Black Rainbows Chapter 1: the american dream, a young adult fiction

A/N:

This story has been revised from its original version. Chapters 1-13 are the most revised, the rest are going to be uploaded accordingly. If you're an old reader looking for where you left off, this story was deleted when chapter 18 was uploaded

Black Rainbows

By 0ri

"So," His therapist's voice was thick, yet unruly, like a chocolate that had once been smooth and delicious but had now gone stale and tasteless. "How was your day today, Daniel?" His lips were large and smacked together each time he opened his mouth and shut it.

It was a piece of shit, Daniel's mind blared in intensity. He chose not to say it out loud, mainly because of an internal politeness that he could not breach past – or maybe it was just because, in all honesty, talking was tiresome, and conversations were tiresome. Especially tiresome if they included his shrink.

Therapy. It was something he loathed, but at least it took up some of the flickers of his empty time, and occasionally, his therapist spoke of interesting stories that took him far away from the cracked plaster walls that were coated in belying posters smeared with hopeful slogans. It was time he had spent in past years cutting himself and doing a shit load of marijuana. He missed the marijuana especially, drugs were a wonderful thing and they took him beautiful places.

He wasn't addicted to drugs. He knew he wasn't. He was addicted to the beautiful places they took him to. They were merely an investment, one in which stole away all his time.

But unfortunately, since he'd started going to therapy, it had been required that he always give a urine sample to be tested to see if he had chemicals in his body. And if he did, it was back to the mental hospital, and that would mean no more work, and that would mean – no more paycheck. And with that money, he spent it on the little things that gave him miniscule bursts of pleasure, such as gasoline to take him wherever he wished, and the car that got him there, and said car's insurance bills. He also needed to buy food, unfortunately, as much as he didn't like wasting money on something he considered trivial, it was required for survival.

Not that he cared much for survival.

Mr. Miller's eyes flickered from behind his rounded glasses, awaiting an answer. His hair was its usual untidy mess, brown, lumpy, and barely concealing his forming bald spot. His upper lip was unshaven, and his eyes were large and noisy and peering behind his spectacles. And yet his attire was of considerable valuable – a suit with one of his usual, funky ties (this time it was sporadically placed little red elephants) and a clean, button up blue shirt.

"Well?" The man asked. No, not deteriorated chocolate, his voice was like sandpaper and spoiled, chunky milk --

"It was fine," Daniel responded, quietly.

After this is done, He clenched his hands around each other, waiting for the man to look aside at one of his papers so that he could have the opportunity to glance at his watch and not be observed in doing so. I'm going to have a cigarette. A nice, long, wonderful cigarette. It would sooth his shattered nerves. His therapist made him edgy; it was as if he were being observed, as one is in a doctor's office, and yet more closely, and more personally, almost in a way that was sexual. It made his stomach curl in nausea and his mouth dry with disquiet. His hands were sweating, from being wrapped around each other, but he clasped them together even more in reaction to this.

Daniel was on the waiting list for rehab. It was, apparently, a long waiting list in his area. (not at all surprising) Daniel didn't see why he needed rehab. He wasn't addicted to marijuana. No one could be addicted to marijuana.

He just wanted to feel the long, relaxing euphoria it gave him.

What was wrong with that?

"And that's all? Just fine?" It was the same routine. Howwasyourdayfineandthat'sall? His therapist asked it every session.

Daniel shifted in his chair uncomfortably. He didn't know what else to say other then that. True, he hated his day, but he lied to his therapist many many times. Actually, it wasn't so much hatred as 'apathy'. He had gone along his day as he did every day. He went to school. Did his work. And today, he'd gone to therapy, which for him, was every Thursday at 3:30pm, until 4:10. And afterwards, at 4:30, he would work at walmart, ringing up item after item. And he would honestly try his best to keep his lip from curling in disgust at the morbidly obese couples who flocked there.

Daniel was a loner. It was what he referred to himself as, and to others, but in reality, he was as lonely as can be. He longed for companionship but did not want to go through the hardships of achieving one and maintaining it. He was a fucked up boy who had been given a fucked up life and had fucked it up considerably more in the past three years or so, and people didn't want friends like him. At school, girls occasionally glanced at him, but they knew of his pot smoking ways and dared not speak to such a delinquent. He had been blessed with startling good looks, and he was aware of it only occasionally. Black, slightly wavy hair fell around his face. It was more wavy from skipping showers then from natural waviness. His bangs were too long and fell in front of his eyes sometimes, so he had to slick his hair back with his hand occasionally. Dark freckles outlined his nose and he had a stark pair of grey blue eyes that were dulled by years of depression. His lips were a pallid coral shade, and his skin was also a fair hue of crème. Light circles fell beneath his eyes that reflected his inner and outer exhaustion. He was thin, and bony, because he spent little money on food and his refrigerator at home was always empty. It had caused him stomach pains once, to constantly be skipping meals, but now he could easily ignore them.

