Warnings (Ch. 3): References to previous chapters' rape/violence and references to self-harm.

You sigh as you stand behind a bushy, dark green tree, quietly observing your classmates as they wait around for your form teacher to turn up. You look over at your brother, a lonely look crossing your soft, pale features as you watch them. Jumping on top of the lone picnic table in the small clearing outside the N wing classrooms, his two friends laughing from the hard, concrete stairs as he begins to pull poses, quoting one o his favorite movies. You sigh as you hear Gilbert scream something in return, his red eyes seeming to glow through the leaves as he throws a book at Alfred then man jumping of the table in a dramatic mater, cradling the book like a baby before falling flat on his face in a majestic manner. You roll your eyes as the boy seems to disappear for a second, the voice that could only belong to a true Spaniard blurting out something about gay sex, pineapples and a manicure all in one sentence neither of the two caring as they continue to laugh at one-another. You sigh to yourself as you see the man that is your teacher coming slowly towards your class, a smile smile gracing his features as he talked to one of the Chinese exchange students, Yao. You quickly get up onto your feet as the class saunters in after the teacher, your limbs already feeling heavy as you take the first right, wondering quietly into one of the vis-com rooms, taking your seat on the side of the room, towards the back windows. You quietly take out a book, flipping to the chapter you were up to as you give the pages your undivided attention.

You jump a little as you hear the bell go, the signal to head to period 1 barley registering in your sleep-deprived brain. It's not your fault you're an insomniac... Really, it isn't. You stand as you quickly gather your art books, swearing under your breath as you trip over a stray power cord, books being strewn across the floor. You gather them up with a heavy sigh, quickly leaving the room as you walk down the corridor, taking the last left. You relax a little as you slide the door of the art room open, the familiar, comforting smell of paint, paper and pens invading your sensed. You choose one of the desks up he back and sit at it, deciding to take the seat closest to the window. You wince a little as you sit down, feeling your stitches pull at your flesh, but the wounds otherwise remaining closed. You sigh as you relax into your chair, jumper folded beneath you, serving as a makeshift cushion for your still-sore and vulnerable ass. You say nothing as the class starts the teacher beginning to talk as he hands out the worksheets, skipping you, as per usual. You quietly get up and grab your brown folder from the tub at the front of the room, the orange and yellow-accented letters 'MW' in gothic lettering standing out beautifully against the dark brown card. You reach into your folder as you grab out the project you were supposed to be working on, being thankful that you remembered to take a fineliner from the room the day before at lunch. You quietly pull out the contents of your pocket, laying them out on the table. Two red pens, two blue, two four-pens, two erasers and two pencil sharpeners, their blades stained a coppery colour. You pay no heed to that as yo continue working on your picture, the assignment being a very time-consuming one - drawing a portrait of someone, half of it shaded in greylead pencils of various strengths while the other half with stippling. After about ten minutes, you begin to hear people complain.

"So many fucking dots..."

"... This is gonna drive me bloody barmy."

"Who the hell even thought of this stupid idea!?" You very quickly grow tired of the blatant complaining, putting in your earphones, the white cord being hidden under your school uniform, the light blue button-up top and black pants hiding the headphones well. You straighten your repulsive blue-purple coloured tie as you fetch your iPod from the depths of your pocket, putting your playlist of sad and depressing music on before returning it to your pocket.

An hour and 20 minutes later, you hear your teacher give the pack-up call, everybody quickly finishing up what they were doing as they begin to pack everything away - paints in the paint tub, pencils and fineliners back i their pots and boxes, your teeth grinding gently as you see at least three students pocket one of said fineliners before returning their folders, returning to their spots as they eagerly await the bell. You quietly clamber to your feet as you return your folder to the tub, the pen you stole yesterday once again being pocketed as you return to your seat, scribbling in your small A5 drawing book as you wait patiently for the bell. After roughly 5 minutes, the bell finally goes, the signal for recess blaring throughout the school. You wait for everyone to leave the corridors before exiting the room, making your way to your locker, the smell of sweat from the overly congested area making you gag slightly. You stand in front of your locker, carefully twisting the knob before pulling the lock downwards, your locker swinging open. You remove your lock, twirling said object around your pointer finger of your left hand, deftly putting it on top of your bag as you return your books, grabbing out a bottle of water and pocketing a small zip-lock bag of gummi bears. The door swings shut, the lock being twirled around your finger once more before clamping the door shut, a loud, calming slamming noise echoing through the corridor as it shuts.

You go to turn around, only for your eyes to meet wide violet ones, a childish smile only millimeters away from your own lips, the latter hanging wide open.

"Privet, Mattvey."
You've never screamed so loud in your life.

A/N: How was that? Sorry it's taken nearly 4 days to get the next chapter up, I've been a tad out of sorts. Then again, it usually takes forever for chapters to go up, so I maybe shouldn't be apologizing.

Please rate and/or review! Also, don't be afraid to pm me, I don't bite. c:

Laters,

-Nimu.