Shiro let out a frustrated sigh as his hand rested on the door to his classroom, willing himself to just push it open already. He'd managed to get away from the crazy person proclaiming that he was a God, when the guy and his red-headed friend were both distracted by ramblings of him becoming someone worthy of the worship of thousands. God, why did he just attract weirdos? Despite what everyone seemed to think, he wasn't one; he just got angry sometimes.
He finally made himself enter the classroom, fighting the urge to cover his ears against the whispers of his classmates. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't, they were all just stressed, and he'd always made himself an easy target when it came to this stuff. If they tried to fight him, that'd be different; after all, he was all mouth when it came to violence, and it would put him in actual danger. Words hurt, but it wasn't like they mattered...
"The psycho's back."
It wasn't like a punch to the gut.
"Why did he have to come back? Should've just stayed away so we can all focus."
He just had to keep his head down, like always, and then it wouldn't get worse. Words were fine, they weren't important.
"All he has to do is skip classes for a while, and the teachers'll let him get away with anything. They're just glad he actually showed up."
He just needed to get away sometimes, clear his head. He couldn't deal with it constantly, even if that just spoke to his own weakness. He didn't really do anything anymore, there was nothing to get away with, but an image can be hard to scrub away...
"All he has to do is slit his wrists, then he'll never have to come to class again."
It's not like he ever thought about actually doing it when they said that. Not at all. His wrists weren't scarred, he just got scratched by the cat. It was just the cat.
He took a seat, the lump in his throat cutting off his air, trying to ignore them. Trying to pretend that no one wanted him dead, so there was no point running off, no point crying. He was fine. He was fine, and he didn't need any of those fuckers anyway, because he liked being alone. He wasn't lonely, wasn't daydreaming of a girl who his memory of slipped away more and more each day. Some faceless girl with pretty hair and fingers that turned notes on a page into beautiful music that drifted through his whole body and wrapped around his heart.
Cheep! Cheep!
Shiro peered down, the sound so odd that it caught his attention, and yelped as he fell off his chair. There was something on his finger, perched on the thin silver band that she had pressed into his hand before she left, whispering about luck and happiness and other lies.
"Get off!" He panicked, shaking his hand in hopes of dislodging the creature, only to realise that it had vanished into thin air. He paused, looking at his hand for a moment, before wondering aloud, "There was something… Where did it…?"
"There it is. He's officially crazy now."
Shut up! There was something there, he wasn't crazy! He was never crazy, he just saw red sometimes and acted without thinking, that was all!
"So that's his new gimmick."
What fucking "gimmick"?! He'd never had a damn gimmick in his life! There was something there, on his finger, and no one was taking him seriously, like usual!
"What's his game? Does he think that's going to make him scarier, or something? That's so stupid…"
Why would he want that? Why would anyone want that?!
"I hope I don't end up at his high school."
Well he didn't want to go to high school with any of these assholes, anyway! He didn't care! He didn't need anyone from this shitty school!
"It's almost time for entrance exams. I don't have time to worry about a freak like that…"
And that was status quo, wasn't it? No one had ever given a shit about him, except for her, but she was gone and now he was all alone. Maybe he should just slit his wrists, get it over with…
The thought knocked all the air from his lungs, startling him with how easily it had come to mind, as if it was just a benign thing to think; as if he just thought about making a sandwich. It wasn't like he wanted to die, he didn't. He really didn't, those assholes just told him that he should because people always kick down. They were the psychos, not him. He never did anything like that. When he threw stuff, it was always at the wall.
His shoulders shook, and he could feel that hot sting in his eyes that meant he's start blubbering like a baby any minute. God fucking damn it. Not here, not now. Imagine what they'd say if he cried in front of them...
He couldn't take it. He stumbled to his feet, almost falling flat on his face but managing to stay upright, running out of the classroom and slamming the door behind him. His shoes were all too loud against the linoleum flooring of the hallways, and he felt the too much, too strong paranoia that a teacher would poke their head around one of the doors any moment, and he'd get in trouble. Again. As if that hadn't happened enough as it was.
He just needed to get the hell out of this situation, out of that fucking room, away from those shitty people he shared a class with. He had a test next period, but fuck it. He was failing anyway, so who even cared? He didn't.
He knew that their shitty attitude towards him should be some sort of motivator to pull his grades out of the sink hole - he'd been a smart kid, after all - but no. In real life, that didn't work. He wanted to get a cool, well-paid, successful career, but he didn't have the energy to work on his grades, so that wasn't an option.
He didn't want to try. He wanted to stay at home, in his room, for as long as possible. Why go outside when he was only ever happy there? He sure as hell didn't want to prove the bastards right, but why inconvenience himself in the process?
He didn't have to do anything. He wouldn't do anything.