They always tell me I'm weird. Or ugly. Or fat. Or disgusting, or stupid, or a loser. They spit vulgar and harsh words at me. But it never works, for they just bounce off of me like how Kim Kardashian has short, blonde hair. Oh, but Connor, she doesn't have short, blonde hair, she has long, black hair! Yeah, I know. Kim Kardashian doesn't have blonde hair, and the words don't bounce off. They stick. Every single one. Yasmine Jones has called me a fag twice this year, using stupid and loser six times. Aarav Patel. He called me loser three times, a twat once, and a bin of trash every chance he gets. Oh, but Ross? The popular, yet sensitive and caring beauty? I bet he's never done anything to you! You're right. He hasn't done anything to me. Not alone, at least. However, when he's with his friends, he's so, so different. I jog into the locker room, quickly changing into my regular clothes after a gym class. Thankfully we didn't have a uniform, just simple dress code things like, 'Don't show your shoulders!', or, 'No skirts above the knee!'. You know, things like that. Simple things, mostly targeted towards females. Because, apparently, boys can't control themselves. As I change, I hear whispers across the room. Just then, Ross's voice echoes through it. "Hey, gay boy! Try not to stare so much, okay?" I tense up but ignore him, continuing to get dressed. I could practically hear the hesitation in his voice. Does he think I'm stupid? Most likely not, but his friends do. Once I finish changing, I sit down on the cheap, wooden bench. Classic public school in Georgia's good ol' ghost town. That's what I always call this place, because, despite the decent population, everyone is so cold, it might as well be a ghost town. But, as there is an inconvenience comes an escape. What's mine? I smoke. I love breathing in the nicotine and breathing it out, watching the smoke puff and swirl. I know I'm hurting myself. I know it's unhealthy and cause permanent issues. But, does it look like I care? No. Not really. But, still, I wonder,
Why, then, does Ross?
YOU ARE READING
Complicated
RomanceThey always tell me I'm different. And, deep down, I know it too. I'm not like other kids my age, and I never will be. However, I can't exactly explain it. It's...complicated.
