The Lonely Ones

Hey you, thank you for checking out this story and I hope you'll stick to the end of this book. This book contains mature themes like, mention of suicide, abuse, drug use, homophobic slurs, depression, anxiety, and curse words.

Have fun reading.

THE LONELY ONES 1

" You worthless piece of shit." Anthony Reed cursed, as he kicked his son, Norman, on the stomach.

Norman hissed and coughed out blood as he clutched his stomach. It was times like this he wished he was dead. He wished he could just take his own life and end his misery. But no matter how far he had gotten himself to just end it, to put an end to all of his pain, and misery, he just couldn't.

He was a coward. He had thought countless times.

" Dad, stop." Norman managed to speak, but that didn't stop his abusive father from hitting him.

In fact, the more he pleaded for his father to stop, the more his father kicked him, beat him, and slapped him. He was used to all the pain his father constantly inflicted on him. He wished he was stronger, bigger, like his older brother, and then, maybe then, he wouldn't have to go through this all the time.

As he sat there crying, wheezing, and coughing at every of his father's punches and kicks, he wondered what he did to deserve this pain. He wanted it all to just end. He wanted to end everything.

But he couldn't. He just laid there and let his father hurt him. He knew better than to resist, talk, or fight back. His father would just hurt him more. He was weak and powerless and he hated himself.

" You're a fucking disgrace. Just like your stupid brother and he's going to rot in jail." Anthony growled, kicking his son one last time.

He took a deep breath as he brushed his hair out of his face. He stared at his son on the floor with disgust, staggering backwards as he left the house.

To get more drunk with his fellow alcoholics. Obviously.

It was Monday morning and Norman was almost late to his first class. Norman, like every other morning, stayed in his bedroom for safety as he got ready for class. He'd skipped breakfast, afraid he was gonna run into his father in the kitchen. Anthony was barely sober. Norman could count the times he was ever sober. So that morning, he got dressed in one of his few pieces of clothing, ready to leave for school happy, he didn't have to see his father that morning. But luck wasn't on his side.

Anthony Reed had gone out the previous night to get wasted and there were times he wasn't home until 10:am the following day. But, luck wasn't on Norman's side that morning. Anthony had barged through his son's bedroom door, drunk out of his ass that morning and started yelling at his son. Blaming Norman for every bad thing that's happened to him, including his job loss and the death of his wife. Norman had tried to back away, only to get punched in the gut by his father.

Norman watched, as he listened at the front door being shut loudly. His father was gone. He was safe. For now. He slowly sat up, clutching at his stomach and wheezing in forced, deep breaths. He was hurting as he pressed his back against his bed. He'd sprained his ankle when he was trying to get away from his father, but his father had dragged him back with his ankle, before stepping on it with force.

Norman stood up, hissing at the pain in his ankle as he limped towards his small bedroom mirror. His face was bruised, and there was a handprint left by his father around his neck. He had a split lip from the impact of his father's punch. His eyes were red, with bags underneath his eyelids.

Norman could barely sleep at night, afraid his father was gonna come into his room at midnight to hurt him. Also, he had mild insomnia. It has gotten worse lately.

Norman stared at his reflection, exhaling a breath of relief that his father didn't hit him in the eye today. His eye bruises always took time to heal and it was difficult for him to cover it up with makeup. And nobody seemed to notice, because nobody knew Norman Reed. Except for his childhood friend, Melissa.

He wasn't the most popular kid at school. In fact, he was the invisible one at school. He was nobody, just another lonely loser, and he was okay with that. He didn't have to dress to impress anyone. Hell, he barely even had any clothing. Norman was okay with that. He was okay with the fact that nobody cared about him. The only people in his life who really gave a shit about him were his mother, and his delinquent older brother who was in jail.

No matter how much Norman tried to forget how his mother left his life permanently, he just couldn't. He could still remember the day like it was yesterday. He could still picture it clearly. How he had just got back from his therapy session that Friday afternoon, accompanied by his brother. His mother just laid on their couch, cold, and out of life. With different bottles of hard drugs on the small coffee table. She'd killed herself. Took her own life with the help of heroin. He was only 15.

Norman could never forget the scene. He hated the couch and never sat on it without it reminding him his mother died on that couch.

His older brother, Nixon, was always in and out of trouble. Norman knew if his big brother was around, his father wouldn't dare hit him like his own personal punching bag. About two weeks ago, his father walked in that afternoon and told Norman his older brother was in jail in New Jersey. He was convicted for hitting a cop and they've refused bail, seemingly to keep Nixon there till he learned his lessons.

