He feels his eyes stinging and the burning in his face. He leaves. The bathroom is safe, but what he said echoes in his ears. word vomit. Word Vomit. WORD VOMIT.

No one understands. Everyone hates him. No one understands. Everyone hates him.

He can't do this anymore. He needs to run away. His life is claustrophobic. Everyone is judging him. He is an asshole. He is a horrible person. He should just disappear or get better. Probably disappear.

The wall of the stall is closing in. He starts hitting the wall.

He is stupid. Smash.

Worthless. Thud.

Ugly. Crack.

Destructive. Thwonk.

Crazy. Bang.

A few hours later, he emerges from the bathroom with his eyes mostly dry and his knuckles bleeding. He is strangely calm as he makes his way to the nurses' office. She glances down at her clipboard, and reads the name written there.

ARTIE ABRAMS. SCRAPED MY HAND AGAINST LOCKER.