I guess I should buy water today. His mouth was a little too dry; he hadn't drunk enough at the water fountain at school. At walmart, he would have a bottle of water before working, he decided. He had approximately 80 dollars in his pocket, certainly enough for a drink.

His therapist sighed. Mr. Miller always sighed when he was frustrated with Daniel's responses. Daniel's stomach was cold, and he wrapped his arms around himself to conserve the warmth he had left. His jacket was torn at the cuffs – it was a grey jacket with black buttons that had once been in good condition and had looked classy. But after 3 years of consistent use, it had grown worn down, ragged, stained, and with Daniel's weight lose it had become irksomely loose on his body.

"Daniel, you know, I'm here to help you."

Daniel swallowed. "I know." Shut up.

"If you won't speak to me, we can't make any progress. You realize that, right?" Mr. Miller tilted his head forward, so his glasses slid down the bridge of his oily nose, those big eyes looking directly into Daniel's face, like an owl peering quizzically over a mouse that had wandered into its home.

It was unnerving. Daniel's fingers twisted against each other like snakes, rabid animals that were hissing and snarling with gaping mouths and giant, dripping fangs at one another, poisonous, and burning with odium-- "I know – I'm sorry." You make me uncomfortable, and I can't – I can't talk to you –

--You're just talking to me to get paid anyway, you bastard.

His therapist sighed again, and sat back in his giant cushioned chair, staring directly at the 16 year old boy in question. One hand was on his temples and he was rubbing it, slowly, his eyes fogged with thought.

Rain pitter pattered against the old, stained window, the only window in the room, and it was a sound the young man was accustomed to hearing, each droplet like a little bead fallen from a child's necklace. It was September and the rain was as chilled as the inside of Daniel's stomach, slurpy and cold like take out noodles that had sat on the counter for too long. Outside, the sky was gloomy, swirling clouds blotching out the sunlight and coloring the world beneath in ugly splashes of grey, blue and black, making the pedestrians outside paler and colder. Daniel bit his lip, and then released it, sliding backwards into his chair, feeling the warmth, supple pressure of his body and then the hard chair against him.

"Alright," The therapist said, leaning forward, looking sluggish, his eyes fat and almost gooey looking behind his glasses. Bug-eyed. "How is work lately?"

It's work. "Fine." Daniel liked that word – fine. It was simple, one syllable, and it practically did the lying for him without lying too obviously. It required little energy to think of and had almost become embedded into his tongue. It was automatic now – whenever he was asked how he was, or what something was like, he usually resorted to it. He used it often with his therapist, to avoid senseless words and to save his mouth the effort of speaking.

"You're clean again this week," His therapist said, flipping through his papers. Daniel quickly glanced at his watch, and then looked up again. It was 3:39 only. Damn. Damn. "No drugs. No alcohol."

"Yeah," Daniel mumbled. He wasn't much of an alcoholic. He'd gotten drunk once or twice, so what. Alright, well. A couple of times. But alcohol didn't hold the special place in his heart that marijuana did. The hospital had over reacted to seeing alcohol in his system. Yeah, he was underage, but you had to be a hermit to not break the drinking law. Daniel figured he would probably die before making it to 21. Even if he didn't believe that, he didn't care. If he wanted a drink, he wanted a drink, there was nothing else. He didn't care for repercussions or brain damage or any of that bullshit. If he wanted it, he did it, period. And repercussions were outlandishly exaggerated anyway.

Daniel had to bring urine samples in every week to be tested. If he refused, he was off to the clinic that would keep him locked up in a room and take away everything from him. He was deathly afraid of that.

His therapist looked up, and nodded. "Would you roll up your sleeves, please?" Daniel's toes curled in his shoes, and the pit in his stomach lit ablaze. He inhaled sharply, and exhaled shakily, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise. His therapist might as well of asked him to show him his penis.

