Hey everyone! First ever story, so please tell me if its worth continuing? I hope everyone enjoys :D
I apologize in advance for any grammatical/spelling mistakes, my editing isn't that great.
Logan sat silently at the back of the room, watching intently as the teacher, Mrs Martin, scrawled a series of three stage algebraic equations on the blackboard. As she explained to the class how to solve them Logan took fast notes, the only one of his classmates really paying attention. Logan scribbled down a few more examples of his own as Mrs Martin moved on; even though he already knew how to solve three stage algebraic equations with ease.
The only reason Logan excelled so much in maths was because it was one of the only subjects he could get lost in, a subject in which he could forget about the ever growing feeling of isolation that encircled him, banish the images of those ugly, white scars that littered his arms and forget about his parents that hated him so much, thoughts of the friends he didn't have pushed to the back of his mind. Math gave him solace; it gave Logan peace.
Logan looked up from his notebook when the scratch of Mrs Martin's chalk against the surface of the blackboard ceased, her hands now placed on her narrow hips.
"Carlos Garcia, how nice of you to join us."
Logan's head swivelled to face the door, as did the rest of the people occupying the classroom. The person in question stood in the doorway with a sheepish grin on his face, scratching at his neck self-consciously.
"Sorry Mrs Martin, I got kept back in media."
"For twenty minutes?" The older woman asked, arching a thin eyebrow.
Carlos simply nodded, holding his books to his chest. Mrs Martin sighed, gesturing to an empty seat, "Just go take a seat Carlos, I'll speak with you after class."
Carlos nodded, ducking his head as he took a seat near the front of the class as Mrs Martin resumed with her equations. Logan tried to concentrate on what Mrs Martin was doing but found he couldn't, eyes straying to the Latino who was completely oblivious of him. Logan's heart fluttered at the thought of the boy's smile and how dimples appeared on his caramel skin each time he flashed his pearly white teeth; soon enough Logan had completely lost track of Mrs Martin's teaching. Ever since he could remember Logan had held feelings for the dark haired boy, from the day he'd enrolled in the school during his first year of high school. Those feelings had grown with each passing day since he'd first laid eyes on Carlos and that had been years ago. Logan knew it was pathetic to have such strong feelings for someone he'd never spoken to but it was something that was out of control and something he'd never told anyone; not that he had anyone to tell.
Logan had never made any friends, from the first day he arrived at Rocque High Logan had been ignored, like he was some kind of ghost everyone couldn't see; sometimes teachers even marked him absent because they don't notice his presence in a classroom. Logan sighed as he continued to stare at the Latino's back, completely lost in his musings. Logan wished for nothing more than to speak with the boy, but he knew that would never happen; Carlos sat on the other end of the social ladder; he was a friend to everyone; he spoke to everyone; except Logan.
A shrill ring jolted Logan from his sullen reverie; he jumped to his feet, being swept up into the sea of teenage bodies.
As Logan exited the room he took a sharp right, heading straight for his locker, math had been his last class and he had no reason to hang around. Glancing down Logan saw that a lace of one of his shoes was undone; sighing he paused and bent down to tie it up. Just as he straightened himself he heard a shout as someone ran into his back. Logan stumbled and his books fell to the floor. Logan closed his eyes, shaking his head. He turned, curious to see who the culprit was. The breath in his throat caught when he came face to face with Carlos Garcia who stood before him awkwardly, eyes wide.
"I'm so sorry!' he exclaimed, bending down to pick up the spilt books. Logan tried to say something in reply but he found he couldn't speak, his tongue having turned to a dead weight, heart pounding profusely. He bent down to aid Carlos, opting to stay silent.
Carlos went to hand over some books, still mumbling apologies when he froze, staring downwards. Logan followed he line of sight, stomach dropping when he caught sight of what Carlos had seen. As Logan had bent down to retrieve a book the sleeve of his cardigan had ridden up his arm, revealing two thin scars running parallel along his arm, one white and faded, the other an angry red, the skin around it puckered. Logan looked up at Carlos, at loss as what to say. Carlos stared right back, mouth hanging open.
Abruptly Logan stood up, stammering a weak apology, "I-I'm s-s-sorry…" he rushed away, nearing a corner.
"No wait, Logan stop!"