Norman was alone and he was at the brink of just ending it all. His family was fucked and he knew that. His older brother was in jail in New Jersey, a city far away from the small town they live in. His father was an abusive alcoholic, and he himself was suffering from social anxiety. He was diagnosed with the disorder at a very young age and he knew there would be a time when he would overcome his cowardice and just end it all. The pain, the suffering, the loneliness especially, he couldn't take more of it anymore.

After covering his facial bruises inflicted by his father with makeup, Norman ran his hand through his curly brown hair. He removed his gray t-shirt he was wearing and replaced it with a turtleneck sweater. He was already 15 minutes late to class when he stepped out of his house. He knew he would definitely have to miss his first class.

Having no means of transportation, Norman began his walk to school, limping a little as he tread forward, with his backpack on his back. The spring weather didn't do Norman any good as he stopped outside his school's big gates, wiping his forehead off his sweats.

Norman thought about his sophomore year when he nearly quitted school because of his anxiety and his sensitivity to noise as he strolled down the empty hallway of his school towards his next class since he was already late to his first. With the help of his therapist, he was able to avoid the noise from his classmates by just focusing on a particular sound or listening to music with his earphone. It helped.

" Norman." A familiar voice called his name.

Norman turned around and he was faced with his AP Biology teacher, Mr. Brian. He was a good looking, tall man with dark skin tone, and bright green eyes. He was one of Norman's favorite teachers and Norman was partially comfortable with the man. He understood him.

" Mr. Brian." Norman greeted him, trying as much as possible to hide his limping.

" Why are you just coming to school? Are you okay? You're almost late to your first class." Mr. Brian asked, staring at the fragile boy with golden curls.

Mr. Brian had always been observant and he knew Norman wasn't like every other kid in school. Aside from the fact that the blue eyed boy was extremely brilliant, he was obviously abused at home. Mr. Brian noticed that the day he found him crying at the students bathroom. He'd tried to talk to the boy, but he was always closed off.

" Yeah. I woke up late." Norman lied and Mr. Brian could tell the minute the lie rolled off his tongue.

Norman liked Mr. Brian. He saw him as the teacher who cared too much about everyone, and Norman thought sometimes he was too nosy and he hated it. He couldn't tell his teacher off, that might come off as rude and Norman was far from rude. So the way to avoid Mr. Brian was by being closed off all the time, avoiding the teacher's persistent questions about his well-being.

He was fine and he wanted no one to worry or care about him, especially his teachers.

" Okay. Well, let me walk you to your class. It's English right?" Mr. Brian inquired, staring at the boy like he could see through him and noticed the boy was hurting inside.

" I'm fine. I'll be fine. I can walk myself to class." Norman said. It came out a little sternly, and Mr. Brian noticed.

He felt like something must have happened at home again. Even if Norman never talked about his family or what he was passing through, Mr. Brian knew something was hurting the boy. He could see through his mask.

" It's not an offer, Norman. I'm walking you to class. I know you're late and you need to get to your first class."

Isn't it weird he cared too much about me? Norman thought, as he allowed his teacher to walk him to his English class. Class he was avoiding earlier.

He stopped outside his first class with his teacher as his teacher opened the door. Norman stepped in, with Mr. Brian behind him.

" Mr. Brian." Ms. Fatima, Norman's English teacher, greeted his Biology teacher.

Norman wasn't paying attention to the conversation between his two teachers. He stared at the floor, zoning out his fellow classmates who were talking amongst themselves and acting as if he wasn't standing in front of the class. He was used to it. With none of his classmates actually aware he even existed.

" Go and take a seat, Norman." He heard Ms. Fatima say.

Without wasting any time, Norman walked towards his seat at the front row and sat down. His childhood friend, Melissa, wasn't here. She'd texted him last night that she wouldn't be at school that morning. He was used to loneliness, the emptiness. And as he sat down and pretended to listen to what Ms. Fatima was teaching, Norman just sketched on the back of his sketchbook, zoning out the world and the quiet chatter from his classmates. He loved art, it was a way he could easily drown himself and forget about his pain as he sketched or drew something fascinating that just crossed his mind.

The door to the classroom opened again, stopping his sketching. He noticed the room fell quiet and his teacher had stopped teaching all of a sudden. Someone stepped into the classroom. It was a boy, dressed in black, ripped denim jacket, with a dark gray t-shirt and black jeans.

