You will never understand what I felt.
How could you? Why should you? You don't want to understand what things were like, because the only way to do that is by living it out yourself. And that's the last thing that you want.
For the entirety of my life I've known loneliness. Not a faint, longing loneliness, but deep, aching loneliness. My need for human contact exceeds that of most people. There was a long period of time in which I thought this was normal-that everyone felt this way. It wasn't until I started school that I realized that it was unhealthy, that it was weird.
And for a long, painful eight years I went on being a scapegoat. No one really made fun of me. But no one paid attention either. I wanted attention, but I was afraid to ask for it. Although maybe a little bad attention would be better than none at all..
My life wasn't really that bad if you thought about it. Sure, my little brother Luka had died in a fire, but that was back when I was only ten, and the wounds were mostly healed. I only had one parent, a father, and though he paid no attention to me at all, I wasn't abused or anything like that. We had a decent amount of money, and though we weren't rich, we were comfortable. But somehow I still had this undeniable emptiness. This longing, for something.
Then one day, everything changed.
Someone changed me.
I winced at the crash of books hitting asphalt. I wasn't disgruntled about the collision with whomever this was-it happened all the time and it was seldom the other person's fault. I'm really quite an airhead, even I'll admit that. I scooped up my and the victim's books, looking up to see a pint-sized blue haired boy eyeing my wrist. I thrusted the books towards him, eager to get away, but he didn't take them.
"Why would you do that?"
Why would I do that?
"How could you hate yourself so much to do it?"
How could I hate myself? Easy. I was annoying, clingy, rude and careless. I was ugly. Stupid blonde hair. Stupid blue eyes. Stupid long legs, stupid pale skin. Stupid ghetto ass that made me look like a girl. Stupid. All of it was stupid. I hated it all. I hated me.
"It's easy", I replied quietly, turning his hand over and setting the books on his palm before promptly walking away.
He seized me by the wrist, and I whipped around to see the boy, a determined expression written on his face.
"Idiot", he accused.
"W-what?"
"IDOIT!" He repeated, dropping my wrist. "Why not talk to somebody about things instead of doing stupid shit like that?"
"Talk to who? Tell me who the bloody hell gives a damn!"
"Me! Fucking talk to me! I give a damn!"
And with that this boy whom I had three class periods with a day, this boy whom I'd never spoken a word to in my life with the exception of 'Pass the papers back please', or 'Do you by chance have a pencil I could borrow?' had rendered me speechless. He… gave a damn? Bullshit.
I shook him off. "Why should you?"
A long finger directed itself at a particularly deep slit on my forearm. "Because of that."
"Doesn't matter."
"Liar."
I stared at this boy. I stared at him for a long time. Ciel Phantomhive, rich boy that wasn't popular yet wasn't disliked. He spent most of his time reading murder mysteries and such, his nose always in a book. He was a genius, holding a GPA of 4.0 steady, even though he always had a book on his lap during class. He was a rather strange boy, introverted and angsty. He never struck me as the type of person that would be striking up a conversation. Not that anyone would strike me as that kind of person.
His expression softened a bit, and the left corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Hey, if you ever need to talk..."
I smiled. I wondered when the last time I had done that was. "Right."
"Okay, well..." he turned on his heel to walk away.
"Hey".
He stopped, not bothering to turn.
"I, uh..."
"Yeah?"
"I guess... maybe we could... you wanna walk with me to school tomorrow?"
"814 North Avenue. I'll be expecting you."