd calling someone. But, theres no way its me.
One, its my first day here, so nobody knows me. Two, im me... unlikeable.
A hand lands on my shoulder.
no. no no no no no no no.
I forgot to account bullies into surviving school.
I weakly slap it away and run into the school.
Oh god, wheres my class?
Room 326.
come on, where is it?!
Oh no.
the students werent allowed into the school yet!
I hear the slam of the shoes of a frustrated {or possibly just always grumpy or la pissed}teacher.
I have to hide. Now.
I sprint as quiet as I can down the hall.
I turn a corner, open a door, and step into darkness.
Just incase, I hold the doorknob, but the teacher doesnt touch it.
I feel the wall next to the door until I find a light switch.
I havent stumbled into a classroom, it is a old janitors closet that smells like sour sponges.
The back wall has built-in shelves filled with dusty textbooks and a few bottles of bleach. A stained armchair and an old fasioned deak peek from behind a collection of mops and brooms. A cracked mirror tilts over a sink littered with dead roaches crocheted together with cobwebs. The taps are so rusted they dont turn.
No janitor has chilled in this closet for a long time.
They must have gotten a new lounge and supply room.
This closet is abandoned-it has no purpose, no name.
It is the perfect place for me.
