Fucking emo

Fucking Nazi

I never cared for my phone. Which in turn meant it sucked. Big time. It was just sooo fucking slow. And reception was kind of an offchance thing.

I tried to play the piano.... But it was messing with my head. I could have just ordered him to do it. At a specific time. Write to me. He would have obeyed. He would have pleased me. I just know it.

Now I was just left waiting. And I hate him for that. What else could he be doing. Skating. Cutting. Drawing. Visiting... my house.

I don't even know his name. Fuck.

I never got his name. I could ask. Just that, ask. Anyone. Literally. I just haven't been that interested. But I feel like I've been obsessing... this is weird.

But then why do I care? Part of me knows I am deceiving myself. But I have no clue which part. I hate him. I really do. I hate his smug attitude when he is obviously a victim. I hate his unjustified confidence.

I hate him... like I hate Wagner. Fucking nazi.

Maybe he is one. Maybe that is why everyone hates him. It's not that he looks fucking ridiculous. Or like a sissy. Maybe he is ... a fucking nazi.

That's why he won't talk to me... yeah he won't talk to... a white ... blonde .... atheist... like myself... because he is a nazi. ... Yeah, that doesn't make sense.

But then again... maybe I look too gay. Yeah, that must be it... nazis murdered gays... Imprisoned them. And then the fucking US of A didn't liberate them when they stormed the camps. Some were in jail till the 70s... The fucking seventies!

I'm playing Wagner. And I hate him.

And... there it is... the buzz. I let it vibrate ... I finished the piece. I took a quick glance. Only a phone number as the sender.

"Hi."

I left him on read. Then got the phone number and added it to my phone contacts as "fucking emo boy." I went through all my socials and ran my contact list and see if I had a profile. Nothing.

I tried googling him by phone number but nothing. I needed his name. But I wasn't going to ask. Not him anyway. Not calling anyone. Though I didn't have anyone's number.

I could have gone to school and just sneak and read it off some teacher's list.

Then I remembered. The parking lot vids.

Maybe... yes. They had tagged him.

@MuChLiKeFaLlInG

Ugh. Add "predictable" to the things I hate about him.

I came to his profile. A surprisingly active profile. 7k subscribers. And 1k of pictures. Most of them selfies. High angles his face barely visible, but him. Those that were not were skateboarding tricks shot from a very low angle. Probably not having anyone to hold the camera.

I scrolled. And scrolled. Deep diving. I hate myself. Why did I care? I hate him. But I want to know about him.

There was no real name anywhere. The captions were vague or lyrics from songs. From it, you could think he had a pretty normal, active life. Very sporty, fashionable. He showed off his skinny body shirtless like he was an underwear model. Nothing seemed genuine. Except he was alone in all of them. But the photos masked it very well. Every photo posted had dozens of compliments and messages.

That was weird.

I was better.

I mean.

I knew better.

He sucks.

He is hated.

He is bullied.

He is sad.

He cuts.

Why was he... such a fake?

He didn't have to be a Nazi.

He was a liar.

I can rest. Knowing I can hate him.

See me tonight. Around 7. At the roundabout.

And send.

☆