For Phil {Completed}

Five

As soon as I got home I noticed my mum was not home. She was usually out at bars, drinking and hooking up with random guys at night, so I enjoyed the peaceful silence of the house. I walked up the abnormally steep stairs to my room, closing the door behind me and sliding down it until I hit the floor. With my back flush to the door, knees brought tight to my chest, I buried my head in my knees.

I felt as a few tears slipped through my eyelids and soaked my jeans. Before I knew it, there was a cascade of tears, my cheeks were burning, my heart was hurting, and my head was pounding. Why did this have to be so fucking hard and confusing? I didn't know how I felt about Phil, or what he thought of me. Does he like me? He couldn't. I'm the most disgusting and uninteresting person on the planet. But he kissed me today. He kissed me on the cheek. He must feel something for me. I couldn't help but scream- not ear piercing, but relieving. I was so damn confused about everything. I hated myself for letting him get to me.

My tears slowing, I stood and slowly opened my door, making my way to the bathroom. As soon as I stepped into the bathroom, my foot was met with a burning pain, and I couldn't help but cry out again. I flicked on the light switch to see shards of glass scattered over the floor. Lifting my foot, I saw a decent piece of glass, about the circumference of a normal glass, causing thick crimson blood to pool on the ground and cover my foot. The image made me want to throw up, but I maneuvered my way through the glass and sat on the toilet. With a wet rag, I winced and cleaned up the blood on my foot. I realized I couldn't do anything about the jagged cut in my foot before removing the glass, so proceeded to use tweezers to do so.

"Jesus fucking christ," I said shakily, as my hands slowly managed to get the glass. Luckily it hadn't gone too far, or the pain would have been excruciating. With one last wipe of the cloth, my foot was moderately cleaned and the cloth now stained a crimson red. Shakily standing and wincing from the pain in my foot, I walked to middle of the room, where an almost completely shattered wine bottle sat. I looked up to see a note on the remains of the mirror. The handwriting was shaky, just barely legible. No doubt my mum was drunk when she wrote it. When wasn't she drunk?

Dear Fag,

Since you fucked up evrythin, I culled your father. He agreed to meat me, and maybee cum back. We mite be back in 2 days, if you haven't killled urself yet or if we havnt gone to Vagas. By the way, I didn't think you needed to luk at urself. You know you luk like a worthless shit, you don't need proof. Clean up the brokn glass by time I back. (A/N: Bad grammar and spelling on purpose, to simulate the drunkenness, I'm not just really bad at spelling. Carry on)

On the one side, I was kind of happy she wouldn't be back in at least two days. But on the other side, I was fucking terrified she would bring my dad back. Pushing all thoughts from my mind, I blatantly cleaned up the the glass and hobbled off to my bedroom, holding one sharp piece of glass in my hand. Just in case, I told myself as I hid it under my pillow. I moved to the bottom drawer of my dresser, displaying the few pastel sweaters I had. I loved the pastel colors, how calm and subtle they were. But I knew it wasn't normal for a male teen like me to like pastel sweaters, and that it would only make the bullying worse. So I kept them hidden, like a guilty pleasure.

Wearing only a pastel blue jumper and black boxers, I slid into bed, letting the final few tears fall before I slipped into a dark, unconscious sleep.

The one thing I absolutely hated most about my homeroom, was that everyone's birthday was written on the board. So yesterday, Sarah Wilber's name was written on the board, along with Kelly Parkins. Today, my name and my name only was in big bold letters, written neatly under the small font today's date. I almost stayed home today, as no one was home to tell me to go, but something drew me in. Or maybe someone.