Chapter Text
It was the morning before the first day at my new school, and I was already spiraling in my own thoughts. Would I find friends? Maybe even a lover? Probably not to both questions. Who would want to be friends with the weird emo kid who slit his wrists? No one. But maybe it was going to be better than the last schools. Maybe I wouldn’t get bullied for once. Maybe.
It had been an hour since I had entered the school building, and no one had said anything yet. I might survive that day without any problems. But nothing was ever guaranteed.
I was heading to art class when I bumped into a tall boy. I immediately muttered an apology and walked away. “Wait!” the guy called after me. I stood frozen in place. What did he want from me? “What’s your name?” His voice sounded genuine and bright. He didn’t sound like a threat. I turned around slowly. “I’m Nico. What’s your name?” His name was Will. I liked that. “What class are you heading to?” Will asked me. “Art.” “We’re in the same class. That’s so cool!” He sounded genuinely excited. He must have sensed that I wasn’t much of a talker, but instead of forcing me to talk like most other people, he just walked in silence beside me.
We sat next to each other in art class. I was just mindlessly drawing what the teacher had told us to do. He had said that we should capture our darkest feelings in a painting. I glanced over at Will and was shocked by the picture he was painting. It was dark and full of sorrow and grief. Maybe he wasn’t just sunshine and rainbows after all. He immediately hid his picture when he noticed me staring. “What?” he asked, smiling a little less brightly than usual. “Nothing,” I replied dryly, and with that, I turned back to my own painting. I took off my hoodie because it was getting hot. I noticed how Will was still wearing his hoodie even though he was clearly hot. “Aren’t you hot in that hoodie?” I finally asked him. He just shook his head. Weird. As I continued drawing, I made sure not to reveal my left wrist too much, since I didn’t want Will to notice, but of course he did. I expected him to lecture me about how bad it was for me and how the scars would still be there when I got married. But he did nothing like that. He just looked at me with an understanding gaze and then continued to work on his very dark picture.
I glanced over at him. He was wearing cargo shorts and had the right leg rolled up a little, revealing his thigh. The image that awaited me was nothing like what I had expected. I had expected smooth, tanned skin, but instead I saw deep cuts. Some were fresh and still red, others were healing, and others were very visible scars. It shocked me to see what someone could do to themselves. Even though I cut myself, I had never cut that deep. Instead of saying anything, I just wrote a note and slipped it toward him. It said, “Are you alright? Please be honest.”
After some time, he pushed the piece of paper back to me. His handwriting was messy and hard to read. “Not really, but it’ll be alright.” We both knew that it wouldn’t be alright. I leaned over toward him and asked if we should meet up after school. His expression lit up, and he nodded eagerly.
After school, we walked to his house. His parents weren’t at home, and we had the house to ourselves. We talked about nothing in particular. It felt so easy to just be around him. Even though everything seemed fine, I couldn’t help but notice how he always tensed up as soon as something slightly touched his hips or how he flinched at loud noises, people raising their voices, and babies crying. We made sure to hurry so that we could spend as much time as possible at his place.
His house was simple but cozy. I immediately felt at home there. That rarely happened when I was at other people’s houses. We spent the afternoon lying on the couch, watching TV and talking. “You could stay the night,” he said randomly. “Y-y-yes, of course,” I managed to get out. The offer had come out of the blue. I quickly called my mom to tell her that I would stay at a friend’s house for the night.
As it got late, Will got more and more tired, and the more tired he got, the looser his tongue became. He talked about his mental problems and the bullying he had experienced in the past and how he was sick of always having to be happy and sunny even when he didn’t feel like it. I listened to him, offering understanding and support. “I’m here whenever you need me.” “Same for you,” he responded.
After some time of sitting comfortably in silence, I felt Will’s head resting on my shoulder. I didn’t know how to react, so I just sat as still as possible. The position we were in got a little uncomfortable, and I moved his head onto my lap, playing with his soft curls. He looked so innocent for someone so hurt. Like an angel. He didn’t deserve that much pain and suffering. All I wanted to do was save him from all the evil in the world. Soon, I fell asleep while stroking through his hair.