What would I give to feel again. For my indifferent, defeated point of view to transform into something new—anything new. Any emotion would be welcomed. Anything but apathy.
I let out a small pathetic breath as I sat in my Algebra class wishing that time would freeze. I did not want the last bell to ring. I did not want sixth period to end. I did not want it to be Friday. I did not want to return home.
It was most certainly not that I loved school, because in truth I hated it. I just hated home more. The clock ticked away, and soon lively chatter began to fill the room. Any second, the bell would ring, and the school day—the school week—would be history.
Internally I moaned, inhaling and exhaling deeply and slowly to keep my composure. I was a boy. A teenage boy. And because of this I could not cry.
It did not matter that my life had crumbled underneath me. It did not matter that the light at the end of the tunnel would probably be an incoming train. No one cared that motivation and I were no longer best friends. None of it mattered. Crying about everything would only make it all worse. Two million times worse, even. So I would not cry. Not in public. Not at school, not in front of people. I would save it as my lullaby, my bedtime story. Crying would soothe me into slumber.
Sluggishly I gathered my belongings as the bell rang and the class rocketed out into the hallways. I took my time, like I always did. I hoped that I would miss the bus. That was the best thing that could actually occur.
But even with my toddler-like steps, the buses were still outside, still waiting, just laughing at me and mocking me, challenging me to return home and face my nightmares. I gritted my teeth and sighed, boarding the very object that so obviously hated me. If only the feeling could have been mutual.
I found an empty seat halfway down the aisle and slumped into it, a frown locked on my features. I could not remember the last time that I had smiled. The task seemed impossible. It didn't help that my temples had begun a dull throbbing. I knew that by the time I reached the Tipton, they would have graduated to a sharp, intense pain.
I closed my eyes, attempting to enter an oblivious world, trying to forget all that was bothering me.
But that was next to impossible.