His therapist gave him a moment, as he always did. Daniel swallowed, bracing himself, and reached for one sleeve, the pads of his fingers numb. He clutched the end of the fabric, between his thumb and his index finger. Up the fabric of his jacket slid, oh please, don't ask me to take off my shirt, Daniel thought, adrenalin making his blood race like a wild fire through a forest, his pulse pounding in his throat and in his ears. As the material came up, an array of hideous lines were exposed, jagged and cracking the pale skin of his arm like fissures along a glass surface, until there was barely a translucent section left. Each scar was thick and pink in hue, and some nearly ran almost around the circumference of the width of his arm. Near the elbow, they were sporadically spread and few, but as it came down to the middle of his arm, they were slashed in groups, in various directions, and sometimes in Xs or in words that had been covered with the addition of more scars.

His therapist took his arm, examing it with sad eyes, and Daniel felt those cold, wide fingers touching him. He looked away. He loathed the evident displays of pity that sometimes marked the man's countenance. The man eventually released his arm, and Daniel gladly rolled his sleeve back down.

"Now, the other," His therapist directed. Daniel pushed up his jacket sleeve of his left arm with the same, unnecessarily languidness and his doctor scrutinized it in the exact manner he had studied the former. He nodded, and let Daniel push his sleeve back down, and the therapist marked something on his sheet.

"Very good, Daniel, excellent," He said, looking up, his gaze appeased. "Two months without any illegal substances, and no cutting. Do you feel good?"

No. Not really. Daniel paused before answering. "Yeah," he said, deciding it was probably what his therapist wanted to hear. His voice didn't come out as 'satisfied' or 'happy' as it should have. Dull. Flat. And yet his therapist smiled, as if he were proud of him.

"That's good. I know it's hard now, but once you're off doing these things for a long time, it'll be easier to not think of them and to not go back." Mr. Miller cleared his throat. "And maybe you won't need rehab."

No rehab? Fuck yes ! Daniel's brain cheered and he figured his eyes had lit up because Mr. Miller looked happy with his response.

"Besides," His therapist crossed his arms, leaning back. "You'll be on that list for awhile… if it continues this way for another month, I'll take you off it. If you don't need it, there's no point in sending you there."

This was very, very good news for Daniel. Rehab was a lot like going to a mental hospital, except… it was rehab, and people in rehab were crazy, and there were rules and guidelines and other intense shit Daniel didn't want to go through. Rehab would be another thing that would cost him his job, and so, knowing that if he stayed drug free for awhile longer, that he wouldn't need to go, was a relief to his ears. Of course, he loved marijuana, but as of right now, his job was more important. If it became where marijuana was more important, he would start doing it again.

Unfortunately, even though Daniel drove himself to therapy, he could not skip out on it. Police would be knocking on his front door if he did, and if that happened, many problems would arise with his mother and step father. And if refused the drug tests he was forced into, he would probably be dragged off to the hospital, in a strait jacket. Hospitals liked to exaggerate things and freak out like that. Well, okay, he was messed up, but marijuana was seriously not even a bad drug. Daniel figured marijuana was about as physically damaging as smoking. The big problem with him was his cutting, he knew that wasn't normal, and it was the shining reason why he had to be in therapy every Thursday afternoon.

Daniel began to zone out when his therapist began one of his rants about how he would be a 'normal, happy, healthy' teenage boy again, if he stayed off his drugs, and if he kept himself from cutting and did his best with his school work.

Yeah, right.

God, I love cigarettes, Daniel sucked in smoke from the stick pursed between his lips. He was crunched between two brick buildings a little ways off from his therapist's office, in 'the city' of his county. Checking his watch, he knew he had a couple of minutes to spare before he needed to get back and his car and get to walmart. The rain was coming down hard now, and he walked against the side of the building, to keep himself from getting wet. Occasionally, the brick scratched up against his shoulder, but he ignored it, slicking his hair from his face, enjoying his cancer stick in peace. Daniel took shelter underneath the jutting ceiling, moving along as he sucked on his cigarette, the rain drip-dropping from above until it came to splatter against the ground below.

He avoided the garbage littering the street, watching the way the plastic wrappings of trash bags shined as they became doused in rainwater. He located a bent soda can, and kicked it with the tip of his ripped shoe, watching it skitter off to hit the building to his right, making dull noises as it hit the pavement and skid across it.

Daniel turned, eyeing a poster of Britney spears to the adjacent wall. It was peeling off the building, its corners brown and ugly with grime, and Daniel figured it had made a decent billboard before the building next to it had been put up.

She had shining golden hair, perfect white teeth and luminescent, blue eyes, and an even, smooth skin tone that was the color of sand.

