It was six am and my iPod powered alarm clock went off, playing the sweet sounds of Hawthrone Heights. So cut my wrists and black my eyes indeed. It was the first day of school. Again. I just moved here to live with my dad, Charlie, mid semester.
I groaned and walked over to my closet, still half asleep. I pulled out a My Chemical Romance t shirt from Hot Topic, Tripp NYC pants, and a couple of wristbands and gothy looking jelly bracelets. Of course, before I left, I took out an ultra black thick point sharpie and drew a big black letter x on each of my hands. I was that hardcore.
"Bells... you can't be seriously thinking of leaving the house like this?" my dad said, looking me up and down.
"Grow some balls, Charlie. I'm seventeen, I can do what I want. This is how I express the dark and deep neverending sorrow in my soul. At least I don't shop at Banana Republic," I scoffed.
Charlie looked at me, his parental gaze faltering at my stinging words. "All right," he said permissively, with a wave of his hand. "Have a good day at school."
I rolled my eyes. Like I could ever have a good day in that hellhole, filled to the breaking point with all sorts of posers, losers and dorks. It cut me to the soul to have to venture into that disease every day and pretend to actually care.
Slamming the front door behind me, I approached my car, one of the only things in the world that mattered to me. It was a beat up orange truck that my dad got from one of his weird friends. It was so nonconformist and so non-mainstream that I had to love it.
The ride to school was boring, just like the rest of this godforsaken hellhole of a town. The surroundings were so... alive. The trees, the grass, the forest... everything seemed so alive in its greenness. I despised it, but I couldn't complain about the rain and the fog. Weather like that accurately portrayed my life. I felt a connection to the town, in that small way. We were both miserable together.
And miserable I would continue to be as I made my way into school. My first period was biology. As I walked in the room, my classmates, if you could call them that, stared at me. "Whatever," I thought, "They're just a bunch of Abercrombie loving preppies." Scowling and rolling my eyes, I walked to an empty seat corner - away from the normals - and started doodling depressing things on my desk.
The classroom door opened and my breath suddenly left my body. What I saw - this beautiful thing - rendered me incapable of even the most basic life functions. I couldn't think, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't even remember my name. The oxygenless blue based hue started to creep through the pale foundation I previously caked on my face.
In walked the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. He was skinny and gaunt and pale and wearing a Fall Out Boy shirt. His hair was dyed a deep shade of black, but you could tell from his eyebrows that it had once been brown. His eyes, lined with thick black liner, were a brilliant shade of buttery liquid topaz honeynut scotch beer. I bit my lip with desire. He was a boy after my very own heart. My heart almost came to a complete stop as he walked over to me and scowled, "You're in my seat."
My breath caught in my barely-beating heart. What did he say to me? He spoke to me? For a moment, I didn't register what he said to me. Then he put his black-painted fingernails on my shoulder. I shivered involuntarily.
"You're in. My. Seat," he growled.
Then I realised what he was saying to me. I looked at his face, which was covered in a beautiful, deep, craggy scowl. His features were contorted in anger which, I knew, was directed at me. My heart skipped a beat; any attention from this archangel, this god among men, this vision in black and and leather, was good enough for me. Like a robot, I stood up, my body moving on its own accord out of his way, into the seat next to him.
That's when I noticed his skin was sparkling.