Between These Spaces

Feeling so easy, make me skin and bones, I'm always on my knees for you...

I gripped the side of the toilet bowl, my knuckles turning white as I threw up over and over again. All I could hear was the shower and the bath taps running, but it sounded as sweet as a lover's song. This was a regular thing, and I had begun to love the time I spent here. Maybe this would make me feel better, I hoped. I quickly flushed the evidence, hoping none of my family members walked past the door while I did so. Not that they'd care, but still. I sprayed the room with air freshener until I couldn't smell anything but flowers. Added to the burning caused by the acids in bile, it felt like my throat had been pepper sprayed by roses. I threw a polo into my mouth, quickly eating it to take the stench from my breath. After I washed my mouth out with water, it should be almost undetectable that I had thrown up. I put my head under the water for a few seconds to make it seem like I had been taking a shower, then washed my mouth out.

"DAN! HURRY UP!" my mum screamed, banging on the bathroom door with her fist. I checked the toilet for any remaining evidence, of which there was none, turned off the bath taps and then the showerhead, and unlocked the bathroom door. Rubbing my head with a towel while walking past my mother, I smiled at her. She scowled back. I ran to my room, avoiding the rest of my family in the process. I pressed play on my stereo, which resumed the song I'd paused it in the middle of, Shake Tramp.

Try a little more, little more, little more, they slap you like a bitch, and you take it like a whore...

Despite the actual meaning of how the music industry mess with artists, nobody could help but hear the sexual undertone to the song. I jumped around stupidly in my room while waiting for my straighteners to warm up. Thankfully, they were wet-to-dry, so I wouldn't have to use a hairdryer. I slipped my school tie over my head, pulling it up to just below my open collar. I tucked the thin side into my shirt before slipping my blazer on. I never understood why our uniforms had to be so formal, I mean, all we're doing is going to a building to learn. It makes no sense to me.

After I had straightened my hair and ran down the stairs, I grabbed my bus money, bag and house keys from the kitchen table, making sure my mints were in my pocket, and walked out the door. One day I'll walk out of this door alive and return dead, or not at all. It all depends on when I have the guts to do it. But for now, another monotonous day of 'excellent' education.

"Alright, guys, we have someone new in our tutor this year. This is Phil." explained my form tutor, Mrs Heff, gesturing to the awkward boy stood in front of the whiteboard, one hand gripping the strap of his backpack, the other shoved tight in his pocket. He was looking down to hide his face behind his dark hair, but I could pretty much make out what he looked like. He was sort of older though, not like he belonged in a Year 10 form group. "He's been transferred, and has missed a year of education, but I'm sure you'll all welcome him as an equal. Now, who would like to show Phil the ropes for his first couple of weeks here?" I shrunk in my seat, trying not to let her see me. Nobody around me seemed remotely interested in helping out this new guy, so Mrs Heff would have to pick someone. And her gaze turned to me.

"Dan" she said, turning her face to the side and smiling sweetly, as if trying to trick me into helping her. "You can show Phil around until he gets the hang of things, right? I'm sure you two would get along so well!" I scoffed under my breath, and a few people around me muttered to themselves.

"Who'd wanna be friends with that loser?"

"Have you seen his hand? What's with those sores? Like, gross."

"He's a faggot"

Mrs Heff pushed lightly on Phil's back between his shoulders, moving him lightly towards my desk. He began to walk over by himself, and I pulled out the chair beside me to make space for him to sit down.

"I'm Dan" I said, turning to him and smiling weakly. No doubt he'd be a prick, the same as everyone else in this damn school.

"Well, uh... I'm Phil, but you already know that, because..." he trailed off, his voice quietening near the end.

"Alright, guys, you can talk for the next half hour." Mrs Heff said, before returning to her desk and putting in her headphones.

"Phil! Come over here, sit with us" shouted one of the guys from the other side of the room. Phil looked at me, and I waved him away to tell him he could go if he wanted. It always works out the same.

When the bell for lessons rang, and everyone got up and left the classroom, I hung around for Phil, knowing he wouldn't know where to go. The others hadn't been so considerate, and had left him.