Nobody looks like that in real life, Daniel thought critically, eyeing the deteriorating poster, unimpressed. Blondes. They were all the same. Equally retarded, equally self centered. After years of being spoon fed Hollywood bullshit, he felt like the popularized idealism of beauty was destroying the 'true' beauty of women. He himself preferred brunettes, or Asians, or anything. Anything as long as it wasn't blonde and could read a book. He didn't loathe girls to be skinny, but he preferred women to have some sort of curves to them, so he wouldn't feel like he was fucking an 8 year old boy. Runway models were a part of culture that disturbed him.

And even if they did look like this, He watched the poster; the paper cut eyes that were forever frozen in the phenomena that was photography, staring into void. They'd look like shit.

He released his cigarette from his mouth, expelling a wispy cloud of grey from in between his lips.

I should probably get going, He thought, and put his cigarette out on one of Britney's teeth, blacking it.

There you go.

An imperfection--

So you can be human.

"Hey!" A voice shot out, like lightening, and Daniel stopped in surprise and dropped his cigarette. The little stick rolled down the alleyway, merging into the filth of the street until it dispersed among the trash.

"What the fuck are you doing?" A blond boy, a little older looking than himself, strode out with a stout posture from behind the building that had the poster of Britney spears.

Daniel stared in astonishment, taken completely aback at being scolded at by a stranger who had appeared out of no where and who looked the same age as himself. He was taller, physically larger then Daniel, and was slim, with gelled back, somewhat messed up blond hair, as if a hand had been run through it many times. His eyebrows were furrowed together in anger, the line of his mouth drawn thinly across his face. "What, are you stupid?" He snapped, his shoulders and hair now wet from the rainwater, his gelled hairdo coming undone to be flat against his head.

Now that what had just happened had sunken in, Daniel lashed out in anger, his breath coming out in pallid clouds, lips made wet by rainwater, "What do you care?" He could feel the cold sinking into his bones.

"My father owns this building, you little shit!" The stranger came closer, yelling, countenance painted in hatred, "And here you are – putting out your fucking cigarette on it! This is private goddamn property!"

Daniel glared, unable to understand why someone was so pissed off about a fucking cigarette. "Well fucking sorry!" He snapped. "I put it out on the stupid poster," He gestured irately to it.

"I don't give a shit if it's on the poster, or on the ground! It's our property! Don't fuck with it!"

"Well sorry for tainting your shitty poster!"

"You want to fight me, is that it, you fuck?" The boy came closer, his voice venomous and raucous, frightening so, his powerful gait stomping towards Daniel like an impending tidal wave, rising with each step, growing in height, length and power. Those stark green eyes were burning with malice. "I'll beat the shit out of you!" He snarled. "I'll rearrange your fucking face until it's a puzzle your parents couldn't even solve!"

Daniel refused to be afraid. And while he wasn't afraid of fighting this blonde fuck, he knew he had to leave for work, and showing up to work covered in mud and bruises was a no-no. "Fuck you," He mumbled, and then yelled, "I have to leave, I have a JOB to go to, I don't have time to deal with you."

"Fine! Run away, you little faggot!"

Daniel's cheeks burned with anger, but he swallowed his retort, turned around and left the teenager standing there in the rain.

The whole way to walmart, Daniel's mind was blinded by mutual fury towards the boy he had just met and, who had, for no apparent reason, screamed at him for the possibly the stupidest thing on Earth.

As he pulled into the 'employees only' section of walmart, and then sat in his car, heat on, staring up at the enormous structure before him, listening to the sound of his window wipers flickering back and forth over his wind shield.

It's all because of you, walmart, He thought, eyes glistening, glaring, That I did not fight that asshole and beat his face into the ground. He sighed angrily, and undid his seat belt, turning around the grab his working shirt from the back. He fumbled out of his school shirt, put on some deodorant (which was in the passenger seat. Hey, he'd been in school for 8 hours already, and then in therapy) and then slipped on his walmart shirt, pushing his arms awkwardly through the sleeves. He then massaged his temples, sighed again, and shut off the window wipers, the heat, and then his car, stuffing his keys into his pant's pocket. He ignored the name tag – because he disliked it when customers knew his name, and his manager rarely commented on it - and got out of his car, making absolute sure the door was locked before walking his way to the main entrance of the building.

He shivered, holding his skinning arms over his head as the rain pitter pattered down, narrowing his eyes as strings of liquid ran down his face from his hair and into his clothes. He moved at a brisker rate, not wanting to be drenched in cold water throughout his shift.