Norman noticed half the class was staring at the new boy, including himself. The more Norman stared at this new boy, the more he took in his features. He had dark brown hair that was slightly tousled with the sides shorter than the middle. His eyes were amber, and Norman thought his eyes looked like the sun. He was fascinated by the new boy, something that has never happened to him before.

The new boy was good looking, and without looking twice, Norman knew the new boy was bad news and trouble. With his hand still clutching his pencil that was paused half sketching something on his book, golden-amber eyes scanned the classroom and fell on Norman. Blue and amber eyes locked for a second.

And for a minute, Norman's heart skipped a beat.

THE LONELY ONES 2

PHOENIX'S POV

Stars.

I've always loved to watch the stars when I was younger. Probably ten years old or something. Don't even fucking remember, but I loved watching them. I would just stand by my open window, perched on it as I stared at the stars in the sky. Maybe it was a girl thing to do, maybe it sounded or looked fucked up, but I always had this sense of peace each time I stared at the sky.

It reminded me I was always gonna be okay. And I believed that.

With my eyes shut, all I can see are stars. Countless stars. Reminding me I am okay and I'll always be okay. Fuck, I was high as hell. Wasted even, and I don't even know what time it is. I don't even know where I am and I don't dare open my eyes.

It's been two weeks since we moved to Blue Meadow. Yeah, weird name for a little town. I thought so too. Well, when we got here, the town was pretty great. I made some new shitty friends and I went out partying with them last night at one of their houses. So I guess I'm pretty much still in this person's apartment high as fuck.

I hear the familiar ringtone from my phone and I groan.

Who the fuck is that?

The phone doesn't stop ringing. I blindly reach for it on the bed I'm lying on and mute it, tossing it off the bed with annoyance.

" Phoenix!" A familiar female voice calls my name.

What?

God, my head hurts. I touch my head and slowly pry my eyes open.

" Phoenix, open the damn door. Mom wants you downstairs. It's time for school." The voice says again, followed by loud knocking on my door.

School? School! Shit.

I bolt up at once, pressing the heel of my palms on my eyes.

" Phoenix. Fucking get up!" My sister's voice calls my name again. " Or I'm breaking your door and forcing myself in."

Oh fuck. She can't see me like this.

I bolt to my feet and rush to the door.

" Anna, go away, I'm gonna get ready and come downstairs for breakfast." I say, with my hands on my door, readying myself to stop her in case she decides to force herself in.

Anna is an ass. She's 16 and a total sweetheart sometimes. She acts like my older sister sometimes, and trust me, it's annoying.

" Fine. 20 minutes. I want your ass downstairs or mom's gonna come kick your ass." I hear her receding footsteps as she speaks.

" Fuck." I turn around with my back pressed against my door as I slide down to the floor, with my elbows on my knees as I run my fingers through my hair.

Slightly sober and fully awake, I stare at my crappy room. The drapes are drawn close, with morphines, and cracks scattered on my table, including syringes.

Yeah, I'm a fucking junkie and I'm not proud of myself. I'm sometimes ashamed of myself.

My parents don't know. They'd make me feel like shit so I try all the time to hide the needle marks on my arm with long sleeves each time I shoot up. The Monroe's are great people. They are nice and I don't want to disappoint them. To cut the long story short, The Monroe's aren't my real family.

I lost my parents when I was twelve years old. It was a car accident. The day of the accident, I was in the car with my parents when it happened. When I opened my eyes, according to the doctors, they said I was out for like a month. So when I opened my eyes, I was told my parents didn't make it. Fucking hell, they died and I was alive.

Since then I was thrown from one foster home to another. Hell, it was shit. I suffered severe depression, technically, I'm still depressed, so. After getting into my fifth foster home because every other foster home didn't want to keep me for long, I got involved with the wrong crowd and I would sneak out at night in my New foster home to get high and wasted. I was only fifteen. I got involved with drugs and it was just easier to numb the pain and forget I was hurting when I was high. It was fucking easy. I became addicted, I couldn't stop. Fuck, I tried, and stopping was just worse. It felt like the pain just increased. I couldn't. For a long time I was lonely. I think I'm still lonely.

