GONER

18 • Sweatshirt Art

A/N: Do you guys know how difficult it is for me not to curse whenever I write this story? Because it's very hard. Harder than my dick when I would look at Johnny Depp.

One more thing, someone has actually poured paint on me before :-) it was quite amusing, if I'm being honest.

And another thing, I literally heard some dude (guy number 1) tell another guy (guy number 2) he couldn't go in the locker room because guy number 1 thought that guy number 2 was gay, and I shoved guy number 1 really hard.

***

I didn't understand anything that any of my teachers were trying to cover in class, my mom was still very impatient and damaged and testy, and I was starving. Also, my sweatshirt was now stained with paint that Dennis decided to pour down the front of it, and I watched the bright yellow liquid seep down onto my lap, and eventually onto the floor.

My eyes seemed to be glued to the floor as I sighed heavily, attempting to ignore the obnoxious laughter pounding through the air and surrounding me like some sort of wildfire. I had a bored expression on my face, I knew, though, and bit the inside of my lip to keep myself as steady as possible as I stood, listening to people chuckle at my expense. The thing is, a lot of these people didn't even dislike me, but, apparently, watching paint stain someone's clothes is hilarious, no matter who's clothes they are.

I scratched my eyebrow casually as I made my way out of the cafeteria completely alone, when inside, I was screaming as loud as physically possible, and my throat burned at the mere thought of the volume I could produce right now. And I wasn't alone for nearly as long as I wanted, because Dennis just followed me into the bathroom.

Showing fear never helped anything, though, and so I moved over to the paper towels under the bright, artificial light that reminded me of a processed version of the sun. And I locked my eyes to the sink in front of me, holding the brown fabric of the paper towel under it, before trying in vain to take out of my gray sweatshirt.

"Aw, this is sad to watch," Dennis smiled, rolling his eyes. There was yellow liquid on the side of his hand, and anger shot through me. I hated being angry like this, though, because I never knew what to do with it. At least being sad was comforting, familiar. "Where's your faggot boyfriend?"

"Did I do something to you that I'm unaware of?" I asked evenly. disregarding his question, and his sarcastic comment, completely. My words were broken up by the sound of me shutting the sink on and off, but it made the meaning no different.

"That's a good question. Maybe you should get your faggot boyfriend in here to answer it."

"His name is Josh, and I would appreciate it if you watched your mouth. Some people may take offense to that, you know," I said dryly, rolling my eyes at his pure idiocy. "Like me."

"So you are a faggot then?"

"What is with you and that word?"
I hissed, throwing a handful of paper towels down onto the counter, and I knew my face was going red with frustration. "And Josh, now that we're both in here. Care to explain your obsessions?" I continued, my voice strained. "Oh, and I don't see how it would matter to you."

"Just make sure he's not screwing other dudes. Or girls. Who knows with him," he laughed, moving even further into the room. I wasn't as scared as I should have been. Well, not of him, but because of the fact that if I didn't own more than three sweatshirts at a time, I got really anxious around my mom. She still had no idea about the issues I had earlier, and I didn't really intend on her finding out because some idiot decided to act barbaric. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was sucking dick right this very second, if I'm being honest."