Chapter Text
What is the point?
These words hung heavy on Keith's mind as if they were branded there, singed into his red hot brain and ringing in his ears uncontrollably. He tried to chase them away but his mind had been permanently imprinted with crippling self-doubt and criticism.
Thinking back, Keith could never remember a moment where he was not unhappy; his life seemed to be a pitifully sad loop of unfortunate happenings. However, this mix of pain, fear, anger and hopelessness was not new to the 19-year-old boy as he has struggled to deal with his life with people around him and most importantly himself, his whole life.
Not a day went by that Keith didn't feel utterly hopeless and insecure; in fact, it was those insecurities that ate away at his thoughts and drained them like hungry leeches eager to drain every last ounce of blood.
Keith couldn't help but sigh for what seemed the millionth time in the last hour, he was sat alone in his tiny dorm room that to anyone else would seem practically cell like but to him, it all seemed to still be despairingly big and depressing. People weren't Keith's thing, so when it came to college accommodation, he couldn't have checked 'single room' any quicker.
There were many reason Keith hated people but he could never deal with closeness, conversations and all their mess and disorganisation (or even just having different placements for objects) as well as that Keith was positive that no one in their right mind would ever want to spend time living with someone who had severely debilitating depression and anxiety as well as his mental instability and complex outlook on life. His red bed sheets crumpled beneath him as he flopped meekly down on top of them. Pulling himself into a small compact ball, he nibbled at the top of his thumb as a comfort habit he never really abandoned in his childhood. His arms still tingled and stung as they moved across the rough fabric. Despite his long sleeved, over-sized, chunky-knit, fluffy jumper, his arms prickled with the indirect contact making him wince out of sheer discomfort but that discomfort was still an emotion, an emotion he could feel and pin point exactly and that felt, in an odd sort of painful way, comforting.
The red rings around his tired, lifeless eyes stood out prominently on his chalky pale skin. Anyone with eyes could see that Keith was having a rough time but all Keith thought was that he was weak, useless and had lost all hope in anything he did.
He repeatedly asked himself why he was like this, why he had to criticise every last thing, why nothing ever made sense, why nothing ever went right, why nothing was perfect.
The claustrophobic room that seemed way too big with its cream walls, white blinds, small, cramped twin beds, brown wooden desk and bookshelf with every last book and pen placed in their correct position, the tiny kitchen area with its white microwave, mini-fridge, kettle and toaster. Because the lack of students in his accommodation, every room had their own en suite which was lucky because Keith found himself breaking down in his bathroom, crying into the rug and cursing himself out in the mirror etc.
After reading one of his many 'HOW TO NOT FEEL LIKE A WORTHLESS PIECE OF SHIT' books, Keith tried decorating the room to make it seem more quote-on-quote 'homely' but this proved problematic.
Firstly, Keith tried pinning up some of his older art work but the more he stared at them the more flaws he saw and after a while he became sick at the sight of them and hated every single one. He had tried to unstick them from the wall but the cheap off brand blu-tack ripped off the paint leaving ugly paint-less splodges across his wall.
Next, he decided to take some of his more irritating pieces down and cover the missing paint with his photos which was okay but occasionally some of the sentimental photographs sent shivers down his spine as he tried to not let the overwhelming memories flood his mind and eat away at his pathetic life.
To add to this, Keith had a box of neatly folded, colourful origami cranes that he made every time he felt unhappy. He had been making cranes as a coping strategy since he was around 4 or 5 years old. Over the years he had collected hundreds of the paper birds, possibly thousands, and one day he started threading clear string through them and hung each one from the ceiling. It took many days of stringing and hanging the delicately ornate paper before every crane was suspended in the air but once it was done it, even Keith found it a little impressive.
Despite everything, something still was not right but there was nothing logical that he could think of to make anything right.
Looking up from his ball, Keith noticed the outside world had darkened and he lost track of the time. Pulling his phone off the dresser-turned-bedside-table, the time on the screen read 10:27.