He entered the building along with the stream of customers. He waved to Jerry, the old man who sat in the front and said 'welcome' on people's arrival. Daniel wanted Jerry's job because it was fucking pathetically easy and he got paid the same amount the cashier's did.

"Hey, Daniel." He grinned, his teeth awkward in places and yellowish but still kind. "Welcome to walmart."

"Welcome to hell," Daniel replied, and Jerry laughed, rocking in his chair.

Daniel strode through the throngs of people – the only time of the day that the large store wasn't crowded was the early early morning. Walmart was always crowded, the building constantly bulging with people of all shapes, colors and sizes. It was like a dead animal, its deteriorating carcass attracting bugs of all different breeds and races. Daniel figured that was probably the best description for this place in the whole world.

He went to the front, where there was a small office to check himself in. He signed his name on the sheet that he was in on time, didn't see anyone around, and then left to find something to do.

Luckily for Daniel, one of the managers was in the front and quickly spotted him. "Daniel!" He said, and Daniel flinched. It was the happy-go-lucky queer who helped run the walmart. He was short, and skinny, and old(probably in his early 40s), and he was gay. It had bothered Daniel at first, but then he got over it. Still, he hated the man's personality. He took pleasure in acting like a kind, caring individual, but in reality he rode a tight ship and it was impossible to relax for five seconds in his presence. Daniel avoided him as much as possible.

"Mike is getting off now," He said, indicating to the other young man working the register near the left of the store, closer to the exits. Daniel liked Mike. They shared cigarettes every now and then. "So go ahead and take his position."

"Alright," Daniel said, and went off to maintain said cash register.

"Hey, Michael," he greeted. Mike looked up, and made a meager attempt at a smile. He seemed tired.

"Hey," he said, voice wavering on the tip of his tongue. "I'm just going to finish up with ringing up this woman's stuff," He said, indicating to the blond woman with slightly messy hair but had a pretty face and blue eyes. She was holding the hand of her four year old, who was bouncing up and down, turning her head curiously every few seconds.

"Alright," Daniel said, and leant against the wall around the register, watching his friend push item after item through the scanner. Yogurt, a shirt, laundry detergent—"You seem tired."

Mike choked on his laugh at that and continued ringing up items. "Man, you have no idea. School and a job. It's killing me."

Daniel smiled. "Don't die on me," He said amicably. "What are they making you do down there?"

"Well, last night I stayed up really late finishing a paper. 10 pages on Sigmund Freud. I hate that man. He wasn't even good at what he did, he just came up with an idea fu—I mean," Mike cleared his throat, recalling the 'no cursing while working' rule. "An idea so screwed up that people couldn't help but remember it, the weirdo."

"Damn, 10 pages? You didn't do that all in one night did you?"

"No, but I finished the last 5 last night." Mike sighed deeply, and put the last item in its grocery bag. The blond woman was holding her daughter's hand while organizing the bags into her shopping cart. "It's $133.52, miss," Mike said politely. The woman flashed her credit card, and mike clicked the appropriate buttons on his keyboard for the screen to flash up. The woman chose credit, and slid her card through, and then signed the screen with the attached pen.

Daniel wondered briefly if he would live to make it to college, and if he did, what he would study. He supposed he liked the sciences, and he enjoyed math, but severely doubted he could do that for the rest of his life. Being a junior in high school gave him the right to not give a shit about his future until it came stomping on his door. In all honesty, all he wanted to do was have a good time, and to spend it mostly alone, without the nuisance of people. The gaping holes of loneliness could always be filled with LSD, crack and pot. Drugs would never betray him, would not lie to him and were completely under his control.

Mike printed out the woman's recipe, and handed it to her. "Have a nice day," He said.

She smiled. "Thanks. Common honey," she said to her daughter, and the two of them went on their merry way.

"Oh god, I'm done, done !" Mike cheered and left the register, the crowd in line peering dubiously to see what was happening to their register boy. "I'll see you later Daniel."

"Later Mike," Daniel replied, figuring his friend had probably been working since the early morning. He got into the small register space and closed the little swinging door, locking it.

"Good afternoon," He greeted the old man with a bloated, unshaven face. Good thing I didn't eat yet, he thought. The man grunted in reply, his pot belly jutting out of his body, like a dome. Daniel began ringing the man's items up at his usual hurried, calculated pace. The man's ugliness reminded him a bit of his stepfather. Hmm. He pushed each purchase along with nimble digits. Weed clippers -- Is this to cut open your wife's vagina, the one she won't open for you? It rang up with a beep, oh -- fuck, I'm horrible, Daniel swallowed down his laughter as if it were a tasteful wine. It was going to be a long evening.

