Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-SixI slam the door when I get home. The harsh Bang! causes everything to rattle on the walls. My mother blurs in front of me as she comes towards me, her hands outstretched. All I see is her brown hair and I feel like vomiting. "Harry, what the hell?" She's mad at the slam of the door. "Are you okay?!" Mother tries to step beside me, her hand brushes my arm but I shake her off. "No." I leave Mother to stare at me in shock as I take the stairs in pairs of two, my feet quickly climbing in strides. She's never seen me cut her off or ignore the things she tells me. I don't care. I get to my room and throw the door closed with both hands, pushing it until it hits the frame forcefully. When it's shut, I scream, letting out the built up frustration within me. I take my fists and pound them against the door, weakly, hating my lack of strength. "I don't care," I tell myself harshly. "I don't fucking care!" But convincing myself is like teaching a cat to ribbit: pretty much impossible. My body starts shaking violently, it's not used to such anger being inside of it. I feel it pumping through me, giving me a sort of boost of energy. I go over to the mirror in my room and glare at my reflection. Faggot. The word rings through my head, loud and clear. Faggot. I look stupid.My hair is in that gelled sculpture, as always, and I hate it. I rake my fingers through it violently, my hair crunching and pulling apart through all the gel. After I finish, it just looks like a pile of wet hair on my head, disgusting. I'll wash it later. I strip off my top and throw it across the room. I do the same with my slacks and continue to stare at myself. I'm lanky and awkward looking. My body is thin with no sign of definition. I'm a pale color, having never been under the sun shirtless before. My hands go up to my glasses, contemplating as to whether or not I should take them off. With them, I look like a nerd, but without them, I can't see anything at all. I weigh my options. If I see nothing at all, then I won't be subject to the stares of everyone around, I just won't know if they're looking at me coldly. I bring the glasses off my face. No glasses it is. A clock tells me that it's getting late so I saunter over to my bed and lay down. Tomorrow morning will come around and I'll have to get ready. I pull the blankets over my bare body. Bring it on. ~~~~~ I stride into school with sunglasses over my eyes. My glasses are in a case in my shoulder bag, just in case I actually need them. After my shower this morning I let my hair air dry and didn't put any product in it. My natural curls are out, flipping across my forehead lazily. I found a plain white t-shirt and threw on the dark, tight jeans, pairing it up with the converse as well. I didn't put the black shirt from the other night on as well since I didn't want the possible recognition. I'm going to need new clothes sometime, but I'll figure that out later. Last night had driven me to my breaking point. Veronica made me realize that I had to change myself, make myself less susceptible to being hurt all the time. And in order to do this, I had to be tough and look tough as well. The world is a stage and we are actors, it's my turn to play lead. This morning I had struggled to even figure out what to wear. My dreams were filled with bullies hurting me and that just made everything more real for me. I had to get even my unconscious mind to be confident. So, I rifled through all my clothing, ignoring the dozens of polos, button-ups, long sleeves, and sweater-vests. I wasn't going to wear any of that to school. And even though I didn't want to, I wore the jeans because they're the only things I have that isn't plaid or slacks, both of which would ruin my attempt at change. The sunglasses were a last minute addition. They were lying out by the living room table, just lying there uselessly. I had planned on not covering my eyes at all, but found the sunglasses to be more intriguing. So I put them on and left my house. Now, behind the comfort of the sunglasses, everyone at school blurs out of focus so I don't know how they're looking at me, but I can hear the whispers throughout the hallways. "Who is that?" A girl whispers followed by a couple of giggles. "Don't know, but he's hot." I smirk at the whispers following me. Things sure do change when you've got on a disguise. The first bell rings and I walk leisurely towards my first class. No one recognizes me and I feel comfortable walking to class. I don't have to worry about people picking on me. In the room, I take a seat by the windows. As people file in they give me confused glances, but no one questions me. I watch as Veronica walks in, a couple feet from me. She turns and looks at the unoccupied chair in the front but I can't see her expression. Is she wondering why I'm not there? Professor James walks in and greets the class. He stands at the podium and starts taking attendance, quickly scanning the room for missing faces. "Harry Styles?" He calls out and everyone immediately starts talking amongst themselves. "Where's Marcel?""He's never absent.""I heard that his mom won't let him skip a day, ever." "Where's the faggot?" "Harry Styles?" Professor James calls out again. "Here," I reply, raising my hand in the air lazily. The room fills with gasps and chairs scraping against the floor. The only thing keeping me calm is the fact that I can't see anyone's actual features. I take off my sunglasses and flick my hair away. "I'm here," I say again. "Welcome Harry," Professor James mutters, sounding a bit shocked. I want to put my glasses on so I could actually see his expression, but resist. I don't need them right now. "Is that Marcel?" A girl whispers in front of me, her face turning in my direction constantly. "No," another voice snaps and I recognize it, "that's Harry fucking Styles." Veronica. I smirk to myself again and put the sunglasses back on. Damn right it's me. Today is going to be good.