As we ride to the school, I try to keep my mouth shut. The town is still, like holding its breath, praying for a sigh of life. I grip my phone as I begin to feel the itching again. It burns me like acid, as my heart pounds, echoing into my skull with a headache.

I open a word document and begin to write. It's so soothing to write, and my heart calms to a blissful peace as the trees with leaves reborn dash by in the window that shows the suburban back road. I look down at the word document, a romance scene. The reason for it only to advance the plot. Nothing more.

Romance novels, I've never liked them. Romance scenes even, I hate them. In all honesty, writing them depresses me. It reminds me of the void in my heart, and makes it grow. Writing them makes me feel alone, and causes a sadness to well up behind my eyes. I just can't do it, seeing happy couples makes me feel more alone.

My brother even has a girlfreind, and he's a year older than me. He has a bit more fat than me, is a lot more jerkish, a head taller, and wears glasses. Otherwise, despite his lack of freckles, we look almost identical. I don't get along with him, and keep him out of my life best I can like my parents.

My mom drops us off at school. I offer a farewell with a fake sweetness I normally reserve for those who are actually nice to me, and head to my first class.

Theater class, oh yes! The best class of my day! Only class I take with any relation to writing what so ever. My teacher in this class, Ms. Penn, has supported my writing more than my parents or bother ever did, and there's nothing in the world that means more than that to mean. She's by far my favorite teacher. The nicest person I've ever met, even if I do disagree with some of her teaching views; (i.e. punish the whole class over like two people) the good outweighs the bad by far.

I sit down on a couch in the bottom right corner of the classroom. The room has white tile and white walls, and the chairs are arranged in a sea of madness, no rhyme or reason to their placement. We're watching a movie today, so that'll be fun.

The couch is generally used by a group of freinds if they get to it first, but I tend to leave for school as early as possible, because I actually LIKE the people here, and they like me. I don't get in fights, I rarely get in arguments, and I never get bullied. It's just a nice, safe place for me.

As I sit on the couch, and writing a book to calm the itching, I hear the voice. "Do you really think you'll be safe forever?" The voice asks.

I ignore it, but it does speak the truth. I don't have much longer before-

...

A girl taller than me by half a foot, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, calm like the sea, soothing somehow, and skin tanned by the Sun that rolls over the mountains each morning sits next to me.

...

What was I talking about?

"Why aren't you writing?" The itch whispers.

I ignore the siren calls of the pen, and put my phone down. "Hey," I greet, "name's Richard. Nice to meet you."

"Oh," she smiles, turning to look at me, "I'm Lily, Lily Travels. You're the writing kid right? The one who makes the stories?"

"That's me," my smile grows as my talents are appreciated, "Richard West, writer, quick wit, and sometimes obnoxious."

The girl laughs. "Sometimes?" She smiles, "come on man."

"Not a fan of my works?" I ask.

"I was gonna say never obnoxious," Lily's expression changes as she is shocked by my reply.

"Eh," I shrug, "I'm just asking."

"Dude," the girl looks at me, confused, "you're, like, THE guy for books."

"Yeah yeah," I explain, "I'm popular...ish, but still. Couldn't hurt to ask."

"That's fair," the girl shrugs.

We sit in silence for a bit. I hear the voice, the siren calls, "what are you doing? You had your fun, now write!"

"I wanna talk to her," I confess.

"Why?" The voice demands, "do you really think you're in control? There's only one thing in your life, and that's writing."

"I wanna take a quick break," I glare, it shows on my face as I speak in my head, "just give me a bit."

"Why? You feel it, don't you? Eating away at you? The itch?"

I do feel the itch, but... it's off. It feels diffrent. My heart rate accelerates as per usual, but I don't have the usual sense of unease that comes with it.

...

What is this feeling? Is it even the itch? No. It has to be the itch. It can't be anything else. Nothing can calm the itch. There is only the itch.

I did try to not scratch the itch once. It was about a year ago. My dad told me not to write, and as to avoid his insults, I complied.

That's when the voice started. The first thing it said was, "what are you doing West?"

Trying to figure out what was causing my panic attack I replied, "what are you?"

Ever maintaing a strong resolve the voice explained, "I am what you want. That sensation you feel."

Confused, I inquired, "the odd, unexplained panic?"

The voice laughed and explained, "yes. Did your father not just insult you?"

"He said I was pathetic for reading when I can't write."

"Disgusting isn't he?"

"What can I do?"

"Have you ever felt empty Richard? An odd, unexplained sadness in your heart?"

"Every single day of my life."

"That's because there's no love, because no one could love you. Look at yourself. You're fat, weak, annoying, and boring."

"How can I make these feelings go away?"

"I know a way. It numbs all pain. All emotion gone in a few clicks."

