The boy with the sewn mouth

Max's POV

Alarm started going off in my pastel blue walls with paint splatters around the wood and windows, bouncing off the switched off lamp covered with a soft piece of fabric that was laid on my paint splattered desk that held my painting for art class, bouncing off the light and dust which danced within the air. I tapped my alarm off that was ringing from my phone, leaving a silence in the air making the dust dance to silence song. I slowly sat up and rubbed my eyes from dried tears that fell the night before, the daily pain of where I was. I pulled back my blankets that were placed over me and sat at the edgy of my bed to look at the paint splattered floor. I slowly rose from my bed and walked into my small bathroom where everything was in its place apart from my paint covered mirror to keep myself from seeing who I am.

Turning on the water to my shower, I leaned against the sink and listened to the falling water, the small patters of heavy water on the floor. I peeled my clothes off, wincing from the pain of fresh scars and dried blood that was on my clothes, becoming darker with each day. I walked into the water and washed the scars and blood before getting out, grabbing a black towel to dry my body off. Skin peeling off towards the floor.

"MAX! HURRY THE FUCK UP!" My mother yelled. “IF YOU DON’T LEAVE WITHIN THE NEXT 15 MINUTES, I’LL LET YOU SISTER DRAG YOU OUT!”

I dried my longish, brownish blond hair with a brisk force and pulled it into a damp ponytail, tickling the back of my neck, damp tips within the pores. I walked into my bedroom and pulled on some blue skinny jeans with rips in the knees, light pink shirt with fraying holes within the fabrics and light purple sweatshirt, a heavy hint of musk from hand washing. I pulled the hood up, covering my hair and grabbed a scarf to place around my mouth. It hides what I did years ago, the year I went into high school. The year that ruined me.

I grabbed my empty green rucksack that was covered in acrylic paint and ink and started to put my art stuff in it for my art class, ranging from acrylic tube paint, paintbrushes and notebooks, making a small weight, keeping me anchored to the earth. I grabbed my painting that was my art homework and I walked downstairs. My mother glared at me as I grabbed my lunch and walked out into the garage before she could spit vile words at me, poisoning the world against me. I walked to my beat up car that my dad left me when he went away. The car that he left for me. The car I brought back to life.

I miss him. He was the only one that understood me. He didn’t let me be alone. Until now. He left because…I don’t know.

My mother married some spiteful man that she met in a bar soon after and he had always hated me. Tried to make me more of a man. He didn't understand that I wouldn't be who he wanted me to be. Who I was. The pain some nights he put me through. The hurt he put me through since moving in. The anger he touched me with. The hurt he made himself.

Climbed into my car, I placed my bag in the passenger seat and turned the car on. I put my pride flag seat belt on before I started to drive to school, each turn a new song, every street, a new lyric. I reached a stoplight, first in the line and I pulled the scarf down to get some air. The thread on my skin poke out. Dried blood stained the wool, fraying as each day passed, wanting to break but unable for me to speak. My truth was broken, but I can’t bare the silence.

Since no one was on my side, I stitched up my mouth so I wouldn't speak. The first year of high school. The first year where I wanted to be me but everyone else wanted to be someone else. It was better to hide who I was. To hide my voice. The sheep mentality of high school. The mentality of being alone. But I didn’t want that. All I want is…

What do I want?

No one asked me what I wanted…

Who do I want to be?

Why has no one asked me?

A silver car with pink and green accents, blasting music, waited next to me. My step dad was driving my half ‘sister’ - adopted sister - Lucy to school. Lucy. The golden child. The one that could do no wrong. She looked over and threw something at my window leaving a trail of a substance which I did not want to know what the threw as the light turned green. The sound of her laugh echoed though the glass, echoed through each seat of the semi cold car before they sped off, her dad laughing and pulling his middle finger up to my car. I continued to drive to school and found a parking space where it was away from everyone's. A tree covered the windows, birds screeching at people going past. I grabbed my things and left the safety of my car. I pulled on my grey headphones, which were covered in peeling stickers and paint, and put on music to keep everyone's words away from me, for my heart to keep steady and my breathing normal. The substance dripped to the floor, sticky and unconvincing to what it could be, clinging to the small gravel road, rough underfoot.