At fifteen I had my first tattoo. It was the mythical and legendary bird Phoenix. The symbol of my name. The bird was a symbol of resurrection, and some day, one day, I knew all this pain and hurt was gonna end and I may get my own salvation. I had the tattoo on my back, and the bird took almost every part of my upper back. I was young and I guess to some people it was a bad decision, but it wasn't for me. I loved it and I wanted it. Also, I could easily cover it with a shirt on so my foster parents didn't have to know.

My foster parents kicked me out when they found out I was a junkie. That was when the Monroe's took me in. They adopted me. They cared for me, truly cared for me and I felt different. They were rich, had good jobs, and an only child, Anna. Anna took me like her own brother, we were a family. I cared about them also.

Well, I tried to hide the fact that I was a druggie by sneaking out to get high. Sometimes I'd wait till they were asleep to just do it. They couldn't find out. They'd be ashamed of me. They hated drugs and they've even brought Anna and I up in the fear of God. Condemning drugs and even sex. I've tried to follow God and all his teachings, but I guess I'm a lost cause. All the changes aren't really working on me. I think I'm long gone down the road and there isn't any way back for me.

The Monroe's weren't all that proud of the tattoo on my back and the few ones on my arms, but they accepted it. They loved me, and they always hoped I would turn out better and push all my bad habits behind me.

But who was I kidding?

Before we moved to this town, I told myself I was gonna do better. Cut down on the partying, and drugs, definitely not sex, but that didn't happen. Because just a few days after we settled in, I got acquainted with new people. They were all in college and some of them were older than me. Jordan, the oldest of my new group, wanted to throw a party and I was invited. I never turned down parties, especially with free drinks on the platter.

Hell no.

I lied to my parents, the Monroe's, that I was hanging out with new friends and then left to get wasted. I sneaked back in around 1:am in the night, but Esther Monroe, my mother, saw me. I hated the look she gave me. That of disapproval. I told her I was just having fun and time slipped past me. She didn't say a word, just watched me with her arms crossed over her chest. I knew that look. It was a look every parent gave their kids when they were disappointed.

I couldn't sleep when I got home. I needed to get high in order for me to sleep. A few needles and I was out.

With me still seated on the floor with my back pressed against my bedroom door, I stare at the new syringe marks on my forearm. The old ones have healed quite a long time ago when I stopped using needles and opted for oral. Well, when my parents told us they were moving to this small town because Pete Monroe was pursuing a career in politics, and Esther got a job here, I parked a few emergency drugs, telling myself I won't be needing them.

I guess I lied. Because the minute I got into my bedroom at 1:am that night after partying with my new college friends, I pulled them all out, including needles I thought I wouldn't be using anytime soon and got high. Now, I feel like shit. My head hurts from the alcohol I consumed at the party and the drugs still kicking in.

I stagger to my feet, picking up my phone that won't stop buzzing with text messages. I unlock the screen and frown at the countless messages from my new college friends. About two messages are from Eunice, this pretty girl that I fucked last night. She probably thinks we're automatically in a relationship because she had my dick in her cunt. Hell, I don't even have her number, and I don't even remember her name if she hadn't added her name along her text messages.

I groan and toss my phone on the bed as I begin to gather my stash. Boxing everything and hiding them away at the top of my closet. I always lock my room and I'm always careful. I can't afford getting caught by my adoptive parents. They've been good to me and I don't want to fail them.

" Phoenix! Are you getting out?"

" I'm coming, Anne. And leave me the fuck alone." I groan.

God I hate school. I've been tempted to quit along the way, but the Monroe's always make sure I don't give up on myself. I think I've given up on myself a long time ago. I'm just doing all of this because I want to be the son they're proud of. So, I must go to school.

Taking a quick shower, I get dressed in a denim slightly ripped jacket, over a dark grey shirt and black jeans. I open my drawers and take out a bottle of Tylenol as I swallow dry. I risk a glance at my reflection, and fuck, I really do look like shit. My Amber eyes are a little more golden this morning, my eyes are a little red, and my eyelids are swollen, and damn, like every other day, I almost forgot to brush my golden brown hair.

Fuck this shit.

Putting on my sneakers, I glance around my room for anything that will make my parents be ashamed of me as I grab my backpack and scurry out of my room, making sure to lock it behind me.

" Hey, Phoenix." Mom calls in the kitchen. She's preparing breakfast.

" Hey, Mom." I greet her, grabbing one of Anna's peanut butter sandwiches as I chew on it.

" Get yours, asshole." Anna glares at me.

I give her a small smile.