"Tell me more."

"Write. Write more and more. Bury your hatred, bury your pain, and bury any feelings you develop."

"What about support from my family?"

"Have they ever supported you before? Your mother will scream for days about a C in an honors glass, your father insults you on a regular basis, and your brother is selfish as can be."

"I don't... have a family? Do I?"

"No. You don't. Why not just give up?"

"On what?"

"Richard, I can make the pain end. Just start writing, and let these void-like sensation eat you. It'll only take a moment, and then, we can go to a better place."

"Ooooorrrr..."

"You can write to ignore emotions. Ignore the pain of your father's insults, and mother's rage. Ignore the world and choose not to feel."

"I choose that one."

"Good choice, but remember, if you ever wanna make the other choice, there's a gun in your dad's sock drawer."

"I know."

"Good."

After that, I ignored my pain, bottled it up, and wrote it out, but sometimes the line blurs, and I can't tell what's pain and what's not, so I just write away any intense emotion. It makes the pain go away, and makes the voice stop, and that's enough for me.

After I write the romance scene, finding myself oddly unstuck, Lily asks, "what are you writing right now?"

"Oh just a little romance novel," I sigh, "don't like it though. I never did like love stories."

"What?" Lily asks, "why?"

"Because," I look away awkward in admiting this, "I have no experience in love what so ever. I wonder is it exists at all sometimes. I mean, like, my zodiac is Leo, so I don't believe in zodiacs anymore. Leos are supposed to care about their dreams, which makes sense. They're supposed to be natrual leaders who can be a bit to controlling. Sounds right to me. They're supposed to be passionate and lucky in love. Wanna hear a joke?"

"Sure?" Lily awkwardly shrugs.

"My love life," I smile back.

"That's not funny," Lily gives me a look like I've lost my mind.

"I'm sixteen," I sigh, "don't have a learner's permit, haven't had a first kiss, haven't ever been in a date, not a single girl likes me in the entire state, and my freinds, although helpful, can't help me with my real problems, but they do try."

"Not one person?" Lily inquires.

"Not even Morgan and Witney, and they're like sisters to me."

"Man... that's rough."

"It's fine. I get by. I just write. It makes me feel better."

"How so?"

"It just... numbs everything. All emotion, gone, blown away like ashes."

"That doesn't sound healthy."

"Eh, I see my freinds at school each day, and as long as I have that, I'll be fine."

"But school ends in three days, counting today."

"I'll figure something out. I just love people, so as long as I can get out of the house regularly, I'll be fine, but that's not happening."

"Why do you hate your house so much?"

"My parents are assholes."

"Wow. No hesitation there huh?"

"It's not really a secret, almost everybody knows it, but enough about problems and doom and gloom. What do you do?"

"Oh," Lily's face lights up with a proud, almost arrogant smile, "I'm a gymnast! I'm working on a new routine!"

"That's impressive," I smile back.

"You don't say. I'm the best around, I'll promise you that."

"What's your routine on? Rings? Polls? Bar?"

"Rings into polls. It's perfection."

"Perfection huh?"

"Trust me."

"Alright. I don't know the first thing about that so who am I to judge?"

"What about your novel? How's it going?"

"Alright I suppose. It's not that good."

"Can I see it?"

"Let me post it first, so it's protected. Because blah blah legal shenanigans and paranoia."

"Suit yourself."

"OK and... done."

"Let's see it."

Lily reads it and looks at me after finishing it, it's only one chapter so far.

"Well," she hands me back my phone, "that was depressing."

"As I said, no personal experience."

"Why did you write this if you hate romance scenes so much?"

"There's no romance in it yet. Also, bored."

"Don't you do anything else?"

"Nothing else makes me feel better."

"Are you sure?"

"I've tried. Talking helps though."

"Huh."

"Moving on from doom and gloom, again, what are you doing over the Summer?"

"Entering a few competitions. You?"

"Writing, writing, and more writing."

"Wow. That is all you do."

"Maybe if something else could fill the void-"

I stop myself. This has already gotten to personal for the first conversation I've had with this chick. This isn't her problem.

"What void?" Lily asks.

"It's a long story," I sigh, "maybe some other time. Now, we should turn our attention to the movie so we don't-"

The bell rings.

"What?" I ask.

"Did we just talk the whole class?" Lily scratches her head, leaning it to the side in a cute fashion.

"I guess," I shrug.

"Well," Lily smiles getting up, "I enjoyed it. Good luck with your novel Richard."

"Thanks Lily," I smile back. I grab my backpack and we go our separate ways. I feel that off feeling again. Why? It's itchy, but it's soothing. I don't feel empty, and I almost feel... happy? What is this feeling? Why do I like it?

I guess I should just write it away...