I walked inside, stones falling out of the groves of my shoes onto the white, worn laminate floor, kicking under the lockers and entrance rugs and pushed my way to my locker of never ending people. I opened it to have a confetti bomb go off, clinging to the clothing and floor. Everyone laughed, pointing to me as I shook the confetti off and grabbed my things, not caring. Giving up with people. I closed my locker and locked it before I walked to the homeroom, people pushing past, leaving small remarks about me. I kept my head down and got to my desk. I sat down and pulled out a notebook from the back of my books. A pencil and paper combination with the thoughts in my brain, they were the ones to keep me company. But it could also ruin me. It could kill me.

My homeroom teacher, Miss Cook, who was nice to me and made sure I was OK, walked in and made sure everyone was there, her fingernails clicking on the keyboard to mark people in. While giving the day’s announcements, someone walked in, pink slip in hand. He passed the small slip in her hands, for her to glance quickly at the small information. Doodling amongst the lines, I lifted my head to see a teenage boy, clinging to a backpack within his hands.

"Class, this is Lucas. He's just moved from Arizona." She smiled. “I hope you all take time to speak to him during his time here. Why don’t you go and take a seat in any spot?”

There was a free desk next me, since the last person transferred out, and he sat next to me, asking no questions, no comments was coming my way. He looked over at me as I looked down at my notebook and a note landed on my book. I put my pen down and opened the clean paper, with chipping paper.

"Hey :)" It wrote.

I gave out a smile but stopped to stop the stitches from ripping, specks of blood peeking through the string. I wrote back a simple note and passed it to him. The bell went off, people rushing to stand up, pulling their books and bags before my homeroom teacher kept me behind, along with Lucas. People pushed passed, knocking my shoulder.

"Max, can you show Lucas around school. You both have the same classes together." She spoke.

I nodded.

"Sure Mrs." Lucas smiled.

”Good. Max, can I see you quickly before your next class?” Miss Cook asked. “It’s just to talk about grades from last semester.”

”I’ll wait outside.” Lucas spoke before walking to the hallway. “Thank you Miss Cook.”

Lucas left the classroom and my homeroom teacher checked the stitches, making sure that they didn't get infected. She took a tissue and cleaned up the new blood before disposing it in the trash can by her desk.

"You know, when you are ready, you can have them out. You don't need to be alone" She spoke. “You can talk to me when you need or want to.”

I nodded and left the room, without my scarf around my mouth but tucked away within my jacket. Lucas saw the stitches and small scars but didn't want to mention it. Every time someone saw the stitches, they laughed and would mock me, even making rumours about it. One was that I had no teeth. Another one was that it was easier to do then speak.

We walked to class and Lucas was kind enough to stay by my side and not leave me for my half sister's group.

"What class do we have now?" Lucas asked.

I got out my notebook and wrote 'Art' to show it to him. People laughed as they walked past.

"My favorite class." He smiled. “I take you are the artist type and not like one of the popular people here.”

We got into the messy room, paint on the walls, floors and seats before I pulled my painting out to put it on the stands. Lucas saw and was in awe.

"That looks awesome." He smiled.

I wrote down something and showed it to him.

"You think so?" It read.

Lucas nodded and everyone else came in. We sat down on the paint covered stools and waited for the class to go on. People that were on the lower part of the popularity grid always did art class as the popular people were deemed to smart for these classes.

Lucas seemed to look popular but he has a sweet determiner. His clothes were dark, there was some bleach on the jeans and a tie dyed purple and red shirt. His hair was blue and black, must have been placed as a goth. His leg started to bounce slightly as people started to talk. One girl, shy but sweet, usually says hi when she sees me, turned round to talk.

”Hey Max.” She spoke in a meek voice. “Oh…Who’s this?”

”I’m Lucas.” He smiled, his leg stopped bouncing after a second. “I just transferred here today.”

”Word of warning about people that are not in here… Keep away from the footballers.” She meekly spoke. “They have a habit of being idiots.”

The bell went off as a warning, a heavy steam of footsteps became an avalanche of running. People screaming for people to get out of the way as the art teacher walked in.