" You don't look good, sweetheart." Mom says, running her hands through my hair. I tilt my head to the side, avoiding her sweet gestures.

" Yeah."

" Great party last night?" Mom asks, giving me one of her looks.

" I... uh."

" It's fine. Just don't get used to it. You're no longer a kid, I just want you to be careful."

" Right."

" Don't you think it's too hot for jackets?" Mom asks.

I bite my lip as I swallow the sandwich.

" I'm fine, thanks." I smile at my mom as I grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

" Sure. Be Careful out there and try to look out for your sister." Mom says. It took me almost two years before I got comfortable calling her mom. I've always called her by her name.

" I'm leaving, Anna. You better follow me or I'm leaving you behind." I say as I walk towards the foyer.

" Asshole." I hear Anna mutters.

" Language!" Mom scolds.

I chuckle as I step out of the house.

" Hey, Dad." I greet Pete Monroe once I spot him outside our lawn. He's talking with our neighbors. I don't even know their names.

" Hey, son. Going to school?" He asks. The olderly neighbor looks at me. I don't bother to acknowledge him.

" Yeah."

" Be Careful out there."

" Sure." I give him a small smile and slide inside my car.

The Monroe's gifted me this car, a black SUV Jeep Wrangler, the second I turned 17, which was two years ago. I valued this beautiful baby. It was a big gift for me, and then, I was yet to even call them mom and dad.

Anna quickly slides in my car as she sits herself in the passenger's seat. Without letting her fasten her seatbelt, I drive onto the road, smirking at Anna's squeals and curses.

" We really need to wash your tongue." I say when she's finally fastened her seatbelt. " Don't you think?"

" You drive like a maniac."

" Hm mm."

Anna pulls out a lipstick as she applies it on her lips. I watch her, as she leans towards me a little to stare at the rearview mirror.

" What's with the lipstick?"

" I need to make a good impression. High school students can be snobby, pieces of shits."

" Hmm. Or you're planning on catching the attention of a new guy? Unlucky son of a bitch."

" Hey! You've been having all the fun. I saw you sneak in this morning clearly drunk out of your ass. You obviously went to a party." Anna says, throwing her lipstick back in her bag." I've never really partied." She adds with a sigh, running her hands through her red hair.

Anna is beautiful. Green eyes, red hair. She's short, maybe not that short for a 16 years old. She's just like her mom, but Anna is more petite. Puberty obviously did her good in the female areas. The minute you look at both of us, you'd just know we aren't related. I have dark brown hair that's shaved at the sides and the back, making the middle a little long and curly. I have amber eyes, rare, I know. But, I think it's one of my charms. Girls love it. They just seem to flirt with me the minute I lock eyes with them.

Fucking crazy.

Anna and I might not be blood related, but I really care about the kid. I'd even beat up her past boyfriends because they hurt her. She is just too sweet.

" New school here we come." Anna mutters when I park my car outside.

We are late, I can tell with the quietness and lack of students outside. The minute we step inside the hallways, I walk Anna to her first class because she is shy and scared to get lost before I look for my own class. It is English and I am fucking late. Without bothering to knock, I push the door open and step in.

A woman is giving lectures in front of different students that I don't bother to look at. She stops teaching as she turns to look at me. Including the students. I don't say a word, eyeing the teacher and taking in every detail of her.

New school sucks. In fact, highschool sucks. I've never liked it. And when you're new, and maybe good looking, it's just fucking crazy the way girls stare at you. I scan my eyes across the room, with girls already biting their lips and giving me cat eyes.

Fuck.

My eyes fall on a boy sitting on the front row, and for a long minute our eyes lock. Curly brown hair, blue eyes. God, he looks fragile and young. You can easily pass him up for a 16 years old. Oddly enough, something pulled me to him. Something I don't recognize as I stare into his eyes.

I guess the minute our eyes locked, I have a feeling I'm fucked.

THE LONELY ONES 3

NORMAN

I've never been able to maintain eye contact with anyone. It might be pretty simple for others, but for me, it's different.

But staring at this new boy with Amber eyes filled with so many, different emotions behind those golden orbs, for a weird long minute, I found peace just staring into his sun-like eyes. A strange kind of peace by just staring at this new boy. Without a second thought, I bring my gaze back to my book, at the same time Ms. Fatima speaks to the new boy.

" I'm sorry, who are you?" Mrs. Fatima asks.

