I decided that I would do a couple more parts to this. partly because I'm bored, and partly because... I kinda wanna see how it plays out.

I don't care if this is my story! Don't judge me! -.-

Goodness. So judgmental.

... I'm kidding guys. Take a joke.

Anywhosies, more angsty-goodness for you!

*By the way, The Fear by Ben Howard. Listen to it!

It's only been three weeks since I've been here, and I officially hate it.

I've had three test and four pop quizzes. All F's.

My cheap backpack ripped two days ago, so I've resorted to carrying everything around in my arms.

I've made enemies with the biggest, ugliest piece of teenager I've ever seen and have been beaten up approximately six times this week alone. It's only Thursday.

You could say life's pretty crappy right now.

But this wouldn't be so bad if I had a friend, you know? It seems like everyone has found their confident, and yet here I am, sitting in the very back of the class room with people avoiding me like the plague.

Don't I feel special?

"Mr. Jackson!" I jumped at the sound of my math teachers loud, nasely voice. This caused the class room to erupt into taunting laughter. She smirked triumphantly at mine, and everyone else's reaction, pleased she had an audience to revel in the mocking of her least favorite brat.

"Are you done daydreaming?" She says in a condescing tone, causing the class to snicker.

My eye twitches, and I ball my hands into fist, trying to calm down. I was a mostly laid back type of person, but there were times when my anger was blinding.

'Just like your father' my mother says

(I smile and repress the urge to break something)

I say nothing.

She doesn't like that. I can tell because she frowns and sends me a nasty look. "Would you like to tell me what the answer is?"

Everyone's eyes are on me and I see Nancy giving me the universal single of 'your dead'. I look at the problem that she had written up. I had no hope of understanding what it was when my dyslexia started acting up again, so I swallowed and just shook my head 'no'.

She smiles as if she's won and a couple students give a snort before focusing their attention back on her.

'-tsk, tsk-' I sigh as hear the voice again. 'This is very disappointing, little hero. No wonder you don't have any friends. Far too stupid. No one wants a dimwitted friend.'

I close my eyes and try to push the voice away, but it does nothing. It's practically become a part of me, and there's a part of me... A very, very small part... That doesn't want it to go away.

It's wrong. It's oh so wrong. You're not supposed to want your tormentor to stay. But it's all I have.

I know, I know, I have a mother that loves me, but she just doesn't understand. Don't get me wrong, I love her too, but no matter how hard she tries and wishes... She'll never get it.

(why can't you understand?!)

But the voice... It knows me. It practically is me. It's the only thing that stays. It hasn't run away. It's with me with me every single second, of every single day.

My mother's never really there. She works all day to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. She gets home and she's really just too tired to be worrying and fussing over me and I feel bad when she does. There are days when I don't even see her. She gets home late and I'm already asleep, then she leaves too early in the morning and I'm still in bed; leaving nothing but blue pancakes and a note that says 'love you'

(are you going to come back home, momma?)

('She wishes she didn't have too.' It whispers)

I know I'm losing my sanity bit-by-bit; having conversation with someone that's not even there; thinking things that don't even make sense.

Maybe it's a good thing I don't have any friends; I might confine in them my thoughts and be sent to the looney bin.

'It's not too early.' It purrs.

I tell it to shut the hell up.

I jump for the second time that day as the bell rings, and everyone stampedes out the door. I blink before gathering my wits and taking my leave as well

I weave my way through the crowded hallways, heading for the science room. Once there, I take my seat in the very back, everyone forming a one seat radius away from me.

I know. I'm a very popular person.

I decide to doodle in my notebook as I wait for the bell to ring. I'm just finishing drawing the sharks dorsal fin, when the teacher announces a new student.

"Now class, I would like for you to say hello to our new student, Grover Underwood." The balding teacher says, hands on Grover's shoulders as if to steady him.

I saw the reason why. He was hunched over a pair of crutches. It didn't seem like he had broken or sprained anything, so I was guessing it was a health condition. He had curly brown hair and dirt-brown eyes and the beginning of a wispy beard (which I thought strange for sixth grade). He was wearing a 'go-green' shirt and brown cargos.

'Underwood', I mused. 'Fitting.'

"You may take a seat next to Mr. Jackson over there." He waves his hand over to me.

A couple kids snicker, and I roll my eyes, returning my attention to my shark.

I glance over as he ungracefully sits down at the desk beside me. He looks over and gives me a smile, saying "Hi."

I just give a small smile and nod, then return to drawing the shark's teeth.

Not a minute passes, and I feel him peaking over my arm to get a look at it. I'm about to close my arm around it tighter to stop him from looking, before I hear a awed 'sweet'.

I look over at him and he gives a sheepish smile. Blushing, he turns back to the teacher.

I look back at the drawing that I'd finished. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but it did look pretty good. I gave a sigh, and ripped it out of my notebook. Grover looked over at the noise and I nodded my head to it then back at him.

He looked pleasantly surprised and took it when I offered it to him.

I gave a small smile and whispered, "Percy."

He gave a blinding smile and whispered, "Grover."

'Don't think this will last!' The voice gives an animalistic growl. 'Because the more you become attached to him or anyone else, the more it's going to hurt when I make you run them through with your little sword!'

I flinch as if slapped and returned to my notebook, missing the confused look Grover gave me.

He wouldn't understand, I think. No one... No one will ever understand.

(I hope they never do.)