ᴍʏ sᴛᴀʀʙᴏʏ

Fine

Why. Why did we even come to this place. It's disgusting! Everything is sticky and gross and people should not be allowed to do whatever that was in public.
His mind was racing with useless thoughts.
His heart pounding with blood.
His throat closing up with anxiety.
His hands clenched and were sweaty.
His eyes on the floor, which was gross.
His mind told him, "Out. Out. Out."
         But, he couldn't. Not now at least. His friends. Friends. What an odd word. They're just people who slightly pay attention to him.
         "-co! Draco?! Draco!"
"Huh?"
"You okay? You look like your about to pass out, or puke, or both.", a concerned "friend" said, frowning.
"Psh, I'm fine. Just tired.", came the easy excuse.
           Please. Help me. I'm drowning and dying and can't breathe and can't see and can't speak and-
            "Are you sure?"
            "Yeah."
            Everything is crawling under my skin. Somethings there. I need it out. Off. Everything.
             "I think I'm gonna head to the hotel. I don't feel well.", slipped the lie.
             "We can go with you-", the people said.
             "It's fine."
             "Alright."
        

         You dumbass. Now they definitely know your a freak. Great job.