I can hear the girls in my class muttering amongst themselves about the new boy. He's kind of good looking. God, who am I kidding? He's good looking, with this bad boy kind of look, and with this aura that just screams trouble and danger. I've never been good at reading people, but Mr. New boy looks dangerous.

" Are you supposed to be in this class?" Mrs. Fatima inquires further when the new boy doesn't answer.

I risk a glance at him and he's staring at my middle aged English teacher.

" I'm Phoenix. And yes, I'm supposed to be in this class. I'm new." He says. His voice sounds a little gruff and deep, but weirdly peaceful.

A voice like that can easily lull me to sleep by just whispering...

God, Norman, what the hell am I doing? When did I start having these thoughts?

" Please, take a seat. I don't condone lateness, but it's obvious you're new, so I'll let this slide by, for only today." Mrs. Fatima says.

Phoenix doesn't say a word as he walks towards the front row of the classroom and sits down on the seat behind mine. There are about three vacant seats at the back of the class, but the seat behind mine happens to be the seat he occupied.

Mrs. Fatima continues her teaching and I continue sketching. I stop what I was sketching earlier and open a new page in my sketchbook to sketch something new. Something fascinating that just finds its way into my head.

I'm lost in my own world, sketching the fascinating image that just happens to display itself in my brain and I just let my hand work the pencil. For a brief second, I feel Phoenix's breath at the back of my neck, sending a weird electric feeling down my spine.

What the hell?

I think I am just imagining things.

My fingers pause on my book and I take a deep breath. I'm tempted to just turn around and take a quick glance at his beautiful amber eyes, but I don't. I just chew on my lips, and lean forward on my seat a little to avoid Phoenix behind me as I continue sketching.

The bell rings at last, putting an end to Mrs. Fatima's long, boring English class. I stand up as I shove my things inside my bag, including my sketchbook. Students begin to walk out of the classroom and I follow suit, not before stealing a glance at Phoenix. His eyes meet mine for a brief second. I look away and I hurry out of the classroom.

I reach my locker and open it, throwing the unnecessary materials that I won't need in my next class as I grab my math textbook. I've always loved Math, I'm pretty good at it, and the teacher, Mr. Scott, knows how to teach Math, taking his time with any equation and math problems.

I shut my locker as my eyes fall on Phoenix. He's standing in front of his own locker that's pretty far from mine as he opens it. I look away, hurrying down the opposite direction of the new boy towards my math class while trying so hard not to fall with my sprained ankle. I should probably see the nurse about my ankle today.

I don't know what this is or what I'm doing, but the new boy happens to fascinate me. I know I should stay away, I want to stay away, but something is just stopping me. A part of me wants to figure him out. Figure out all the emotions behind his perfect rare amber eyes.

I've never found anyone fascinating before and I hate that the new boy turns out to be the first person that fascinated me to this extent. Why does it have to be him? Maybe it's because he's the first person I've ever met whose eyes are naturally amber.

That might explain it.

With the new boy's fascinating golden eyes sketched in the back of my mind, I enter my math class and take my seat on the usual front row. Mr. Scott is yet to arrive, so I am busy sketching what I was sketching earlier. The sketch is something I can't recognize yet, but I won't stop drawing. Drawing or painting things is one of the easiest ways to drown myself. It makes me forget the nightmare I'm living in. It makes me forget I'm hurting and I'm in pain and depressed. My drawings can be anything random. From birds, to butterflies, to a beautiful, lonely park, and even the beach. I've always loved to go to the beach one day, but I've never been opportune to do that.

Before mom died, she was always busy with her job, and dad was always away. Nixon spent most of his teenage years in boarding schools, so I'm mostly alone. Always alone. So I never really get the time to go places I want to visit. Like the beach. In movies, the beach is the place people go to, to just get away from everything. The quiet helps them to just pretend everything's fine and they're okay. I want that serenity. That solitude and calmness, even if I have to pretend for hours I'm fine and happy.

Someone plant themselves on the seat next to mine. The seat Melissa always sits on. I don't have to look to know who it is. I can even smell his expensive cologne from where I'm sitting. Despite his rich boy look, Phoenix still has that rough exterior that just screams bad. He's bad. I know I suck at reading people, but Phoenix isn't the guy I want to be friends with. Hell, I don't even know how to make friends. I barely can make a conversation with anyone, and I mostly talk to myself.

