please don't go, i'll eat you whole

1) sober

       "Dear journal,
 
  Today I learned not to fuck with jocks."

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     Being manhandled in a locker-room, while being fairly kinky, is not enjoyable. Well, maybe not to me. Maybe some man or woman out there is getting off on recieving mild concussions via hitting their head on metal for the fourth time in a row. That man or woman is definitely not me though. A straight 1/10; the one only stemming from my inability to think about the situation because of the sharp pains.
       "Well? Am I gonna get an answer or are you still just gonna ignore me?"
       Oh, right. Being manhandled here. Can't really do that alone.
       The sigh I heave is marginally heavy, tinted with the fact that I am very done with this bullshit. Looking up, I dead-stare the prick in the eyes. The question. What did he ask? Something about my soulmate? Probably that thing about me "stalking my kills" (the "kills" being the victims of my apperant sex parade where I rally all the guys in school and force them to dick me down).
      Fuck I zoned out again.
      "Repeat the question?" I ask, on edge from the tight hand still twisted into the front of my collar. Oh so close to my neck. It never ends well when they touch my neck. Actually it never ends well... ever.
       "God, what are you deaf?" (Yes actually. Only in my left ear though so I sadly still hear your cliche remarks.) "I asked what you were doing here."
       He puncuates his 'doing' with a tiny shove. Christ, he might as well just push me into the locker by now. He's pushing so hard that it's possible I'm denting this metal.
       "Fuck, I don't know Johnson. Maybe I'm waiting for Dilan to come in here and raw me. Or maybe for you to let me go so I can actually fucking change like a normal human at a track meeting." I quip, not even hesitating before pushing him back a little so his fist isn't as bruising aginst my chest. "Take a fucking wild guess."
        The track meeting ended around twenty minutes ago, I've just been jogging the lanes for a little to let the lots clear out. The soccer team's meet ended nearly the same time as mine, so it's kind of unnerving for Johnny Boy to still be kicking around the fields. He followed me in here. I'm half deaf not half blind. So I really don't understand why he's so bitchy about this "me being in the locker room" shit.
 

    "What the actual fuck are you talking about? I mean why are you still in track? We all know that you joined for Carson's ass. He's gone. So why the hell are you still here?"
        Oh yeah. Nate Carson. Basic fuckboy, brown hair, green eyes, my best friend for 5 years. Not a huge fan anymore. He dropped me for exposing his toxic and abusive soulmate, telling me I was wrong because she "always apologized for that shit".
         "In case you haven't noticed, but I'm an actual human, not a fucking dog that needs a constant person to follow. I'm still here because I want to be. Not to drool over asses like your group. And I'm staying too by the way, whether you feel emotionally threatened or not."
        I'm fucking done. I grip his hand and twist it away from my shirt with more speed than he was expecting, stunning him. I'm not fucking weak. I have muscle. Im not just a bitch you can push around whenever your daddy takes your juul away. The locker groans from the relieved pressure when I turn and yank my bag from the floor where I dropped it.
         I'm fuming by the time I shoulder out of the confined room. Sunlight and the nearly summer heat beat into my skin on my walk to my car. Johnson, or Eli, (because all enemies are refered to by last names) seems to have let me go because I haven't even seen him since I absconded.
        I reach Wildrow (my old beat-up punch buggy) and swing myself onto the comforting leather seats. The heat in here is worse than outside, the windshield having amplified the stupid rays. I turn on the car and wait for the CD to begin its first track (its stuck in there so I'm forever looped into the same Muse songs for the rest of my life).
       And I scream. I don't even look back to see if Eli is out of the lockers. I fucking blow. Shouting about nothing and everything. Nate, teachers, Eli, the moon, my mom. Fuck I even start up about how fucking stupid me shouting to myself is. This probably doesn't help the heat thats choking my inhales. Everything is just... too much right now. Though I know this isn't a panic attack, it feels like one. My chest is too tight and my fists are sore from gripping the wheel too hard. I rest my head on my left hand, right above the ends of the nightmare fuel that is my soulmark.
      FUCK.
       Eli bringing up Nate was hell of a low blow. We split up not even a month ago and the loss is killing me inside. The fact that he tossed me to the side like a fucking unwanted toy. The fact that our relationship became strained even before that when I came out in Freshman year as gay. The fact that his girlfriend that I was verbally attacking was telling him he went a little far by cutting me off. God this is all so fucked up.
        Uprising is blasting all throughout the car, nearly easing me up with the vibration from the speakers. I press my palm against the car door to get the beat better and relish in the feeling. I'm not crying but the scene definitely makes it look like I should be. Picture it, a Junior in high school throwing a temper tantrum in a Volkswagen.
       God I'm borderline pathetic.
       I just really hope this isn't  a moment that's printed onto my soulmate in a little symbol on their forearm, that would end my life.