Marcel (Loucel/larcel)

Chapter 1

Marcel's POV

"I'm so happy, 'cause today I found my friends, they're in my head. I'm so ugly, that's okay 'cause so are you. We've broken our mirrors. Sunday morni--"

I shut off my alarm. Man, I didn't feel like anything today. Usually I would sing along to Kurt's voice. Mainly because Lithium was my favorite song at the moment.
Ugh, my legs are sore, my face is killing me, and my stomach is having a huge fit due to lack of food. Any normal kid would get straight up and rush to the kitchen. But, me, no I have to wait until my father leaves.

So, in the meantime, I drag myself from under the covers to my box of clothes. If you're wondering, no I didn't just move in. I've lived in the same house for 10 years. Since I was 7. I moved to Doncaster from Holmes Chapel. I missed that place so much.

I hate it here. I have an abusive father, several bullies, and no friends. What's left to love? While I'm having this inner conversation, I'm also laying out clothes from my box. Baggy trousers, white long sleeve undershirt, plaid sweater vest, and my black Oxford shoes.

I went to my bathroom, which was next to my "room". "Room" meaning it wasn't really a room. Well, it was, but not a typical teenage room. It was all white, dad wouldn't let me paint it. I didn't have a closet, hence the box, and and I had a twin bed. Nothing against twin beds but I'm 17, and 5'11, you honestly shouldn't expect me to fit in a twin bed.

I'm not poor, but my dad isn't exactly eager to give me money. Plus when he does, I put it in my bank account. He thinks I waste money, which I don't. I'm not irresponsible.

I turn on the shower and wait for it to become a warm temperature, then I hop in.

After my magnificent shower, I get my towel and start drying myself.
Today's Monday, meaning I don't work out today. I only work out on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. I know some of you are saying, "why are you working out, you're a nerd." Well, honey, I go against stereotypes. I love working out, it relieves stress. Which I have a lot of.

I look into the mirror and see me. Yes, I know, of course you're going to see yourself in the mirror, Marcel! You're supposed to be smart! Yeah, yeah, yeah. Well anyway, I stare at the tattoos littering my body. Yes, I'm going against another stereotype. I'm a rebel.

I really need to stop having conversations with myself.

I also stare at my bruised stomach, due to dad's anger last night. He's kind of a drunk. Well, he is a drunk. He always beats me before he leaves for a business trip. He's a pretty wealthy businessman, so we live in a slightly bigger than average home. To put it to you straight, he's rich. Not we, he. Sure, of course, he spends money on me, sometimes. But that doesn't mean he cares. I don't care about his money, I just want his love. Cheesy as it is, that's all I need.

I trace my tattoos, they're the exact same as Harry's. We get the exact same tattoos in the same exact place. Tattoos are art. They're not sins, they show you're creative side. They show what you've been through, what you've overcome. Sometimes you have to let your body be a sketch pad. You might say that your tattoos mean absolutely nothing, but they always mean something. You may not realize it at the time, but they do. For example, I went to Holmes Chapel once. Harry and I were drunk, and when we woke up the next morning, we both had a huge butterfly on our stomach's. At first I regretted it. It kind of just ruined my stomach, and Harry's too. It was just so random. Then I pondered over it, butterfly's symbolize life. Kind of like the stages in life. We go through life like a butterfly does. We go through hardships and torture, yet some of us make it through. The strong ones make it through in human life too.

Okay enough of that.

I put on my geeky clothes and look at myself in the mirror. I then proceeded to gel my hair back. My beautiful curls are hidden! Yes, I know, overdramatic. But hey, I don't care. I'm glad no one knows about my curls, well only Harry, mom, dad, and Niall do. But I don't care! I sigh, and walk to my door.

I sneaked down the stairs like the stealthy ninja I am. Once I passed by dad's room, I realized he's not even home. So I just noisily skipped down the stairs. Yes, I know, I'm dangerous.

I smacked on my cereal and made my way to the front door. Ahh, I love it when dad isn't home. Makes me so happy. Queue my dimpled smile.

I quickly wiped off my smile, I still have to go to school. Queue scowl.

I start walking to school in a depressed, slouchy way. I hate school.