2 - Fiyaz/Tired/

I let my head fall back against the tile wall as if I were dropping dead. But, I´m not actually dropping dead, I can only hope for that. Mr. Britt had excused me and told me to get back to practice after our ¨heartfelt chat¨ just a bit ago.

Therefore, I headed down the darkened hallway, all by myself this time. No bald-headed computer teacher at my side. So, I made a left to the robotics room, then made a sharp right to the boys´ bathroom.

´Cause, there´s nothing really happening anyways. Plus, that´s all I ever do at the end of the day, isolate myself for a small while before I go and fuck up the world a little less than I could’ve if I hadn´t isolated myself. But that means I still end up fucking things over in the end, doesn´t it?

So here I am. In between the urinals and the sinks. My head is cushioned against the pale tiles, my back slick to keep me balanced, fingers freezing and wrapped around my sides. Not ready to take the world on. Just vulnerable. Vulnerable little Fiyaz. When vulnerable, no one can truly take on the world, right? But everyone is vulnerable underneath. Nothing can be invincible without appreciating its vulnerable undertones.

I shouldn’t be doing this right now. I know that. I should be in the robotics room, updating the logs, sitting on my stool, clacking away on my clunky school Chromebook, and having a crazy conversation with the other kids. But no, I´m here. Wasting the time that I´ve been given far too much of.

But hey, someone has to do it, right?

I bring my palms up to my face and bury them in my hands. Maybe I do need to actually listen to Mr. Britt for once and get out into the real world. Well, in this case, the real world is the robotics room. I promise that that is not as depressing as it may sound.

There really is just nothing in this world for me anyways. I honestly feel like I belong to an alternative world. No, not some world of horny alpha wolves and frail omegas(as it came from the mind of an 11-year-old girl). Or one of witches, and poisons(although that would be awesome).

No, I like to wonder if I really am from a world in which everything is upside-down. Basically, switch up the morals of this world and slam it into another. In which humanity roams the oceans and it’s the wildlife that roams Mother Earths´ dryland instead. Maybe we see differently, maybe we look differently, maybe the world looks differently. I don’t have any idea what this kind of world would be like.

I just know I don’t belong here. And maybe it is far-fetched to believe I could possibly even belong there. But, at the end of the day, I’m just letting my imagination run wild so I’m not sure why any of this matters. It´s just my imagination. Anyone could be wrapped in chains, gagged, and isolated; but it’s their imagination that can still run.

I let the thoughts sink into my head slowly. Digesting them hungrily, but still treating all of it carefully. Yet, throughout this, I begin to nod off. My eyes droop, even when blinking furiously. My chin bobbing, eyes half-lidded, and my mind bent over in defeat.

I should´ve gotten more sleep.

¨Oi! I´ll meet you down at 5, alright? I´m just gonna pop in the...bathroom.¨

I´m thrown out of my tired state as a repetitive pattern rings out into the hallway. Footsteps. Meaning that whoever was out there was here to come into the boys’ bathroom (since the girls´ is in another hallway) with me or to the water fountain. Due to how this hallway is a dead-end.

And, I know that there is a 0:8 chance that they are going to go to the water fountain(due to how the water tastes like rust). Therefore, I take my phone out of my pocket and let the awkwardness quietly nuzzle itself within me.

I keep my eyes down as a slow pattern of footsteps pad into the room. Of course, I don´t watch as he takes a piss, that’s creepy. I just continue to open and close random tabs on my phone, as people do when they need to pretend they’re doing something important. This repeats for some time, not letting curiosity consume me.

But, I do let curiosity consume me. Selfishly. As humans do.

But, I promise, nothing perverted will happen, I swear. I keep my head down but proceed to look through the curtain of my shaggy hair. I expect the guy to maybe be approaching the sink by now or still at the urinal. But no, he´s standing on the other side of the bathroom, frozen, eyes open, looking right at me.

My shoulders go rigid. Holy shit, not again, I´m so tired of this.

