"even when I'm walking on a wire
even when I set myself on fire
why do I always feel invisible, invisible?
every day I try to look my best
even though inside I'm such a mess
why do I always feel invisible, invisible?"
- Skylar Grey, "Invisible"
"Class dismissed."
Matthew sighed, slowly packing up his books before slinking out of the open door. The teacher had forgotten to call his name during attendance, which had led to the office throwing a fit over his supposed "truancy." Not only had that brought down his day enough, but his idiotic brother, Alfred, had ditched him last night, leaving Matthew to complete their science project by himself. It had taken him half the night, and his head felt like crap. Shuffling to his next class, with his backpack haphazardly slung over one shoulder, Matthew cursed as he tripped over an outstretched foot, spilling his books over the tiled floor and falling on his face painfully.
He looked backwards tiredly, but the culprit hadn't even noticed him, sitting against the wall reading with his legs stretched out. Too timid to even say anything, (or give the guy a well-deserved cussing out) Matthew slowly picked up his books, stuffing them back into his backpack as he continued pacing to his next class. He didn't even bother to run, knowing he was already late. Not as if his classmates would notice, let alone worry. Matthew rolled his eyes. Being invisible had its benefits, sure, but this wasn't one of them. Hell, he could be dying in some alley somewhere, and nobody would notice. Maybe Alfred would…after 2 weeks or so, anyways. Matthew chuckled darkly to himself. Holding onto his backpack with one hand, Matthew stuffed his free hand into his other pocket, looking at the floor as he entered the silent classroom, feeling as awkward as a fish out of water.
The class didn't even look up at him (as usual), instead concentrating on their test.
Wait a minute, their test?
Taking a deep breath, he took his seat and started on the pop quiz in front of him. As usual, the teacher didn't even notice his tardiness.
Finally, the bell rung, giving Matthew a reprieve as he walked out the gates of the damned school, heading down the road as he followed the familiar route back to his house. He counted the steps mentally as he hummed a tune quietly to himself. The cracked sidewalk was familiar - comforting, even. Life sucked when nobody noticed you. Sure, Matthew was shy, but seriously, there was only so much a guy could take. He resented everyone else sometimes. He hated how they were noticed, by people who cared about them. The only one who noticed him was his brother – who probably didn't care too much about him anyways – and the jocks that always bullied him.
Matthew exhaled, inwardly imagining the thoughts in his head spiraling out with his breath. He just wanted to be noticed. Loved, even. How hard could that possibly be? Matthew cracked a smile at the irony.
Maybe I shouldn't push my luck, he thought to himself.
Matthew looked up and watched the clouds drifted above him peacefully. Of course, that peace couldn't last long. Just as he reached his 137th (he'd been counting) step, a forceful shove knocked Matthew back into the fence behind him, cutting a small gash on his cheek. He hissed silently in pain, sucking in a quick breath, before looking up at pale skin and white hair.
"Kesesese, get outta my way, yeah?" Gilbert Beilschmidt, a popular jock and Matthew's frequent tormentor, glared at him.
Matthew shivered. He knew the routine well enough, and yet something about those scarlet eyes scared the living hell out of him. They were monstrous. Unnatural, even. Not like he would ever voice his opinion, obviously.
Seriously though, how come the only people who see me are the people who push me around all day? Matthew gulped and looked up, swallowing whatever thoughts he had – he wanted to live a little longer, thank you very much.
"I was n-never in your way in the first place…" he muttered meekly, looking away.
Gilbert smirked evilly. Matthew could have sworn he saw flames burning in those intimidating red eyes of his. Oddly, they looked…bloodshot. Matthew almost slapped himself for thinking that – his eyes were red. Of course they were bloodshot.
"Yeah, you were. And nobody," Gilbert grabbed Matthew's collar, pulling him closer for emphasis, "gets in the way of the awesome me." The albino threw him back into the fence, kicking him in the ribs when Matthew slumped onto his side before walking away. His gait was shaky, Matthew noticed. He didn't care, of course, as long as Gilbert was moving away from him.
