Smile On His Lips and Cuts On His Hips (Jalex)

One - Monotonous Days

My eyes flashed open, taking in the empty darkness. I rolled over, sheets tangling through my legs as I squinted at the clock beside me, neon red numbers burning.

The alarm clock read 6:12. Three minutes until those incessant beeps would start blaring through the room, forcing me out of bed and into the real world.

This was the worst part of waking up. For some unknown reason, my body despised me, causing me to awake just before the alarm sounded, leaving me to desperately inhale the last shreds of sleep and dread leaving for a couple of painful minutes. I'd rather be startled awake directly by the shrill notes, waking quick and easy.

Life seems to always prolong the most painful things, though.

So I closed my eyes once more, face shoved into a pillow, blankets weakly clutched to my chest. My mind was raging the repetitive battle of whether or not it was worth getting up now to avoid suffering through the alarm, or if staying in my dreamy bubble until forced otherwise was better.

As usual, by the time I’d drawn close to making a decision it had been made for me by the cheap plastic on the table beside me. Groaning, my hands fumbled blindly in the dark, eventually pressing the side of the electronic, causing the ear splitting noise to cease.

I threw back my blankets, legs clumsily falling over the edge of the mattress, arms pushing me up. I grabbed a towel off the floor, leaving the lights off, knowing that the towel bare bathroom would sufficiently blind me with its bulbs soon enough.

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An hour and a half later, I was shutting off the ignition of my beat up car, Dammit fading out as I eyed the school before me with distaste. Twenty minutes ‘till class started, unnecessary extra time.

It wasn’t even that I didn’t want to be late for my first day of junior year, no. I did this every day, every single one of the nine months between already anticipated summers. It was an odd quirk, but I’d rather be ridiculously early to everything than five seconds late.

I swung open the car door, hoisting myself out with a grip on the roof before swinging my backpack over one shoulder, hand ruffling my two tone hair. I knew I should leave it alone, had already spent an eternity styling the black and bleached blond section to perfection, that messing with it would only ruin the effect. I couldn’t help it, though. Nervous habit.

Kicking the door closed with my black Nikes, I started towards the grand entrance, eyes flicking over the non associates of mine dotting the parking lot. No friends in sight.

I tugged the hem of my blue v-neck as I strode through the doors. Mu home room class was securely tucked into the pocket of my blood flow reducing black skinny jeans, and I kept its location in mind as I searched for a familiar face.

After wandering aimlessly down the main hall, occasionally throwing a ‘Hey’ at someone who called my name, I spotted Zack leaning against a locker. Finally.

“Hey man,” I shouted, still twenty feet away from the muscular boy. He drew his gaze from Sandy, ex-girlfriend/friend-who-happened-to-be-a-girl, eyeing me critically.

“Your hair.” he responded, arm reaching to tentatively poke at the blond section.

I’d just gotten it dyed two days ago, wasting away the last of my break on hair improvements and mindless internet surfing, backpack packed and homework finished back in July.

Rolling my eyes, I kicked a foot onto the wall beside me, ignoring the fact that the door the room A4 could very easily swing straight into my face as I stated, “Yes, Zack, I have hair.”