I power my phone off and shove it back into my pocket. I then stand straight up, but instead of confronting the guy; I take a step to my left and fix my hair in the mirror. Just to make sure I look good. I fluff my dark curls in the right shape and pat down the strands sticking out.

I then turn back to face the guy. ¨You good, man?¨

He doesn’t respond. It’s now that I actually get a better look at the dude. It is the new boy. He has the default close-fitting blue jeans, a green sweater, and a jagged mess of what looked like a brunette, grown-out buzz cut.

I have him in my 5th-period, science. He had transferred her from the UK just a couple of months after school started. This is his 3rd month here. I´ve only spoken with him once or twice, but it was just a quick hello or feedback after the passionate speech he made in class a good 3 weeks ago.

He has a nice voice, actually. That´s one thing that I noticed. Everyone here would mock him for his English accent. Greeting him with ¨Cheerio!″ or evaporating into giggles once he spoke. But, the comments finally went away a month later.

Because he masked his voice, for a more acceptable, American accent. I felt bad for the kid, even though I barely knew him. He changed a big part of himself, just to stay afloat. I get that.

He clears his throat, obviously nervous ¨No but…are you, like, lost?¨

I fix my sweater and keep eye contact ¨I uh…don’t believe so?¨

His lips break out into an odd smile, and he laughs. He laughs. I watch as he bites down on his tongue to keep the giggles at bay. My tongue begins to feel sour. I hate this, I hate this. He´s just some new guy, no way he knows. Why can’t I just be normal for once?

¨You know you don´t belong here, right?¨

I ball up my fist and take a deep breath, ¨I belong here just as much as anyone else who has used this bathroom,¨

¨But, why are you here?¨the boy asks.

I feel it. Suddenly, cold liquid pumps through my brain. Dark drops of ink sink down into my brain. My fingers begin to shake. I feel it. The anger. The empty pit in my core. The firm feeling of hunger and desperation all fuming around at once.

¨Why are you asking me questions?¨

He sniffles and adds, ¨Aren’t you a girl? Why is a girl in the boys' stalls?¨

I’m exhausted of this. I´ve done all I can, all of it.

My eyelids flutter shut for a moment. I know I have to be mature. Breathe. I take a steady breath in. Yeah, no one should be treated like this. But I´m not going to handle it like I´m 12. Unlike Mr. Marry Poppins-genderbend-wannabe-british-twinkle feet-over here.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, ¨I am a guy. I am not a girl.¨

¨But, y-your voice. And you don´t act like a boy.¨

¨I´m a guy, here to take a piss, just like you. You have no right to tell me what I am and am not.¨

¨But this isn't right, you´re a girl. Why are you here?¨

¨Hey, you-¨

He cuts me off, ¨I´m so confused. Just go to the right bathroom.¨

¨Listen to me,¨ I push myself off of the bathroom wall, ¨I am a guy. And you are a fucking bozo who lets cishet normality and forced hetronormality control your head. Since I know you don' understand that, it means you need to mind your own business.¨

¨But there´s no way you have a-¨

¨I don’t want to see your face again. And I don’t want you to talk to anyone like you just did to me only because you feel entitled to it. Someone tells you something, and you listen.¨

The boy(don´t know his name) scoffs and throws his backpack over his shoulder. I pull off a disgustingly fake smirk and lean back against the wall, watching him. Going to the bathroom has always been a risky game because of stuff like this. That´s why I love going after school, there´s typically no one there and I can escape.

See, if I were born differently, all of this could’ve been avoided. Everything could’ve been so much easier.

The boy approaches the sink and washes his hands. I watch his back closely, just wanting him gone. As he dries his hands off, he freezes. This catches my attention, this boy seems to freeze a lot.

He shudders and spins around to ask me, ¨Mate, do you hear that, too?¨

I tense up, taking note of his genuine tone, ¨Hear what?¨

¨It sounds like yelling, coming from hallway 4?¨

The only teacher left in hallway 4 was Mr. Britt.