"What class do you have now?" I asked him, and he looked slightly puzzled.

"Do you have your journal yet?"

He fumbled around in his bag to look for it, erring and arring as he did so, before sliding it out carefully. I had forgotten what these looked like new. We only replaced our journals every two years, as they had two school years' worth of dates inside. As such, mine was stuffed full of paper six inches thick, and falling apart. Phil handed me his slim, pristine journal, and I flipped it over to look at the timetable on the back.

"Friday... Lesson one... You have music... With me!" I said, handing him back his journal. He slipped it back inside his bag, and then followed me when I began to walk.

"So, you took music, huh?" I asked, gripping my bag strap with both hands.

"Yeah" he chuckled, looking down again. This boy was shy, and I liked that. The shyest people are always the most interesting to break out of their shells. It'd be a pity when he got bored of me. "It was kinda because, uh, I'm no good at art, and I get nervous on stage a lot. So music it was, I suppose" he laughed, looking up at me for fleeting seconds at a time. He looked embarrassed just talking to people.

"I've always liked music" I explained. "Ever since I was a kid."

"What genres?" asked Phil. He looked genuinely interested, which was such a change to the indifference or hatred I usually experienced.

"Uhh, like rock, pop punk, post hardcore, screamo, metalcore, that sort of stuff?" I left the end a question, as usually when I answer this question people call me an emo fag, scoff, and never talk to me again. But Phil, his eyes lit up.

"Me too" he grinned. I decided to change the subject before I found out too much about the boy who had already befriended the popular kids.

"I'm guessing you're friends with those guys, then..." I asked, meaning the boys he had sat with earlier. Phil suddenly looked shock at the mere suggestion of him being friends with them.

"Dear god no" he laughed, shaking his head. "They're awful. All they talk about is how much they dislike you, and make speculations about your hand." He gestured to the sores on my right hand.

"It's- uh- it's personal stuff" I rushed. I wasn't about to spill everything to a boy who's pretending he doesn't hate me. I'm willing to bet they asked him to find dirt out about me, so they could use it against me. He was about to reply when we got to the music room, and had to sit in our assigned seats for the first few minutes of the lesson, on opposite sides of the room.

When the teacher had finished speaking, and we were all left to do our own thing, Phil stayed sat in his seat. I gestured to him to follow me, and waited until he had gotten within a few feet of me to start walking again. Soon, we got to one of the music practice rooms. It was remarkably large for a spare room. There was enough space to fit both a piano and a drum kit on opposite walls. I opened the door and sat at the piano, leaving my foot at the bottom of the door to keep it open for Phil.

"So like... uh... what are we doing?" Phil asked, spinning slightly on the drum stool he had chosen to sit on.

"Well, we're working on a piece of performance work. That's basically just like covers and stuff." I told him. "I could play you mine, if you want?" I offered. I didn't quite know how to speak with Phil, because nobody had ever spoken to me like a person before. It was unfamiliar and weird. I knew he wasn't going to stick around forever, however. Soon enough he'd find out about what I'm really like, and he'd be gone in a flash.

"You can play piano? That is so cool. Go on, play it!" He enthused, leaning over from across the room. I placed my hands on the keys, and began to play. I heard Phil inhale slightly as soon as the tune became recognisable. I began to sing the lyrics of the song, and Phil did so too.

"This place is a hole, but I don't wanna go"

"I wish we could stay here forever alone"

"The time that we waste, but I still love your taste."

"Don't let him take my place, don't just sit there."

We carried on like that until the song ended. When we got to the last chorus, I had stopped looking at the piano completely, and looked only at Phil. However, he was not looking at me. He seemed to be so mesmerised by watching me play piano, he hasn't realised my attention was diverted.

I couldn't help but stare at his face. I don't know what it was, but something about him transfixed me. Something felt different about him.

Right in the middle of the last verse, the music teacher came in.

"Perfect boys, that's your piece for this year."

As soon as he said that, I panicked internally. If that was our piece for this year, we could not change that. Even after this boy will have ultimately sacrificed me for his own popularity, I will be forced to sing Mariana's Trench with him.

This year is gonna suck.