When Matthew was sure that Gilbert was far enough away for his comfort – though truthfully, he was never far enough away for Matthew's liking – he sat up, wincing. He cringed painfully, wiping the blood off of the scratch on his face. Picking up his scattered papers and books, he painfully limped the rest of the way home.
Slamming the door behind him, he crashed onto the sofa, groaning. Minutes later, Alfred, his brother, raced through the door, smiling and laughing and talking to someone outside.
"Haha, yeah, see ya tomorrow!" Alfred closed the door and turned around, freezing when he saw Matthew. "Fuck, Mattie, what happened to you? You look like some asshole beat you up or something!"
Matthew shot a glare at Alfred, shifting position on the couch. "Yeah. I'm not hurt much…just a scratch on my face…some kicks to the ribs…you know…relatively normal…" his voice faded out slowly as he watched his brother's expression change. Alfred had always been…willful, to say the least.
"Damn, which bastard did that? I'm gonna kick his ass so hard…" he glanced at Matthew worriedly. "What am I saying? I should take care of you first. Ass-kicking can come later." He smiled reassuringly, digging an ice-pack out of their empty fridge and tossing it to Matthew.
"Thanks." Matthew winced, holding the frigid pack to his side.
"Fridge's empty…fuck, I have a game tonight…" Alfred glanced over at Matthew.
"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I'll go make a trip to the grocery store later. I'll stop by McDonald's too." Matthew managed a faint smile at the mention of his brother's "healthy" eating habits.
"Mattie, you've gotta be kidding. You're not going anywhere in this condition. Not while the hero can help it, anyways!" He gave Matthew a sheepish smile. "…but, uh, I really can't miss the game, and our team's counting on me, an –"
Matthew cut Alfred off. "I got it, I got it. Don't worry so much…" he muttered softly.
"I mean, it wouldn't be that much trouble, right? You can take my car, and just try not to walk so much, and yeah…sorry Mattie…"
"I got it already. It's okay." Matthew laughed, pain slowly subsiding.
"Thanks so much!" Alfred raced over to Matthew to give him a bone-crushing hug, but wisely stopped himself as he realized that Matthew was hurt. He raced out the door, hyper as usual, calling a faint "Bye!" as he left.
Matthew's smile abruptly faded and dropped off his face entirely. He lay back on the couch, looking at the ceiling. "I'm too nice sometimes…" he sighed.
After the death of their parents, they had been old enough to live by themselves – a court proceeding had the two under the care of one of their distant relatives, who really didn't give a shit about their wellbeing. Matthew smiled. At least now they were free, somewhat.
Wincing, Matthew got up off of the sofa onto his feet. He half-limped over to the cabinet, grabbing the keys to the car and house before walking out the door (Alfred hadn't bothered to close it before bolting out the door) and locking it behind him. Shuffling over to the car, he got into the driver's side slowly, closing the door behind him and starting the engine.
Driving over to the grocery store, he turned on the radio and grimaced. Quickly shutting off the infernal device before the constant feminine wailing could get to him, he cursed the Canadians briefly before parking in the mostly-empty lot.
Walking over to the store, he stopped as he heard a ragged breath. He spun around. There was nobody there. He stood still for a moment, a panicked coughing sound echoing from a side alley. He noticed a medical syringe on the ground, rolling away from whatever was going on in the alley before stopping in front of his feet. He walked over slowly, freezing as he saw a slow trickle of – was that blood? – flowing slowly from the corner. He heard an alarming thump and a frenzied gasping, and as he rounded the corner, all the blood drained from his face.
Gilbert Beilschmidt lay on the ground, chest convulsing as he gasped for air, coughing up blood.
A/N: Yeahhh, this is my pitiful attempt at a chapter fic. ^^;; Heh. I...don't think this is all that great so far. I know (somewhat) what's gonna happen. Emphasis on the somewhat. Oh well, I'm having fun writing, and that's all that counts. :) R&R?