It took Melisa nearly three years before I became comfortable around her. Melissa and I became friends freshman year in highschool. She's pretty, dark honey skin, with curly long hair. She's nice, and really understanding. She didn't give up on me when sometimes I'd just ignored her when she wanted to have a conversation. It's not like I ignored her on purpose, I just didn't know how to talk to people, and my anxiety didn't really help either. Sometimes I wonder how Melissa and I became good friends. Later, I just assumed it's because we both stuck out like a sore thumb in this dumb highschool hierarchy.

From my peripheral, I see Phoenix pulls out his phone. Obviously to distract and busy himself till the math teacher arrives. I bite my lip, bringing my gaze and attention to the back page of my book. I pause my pencil on my book and stare at the small sketch I've managed to draw. The image is yet to make sense to me. I don't have to complete this drawing, I know it will turn out good. It's a drawing of an image that just flashed across my mind for a split second.

What is it? I have no clue. But I know it has something to do with Phoenix.

" Hey." A chippy voice says and it's pretty loud and it seems as if it's coming from next to me.

I turn my head to see three girls surrounding Phoenix. He looks taken aback, obviously not surprised. I'm thinking in his past school he's used to all the attention he gets from girls. For a second, I envied him. He's good looking. He's attractive. He has the attention. He's probably rich too with his life ahead of him. He's not lonely or depressed. He probably doesn't have a father who abuses him. He's perfect, it won't be a coincidence if his life is also perfect.

All the time I always wished I was someone else. Someone who's extroverted. Someone who likes to go out and party. Someone who knows how to start a conversation and even make friends. Someone who's got freedom. I've even secretly imagined myself being in a relationship with someone. Each time I think about it, it's just not as perfect as I imagined it to be. I guess I'm just stuck with being me. A book nerd who's sensitive to literally everything. A guy that can't start a conversation with anyone. And my anxiety doesn't even help matters.

I sigh, briefly shutting my eyes as I try to shut out the girls that are around Phoenix.

" I'm Jackie, and you're, like, super hot." A girl says.

I barely know anyone in my class. I don't even know most of my classmates' names. They've never really bothered to talk to me. I don't even think my classmates are aware I exist. I'm just this guy in the crowd that nobody sees me and I'm fine with it. The trauma of highschool can be overwhelming sometimes and maybe it's just not for me.

" Hey." Phoenix greets the girls. There's a strange tone under his voice, and it sounds like he's not pleased to be crowded by different girls who probably wants to date him.

" Well, I'm throwing a party this weekend and I would like you to come." A voice I recognize to be Jackie's says.

My hand is still gripping onto my pencil, hovering over my half drawn sketch. From my peripheral vision, the blonde who introduced herself as Jackie snatches Phoenix's phone and types something on it.

" Well, you've got my number. You should call me and let's talk about the details of my party."

Phoenix doesn't reply as Jackie awkwardly leaves, including the other girls with silent 'bye' directed at Phoenix.

I hear Phoenix scoffs silently, almost to himself, and I think he pockets his phone. Bringing back my focus on my drawing, I continue sketching again, taking my time to draw out the image in my head. A few minutes later, Mr. Scott walks into his classroom. He greets his class and half of the classroom responds. I don't. I have never been the person who responds to class greetings anyway.

For half of the class, I always feel Phoenix's gaze on me. At first, I try to ignore the fact that the new boy finds me interesting to stare at, even if it's for a second or a minute. But then, as the teaching goes on, I start to become uncomfortable at his not-so-subtle observations. His eyes bore into my skin, making me conscious of myself for the first time in forever. I discreetly run my hand through my hair when Phoenix looks away just to make sure I don't have shit on my hair.

I know I don't look my best, with the slight bruises around my neck burning a little with the constant contact with my sweater. Also, I'm not the most good looking teen out there. In fact, I don't consider myself good looking or attractive. I barely even look in the mirror, except when my father hits me, and that's because I have to stare at my reflection to cover up the bruises.

I think if I come to school one day with bruises all over my face without me bothering to cover them up with makeup, no one will really notice. Well, except Melissa, and maybe Mr. Brian, my Biology teacher. I'm an invisible highschool teen and I want it to stay that way. I've never really liked drama so that's a bonus for me.

Wondering why the new boy won't stop staring at me, I bite my bottom lip, fighting the urge to look at him, but my nervousness and anxiety stops me from bothering to stare at this mysterious new boy. When Mr. Scott's class ends, I quickly stand up, pushing my stuff into my backpack as I escape out of the classroom, not for once giving a simple glance towards the new boy.