Daniel got off of work at approximately 8o'clock. He signed out his name on the schedule sheet and checked when he'd be working next before he left. The rain was coming down in heavy sheets, and there was no avoiding becoming drenched. The sky was a gruesome tar hue, a moonless night without stars and only overcast clouds; but for whatever reason, this thrilled the young man even as it chilled him. By the time the teenager made it to his car, he was thoroughly drenched, and cars were flashing their bright rectangular lights through the downpour, occasionally and momentarily blinding him. He dug for his keys in his back pant's pocket before gliding them out and then searching with fumbling, wet fingers for the appropriate key to his car, using the light of the supermarket to guide his hands. Upon finding it, he shoved it into its keyhole and jerked it sideways, shivering in place as he did. The water was soaked into his bones and blood, his skin was slippery and cold and his clothes were sticking to him as if the inside of the fabric had been sloppily slapped with heavy glue. He shuddered, lips trembling, and pushed himself inside his car, grabbing his keys from the keyhole and shutting the door as he did.

He sat there, shaking for about a minute, before he slicked his hair from his face and rubbed the water from his eyes. He reached for his school shirt from the back and wiped himself off as best he could with it, and then turned on the engine of his car, hearing its delightful purr and putting on his seatbelt as he did. He turned on the car lights, pushed it into reverse and backed up slowly, careful to see where he was going. There were few people in the parking lot at this time of the day and on this day of the week, but he wanted to be certain.

Daniel liked the night. It's quiet, calm, lush solitude, even in the rain, where the sounds of melodious droplets coated his ears like a woeful song. He put on his windshield wipers – back and forth and back and forth and back– He shifted out of the parking lot, onto the road, taking the same way back home that he always did.

The house he lived in was old, at least a hundred years old, built in the late 1800s and now in dire need of repayment. In certain places the roof leaked and the floors creaked and a lot of the wood was aged and rotten with time. One of the steps leading to his front porch had caved in two summers ago, making it so he always had to jump over it to get onto the front porch and thus to the door. Daniel parked his car in the driveway- one of the few luxuries his family had. He got out of his car and quickly ran across his small lawn, stepping over stones and unkempt grass along the way, feeling his feet occasionally sink into mud.

Once underneath the house's jutting roof, he wiped off his shoes as best he could and then knelt down, untying them, listening to water hit the ground beside him as he did and occasionally prick at his shoulder. He removed each of his shoes but kept on his socks, which were ripped and worn with time.

As quietly as possible, he proceeded to unlock the door – he would be in for a hard whipping if he woke up his step father, who should've been asleep by now to get up in the morning. Daniel presumed he was, as the lights were all off.

He swallowed as he turned the door knob (making sure to take out his keys before he did so they wouldn't jingle) and pushed it inward as unhurriedly as possible, stepping inside, his shoes and keys in his right hand. He eased inside, meticulously closing the door behind him and wincing as it squeaked.

All was dark.

Alright, I have to be careful, Daniel put his keys into his pocket and made his way around the house to the back, where the staircase was. All the bedrooms were on the upper floor, including his own.

He clung onto the railing and made his way – up and up – taking his leisure with each step. When he finally made it to the top, he exhaled quietly with relief, and went to his bedroom which was on the left side.

Once in his room, he locked his door and put on his light, greeting the slight mess. He quickly undressed from his damp clothes into his warmer pajamas, deciding against brushing his teeth to night in fear is waking up his wrathful step father. He checked to make sure his alarm was on so he could wake up for school tomorrow, and then shut off his light, moving to his bed and collapsing on his mattress with a sigh.

He curled in his blankets and lay on his back, watching the ceiling and finally feeling the exhaustion from his day taking its toll on his body.

I wonder what was that guy's problem… from earlier… He mused sleepily, and chuckled in sarcasm. Freaking dick head…. And what was it he said ? 'I'm going to arrange your face into… a puzzle your mom couldn't solve'.. something like that? Daniel felt his laugh gurgle in his throat and he pulled his blankets over himself with a half smile that was painted with exhaustion. What an idiot…

Oh well…

He felt his stomach growl at him and protest – it ached. The hunger. He frowned. Didn't get to eat much today… He turned in his bed, pulling the blankets over himself and closing his eyes. Guess I'll eat a lot tomorrow… to make up for it… He was too tired right now to really care.

He closed out all his thoughts – and slept.