Novacane
Chapter 1
He was young, almost too young to remember. They weren't really friends at that time. They were forced together because of their fathers. They never… disliked each other, per se, but he never liked him either. He taught him how to play the piano, and at the time he hated the piano. It was boring and he never found the use for it. It was hard, too. So he gave up. He decided he wanted to learn the guitar when he saw him playing on the front porch. He insisted he be taught. So they sat down again at an attempt to teach him an instrument. When his fingers started to hurt, and it didn't take long for that to happen, he gave up and decided to go back to piano. He would never forget who taught him piano. He would never forget his first and only friend. Sometimes, when it was really bad, he would think about him. He would think about how they played together. Then he would remind himself that he couldn't feel weak. He wasn't allowed to.
The ice stung. Like, worse than usual, stung. He felt tears well in his eyes, and not because he was upset, but because it hurt so badly. His eyes now stung with ice and the need to cry. He refused, though, and groped his way along the now empty hallway to the bathroom. He wondered, sometimes, what it would be like to have friends at a time like this; someone to lead him along the hallway and help him clean up in the girls' bathroom. The lump in his throat grew, making it feel more restricted, and his eyes began to hurt worse. He shoved the thoughts away, the thoughts of girlfriends whose houses he could spend the night at, or who he could talk about boys with, or who he could share all his secrets with. He didn't let them get to him. Never let them get to you. His mother had told him that.
He learned the difference between the Braille for boys' bathroom and girls' bathroom pretty quick. He let his fingers dance along the bumps, sighing in relief that he found the girls' bathroom quick today. He pushed in and was even more thankful when he didn't hear the squeals of girls. He felt along the door and quickly flipped the lock so no one could come in. He felt along for the sink and, when he found it, quickly turned the water on. He didn't wait for warm water, just shoved his head under the run and quickly rinsed the sticky liquid out of his hair. He didn't care about his eyes much, just that his hair would be ruined if he let it sit in the drink for long. Once, the red had stained his hair and he had to walk around the rest of the day with pink hair because he had worried about his face first. He had learned his lesson. When he figured it was mostly out, he washed it from his eyes. He slowly blinked, trying to regain the ability to see. It didn't take long for his eyes to adjust. He then made sure his hair was fine before he tore his shirt off. Not literally, of course. He dug around in his bag for the spare shirt he carried around. He slipped it on, placing his slushied shirt on the counter next to him. He slipped it on, the soft fabric caressing over his hardened nipples. He gulped down a breath before he began rinsing the slushy out from his shirt.
He was such a pro at this. It was a little… upsetting, honestly. He had done it so many times, all on his own, that he was now desperate for someone, even Rachel fucking Berry—everyone hates Rachel—to be here just to give him strength. He'd never really noticed this, before. He never paid attention to this part of him. It was still too early for him to be assigned to a part. It was too early for him to find a mate. It was too early, he knew, but he felt almost like when it was time it would be too late. He was feeling anxious with need. He was in desperate need for a calming presence in his life. He glanced around the bathroom before focusing back on the shirt with a sigh. There would be a stain, there would always be a stain, but he knew this was all he could do. He didn't have any other choices. He shoved the shirt under the hand dryer and waited until it was dry enough to push into his backpack without it soaking any of his other papers.
He pushed it to the bottom of the bag where his father was sure not to find it and finally left the bathroom. He made his way down the hallway to his locker. He opened it with no actual purpose and put his bag away. It was still only the beginning of the day. It left too much time for the jocks to hit him with a slushy again. He didn't want that. This was the first time he had ever wanted to skip school.