With a groan, Keith knew he had to eat something because he hadn't eaten anything since his unsatisfyingly soggy pot-noodle at lunch. When he opened the fridge he was annoyed to realize he only had more pot noodles and milk in there. He was not prepared to eat pot noodles again today so that called for take out. He collected an assortment of money to cover the cost before he opened his phone to make an order. Keith would never ever dream of ordering over the phone, social anxiety would always get the better of him and it was useless even trying anymore. He went straight to the take out app and browsed through the assortment of fast food delivery places in the area.
Keith wasn't sure what he particularly wanted at that moment but decided pizza was the best option for possible left overs for breakfast the next morning. He typed 'pizza' into the search bar and clicked the first one that popped up. It seemed a pretty good deal and not too far away so he went to order. He filled in his name, the name number and address of his student flat, and order (Keith couldn't be bothered to pay extra for any fancy toppings, especially when money was tight and he wasn't particularly hungry). His thumb scrolled the screen up so he could fill in his order. Once he typed 'average thin margarita' he looked at the last box that read 'delivery requirements' and he thought hard before typing 'Send someone who is pretty chilled and not pissed off'. Usually, he skipped this box but tonight he felt horrible and didn't want some stupid angst teen who doesn't get paid enough and hates their job to make it any worse. He sent the request and a few moments after his phone buzzed indicating the pizza place had successfully received his order.
It took Keith a good moment for him to gather enough strength to pull himself out of bed and sluggishly make his way over to the bathroom. Although the idea of having your own bathroom sounds lucky, it really wasn't much to brag about due to its size. Good job Keith was small, thin and agile otherwise moving in there would prove itself quite a task.
Mirrors, Keith hated the things, they only reminded him how rough and horrible he looked all the time, but there was no escaping them, especially in a bathroom. He studied his face carefully, pulling at his weary skin. His eyes were burning but dry as a summer desert, they were red and bloodshot and this was highlighted and exaggerated by the deep purple bags formed under his eyes, his skin was dull and greying slightly as if all the blood had been drained from his body and his young skin seemed droop miserably from his thin framed face. To see how it looked, he smiled at himself but it just looked wrong and forced and ugly so he let it fall back to his permanent disapproving frown.
His longish black hair was greasy and messy; it hadn't been straightened or brushed or tamed or anything in a few days so he yanked at every thick strand pulling it into a messy half up half down kind of pony tail due to the shorter straggly hairs that would only come loose if he tried to put them up.
Without thinking, he turned on a tap and rolled his sleeves up so he could proceed splash his face pathetically with freezing water in a strained attempt to look 'Presentable'. He looked down at his exposed arms and sighed. Every freshly red or still searing white line that plagued his skin was a constant reminder of how much he hated himself.
Suddenly his door phone started ringing. He pushed the sleeves down quickly in a panicked state and ran to pick it up.
"H-hello?" Keith mumbled.
"Well, hello there" the voice almost beamed coolly down the phone and he fact Keith could hear the smug almost cockiness in the guy's voice made him feel so done already. "It appears I have a pizza for a Keith?"
"Sounds right" Keith sneered down the phone trying to match the other's confidence and sarcasm.
"Sooo... you gonna come down orrr-?" The guy seemed to be kidding, or at least Keith hoped he had been anyway.
"Oh right yeah, I'll be right there hang on" He grabbed his phone, keys and the exact change off the side and bolted it for the stairs. He could have taken the elevator from the 7th floor down but his fear of getting trapped in one was too much to risk plus 14 short flights of stairs were merely nothing not that he was used to it. It took about 3 or 4 minutes for him to reach the downstairs corridor but when he did, he yanked open letting the strong November night breeze lick his exposed skin.
And there he was, leaning casually against the door frame, one arm across his chest, the other holding the pizza box like some sort of waiter, head cocked with a stupid slanted grin. As soon as he noticed the smaller boy in the doorway, he froze, eyes wide, smile falling.
"You're Keith!?"