Stupid Little Blue Haired Boy (boyxboy)

alcohol tastes like butt, okay? okay good. don't do alcohol guys.

i'm actually starting to write again! you know what that means?

CHAPTERS! woohoo.

dedicated to mister jacob for giving me a reason to rush home every day after school. he's like seriously one of the coolest people i've ever talked to.

to the six and a half of you who actually read my stories, i present to you, chapter 21!

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I can't sleep that night.  Tomorrow comes way too fast and brings with it the horror of school.  I shove my hands deep in my pockets and survive the halls with head down and hood up.  

The shield isn't quite so effective during class periods, however.

Timmy slides beside me without even a word.  I get a head nod, but that's the entent of our interaction.  At the end of class, I watch him stand and greet a bightly coloured girl waiting just outside the doorway.  She smiles, and he gives a weak wave and follows her down the crowded hallway, in the complete opposite direction of his next period.  I watch him until he's gone from view, and I'm torn between ditching the rest of the day, or running after him to apologize.

I don't do either.  I can't afford giving my parents reason to worry that something's wrong when I've been doing so well.

It's just six more stupid periods.  You can do this.

It's easier said than done.

Second period, I sleep.  Same with third and fourth.  Fifth is a little harder, seeing that the blue haired boy who should be occupying the seat beside me is absent.

Where the fuck is he?

Where could he be?  Why isn't he in class?  It's completely out of character.  Timmy doesn't ditch.  Timmy doesn't disappear with strange children I've never seen before.  Timmy doesn't just ignore me all through first period, and not show up to fifth.

"You must know the kid pretty well to be making these assumptions."

I turn to see Justin sitting in his old desk, hands folded in his lap.

"I thought I did," I whisper.  I don't question why he's here, only take pleasure in his presence.  

"You don't know anything about a person, Damian.  Ever.  That's just the way this world works.  We're all too fake for that."

"Are you fake?"

He gives me a sad smile.  "I tried not to be.  However, I'm not perfect."

I don't have a response for him.

"But I'm dead, Damian.  I can be anything you want me to be."

"I want you to be Justin.  Can you be Justin?"

"I sure can try."  He points a ghostly finger towards the door where a very shaky Timmy is slipping into the room.  "Focus on the living, Damian.  They're important too."

"Can I help you?"  The teacher's not particularly overjoyed in being interrupted mid-lecture.  

"Sor...sorry," he stammers.  "I got a bit um...lost."

"Do you have a pass?"

"No."

She sighs and writes him a detention slip.  "Take your seat, Mr. McKinnon."

Timmy awkwardly shuffles to the back.  When he sits, Justin evaporates.  His jacket reeks of cigarettes.

"Hey."  He bends to unzip his backpack and pull out a pen.

I nod.  He's not really paying attention to be.  I'd ask him a million questions, but he wouldn't answer.  I'd apologize, but I don't have the words.

I'd do so many things, but I just can't.  I'm fucking pathetic.

Justin come back.

Why does Timmy smell like cancer?

Fuck, now I want a smoke.

When is this class over?  I glance at the clock.  Forty minutes, Justin, can't you speed up time?

I'm not usually this whiny, I promise.

 "I'm just dead, Damian.  I'm not magic."  Justin sits on the edge of my desk.  

"Why do you stick around?  I thought I had to start living," I mumble at him.

Timmy tuens, headphone falling out of his ear.  Music spills into the classroom.  "Huh?"

Shaking my head, i turn back to the boy who's not really there.

"Talk to him."

You've become really annoying.

"No Damian, you've just changed.  You grew while I'm stuck in the past.  I'm just memories."

Doesn't that mean you have to have done and said everything you're doing and saying now?

"Not necessarily, but that's a good theory."

Then how do I know how you'd say everything?

"That's a good point."  Justin sighs.  "You don't.  You know nothing."

Now it's my turn to sigh.  "I know I want you back.

He gestures to the desk beside me.  "Bye Damian."  Justin exits with a poof.  Just like a fucking fairytale.

Bye Justy.

Timmy's laying asleep on his arm, pen having rolled to the space between us.  He's peaceful as he rests, but it's all wrong.  Where did all that energy go?  Isn't he supposed to be smiling, free from the scent of exhaustion?  It's not supposed to change this fast.  People just don't.  

"Timmy..."  I'm far too quiet.  He can't hear me.

"Timmy."  I try again.

No reaction.

Then, I don't want to wake him.  He looks content, so why would I want to pull him back to reality?  Reality's a harsh, cruel place where boyfriends are lost, friends are forgotten and promises are broken.

I watch the rain, instead.

It's beautiful, coming down in a thick sheet of gray.  It's the kind of beauty you have to slow down to recognize, which is why it's so often passed by.  Depression slows me down.  I think everyone should spend a week being depressed if it means they'll slow down enough to appreciate the beauty of the rain.  But no longer than that.

I've always been depressed.  It's wired into my being.  Some people are sad and some people are happy and some people act like two year olds on crack the second they're given sugar, flicking icy blue hair all over the place.  Justin's happy, I'm sad.  Opposites attract and we emphasized the best in each other.

Black and white, dark and light, rain and sun.  

I watch the rain until the end of the period, distracted by pure emotion.  I miss the way Timmy jumps as the bell wakes him, but I'm still fully in the moment.

The rain pours down.