At the sound of his name Logan paused and turned to meet Carlos' surprised eyes with his tear-filled ones; without wasting another moment he disappeared around the corner. With a sigh Carlos collected up the books Logan had left behind; a frown plastered on his features.
"What?!" James exclaimed, jumping up from the plush velvet sofa.
"You heard me," replied Carlos, seated on the floor by the couch, staring at his hands. The two were in James' room, the taller, brunette boy having invited Carlos over that afternoon.
"Are you sure?" James questioned, pulling at his tight fitting shirt, "were they actually scars?"
"Yes I'm sure" deadpanned Carlos, looking up at James, "I need to do something James, I can't just ignore it; he needs help and he obviously isn't getting any."
James collapsed on his queen-sized bed, letting out a large breath, "Carlos how are you going to do that? You don't know the kid, no one does. He's just the guy that no one pays attention to, and obviously for good reason! He's messed up, let someone else deal with it."
Carlos jumped to his feet, face turning beet red; "how can you say that James!? I can't just stand back and pretend I didn't see anything; what if he went and did something stupid? I couldn't live with myself if I knew I could've done something to help him James, I just couldn't."
"What, are you saying, he's gonna go top himself?" James asked, rather bluntly.
"That's not funny James, I'm serious, I just want to help him is all."
"Sometimes I wish you weren't like this," James said with a sigh, "wished that you didn't care so much; this Logan kid obviously has a lot of baggage and I just think you should let him deal with the burden himself."
Carlos glared at James, "I care because I understand." Images of his mother flashed before his eyes, leaving him dazed.
James expression softened as he realised what Carlos was referring to. "No Carlos, I didn't mean it like that, its good that you want to help but how do you know Logan will even let you in, he's obviously never let anyone else in."
"James I don't think anybody ever tried to be friends with Logan."
James threw his arms up in evident defeat, "fine Carlos, you win, help Logan if you really think it'll work, but I'm warning you, it could get messy."
Carlos gave his friend a smile, "don't worry James, I'll be careful." James just rolled his eyes, smiling back at his friend.
Logan pushed open the door to his home, silence meeting his ears. He entered the immaculately clean hall, wiping away the last of the tears that had left shining trails down his face. The place was completely free of dust, everything placed in perfect order. He passed into the clinically white kitchen, noticing his parents sitting at the breakfast table. When he entered the room they cut their conversation short, both turning to silently stare at him.
"Hi" Logan muttered, giving his parents a small wave. His father simply returned the gesture with a glare, his mother's mouth turning down in a light frown.
"Go upstairs please Logan," his mother said to him in a neutral tone, "your father and I are speaking privately."
When Logan made no move to leave his father spoke up, venom lacing his words, "you heard the woman, you fag, get your good for nothing arse upstairs before I need to give you another bruise."
Logan recoiled at the words and disappeared back into the hall, climbing slowly up the stairs. He knew he should be used to it by now but every time his father spoke to him like that the words pierced his skin like a knife; they always hurt. Since the day he'd come out to his parent they had become cold towards him and after about a week his father had began to get abusive, his mother doing nothing to stop it, almost like she thought Logan deserved it, which were probably her thoughts exactly.
Entering his small and boxy bedroom Logan closed the door quietly behind him, collapsing on the bed in a heap. He was exhausted, his mind playing over the events that happened earlier that day. Logan didn't know what Carlos would do now that he knew; he couldn't bear to think, his worst fear being that he would arrive ar school tomorrow and everyone knew. Pulling his sleeves back Logan stared at the scars, both old and new, ashamed of their presence, but he knew that without them, he mightn't even be here right now.
Those thoughts about digging the razor that little bit deeper into his skin were always plaguing the edges of his mind, thoughts about maybe just jumping out into the oncoming traffic everyday he walked to school, or the thoughts about jumping from the high-rises that stood sentinel in the distance. The cuts were the only thing that let Logan cope with it all. Suddenly Logan sat up, feeling a vibration in his pocket. Pulling at his phone he opened the message he'd just received, something that was a rare occurrence for him. Logan's stomach dropped for a second time that afternoon as he stared at the message on the screen of his phone.
Carlos isn't the only one who saw your scars today.
So what does everyone think? I'd love to know :)