Eli Parker walked through the hallways of Westgrove High like a ghost.

Not invisible - just ignored.

Well, almost. The jocks saw him. They always saw him.

Especially Tyler Jameson.

Every morning, Tyler made sure Eli remembered his place. Today was no different.

"Watch it, fairy," Tyler sneered as he slammed his shoulder into Eli's ribs, sending him sprawling into the lockers.

Eli's books hit the floor with a slap that echoed down the hallway.

Laughter followed. Someone whistled. Another voice - called out, "Don't trip over your heels, fag!"

Eli stayed on the ground for a second longer than necessary. His chest burned, not from the impact, but from the familiar hum of humiliation. His hands were trembling as he reached for his sketchbook first. Always the sketchbook. Pages loose from the spine, some with worn corners, one half-torn drawing of a boy with messy hair peeking out.

He stuffed it into his bag quickly. His sketchbook was the only thing keeping him sane after all.

A sneaker kicked one of his pencils out of reach.

"Oh no, princess dropped his crayon," Derek said with a mock pout.

Eli ignored him. Ignoring made it end faster. Most of the time.

But Tyler wasn't done.

As Eli stood and tried to gather his things, Tyler passed behind him and smacked the back of his head with an open palm. Not hard enough to injure - just hard enough to sting.

Eli flinched.

Tyler chuckled. "Man, you're so jumpy. You'd think someone beats you at home."

He did. He always get beaten at home.school was safer than home for him.

But no one knew that. Eli made sure of it.

He kept his head down and made his way to class, where he sat in the back corner with his hoodie up. He didn't talk. Didn't raise his hand. The teacher barely acknowledged him.

At lunch, he tried to sneak behind the gym to sit alone. He took his tray with him. But before he could get there, someone tripped him.

Eli hit the concrete hard, his palms scraping open. His tray skidded across the ground, spilling the uneaten sandwich and bruised apple. Laughter rang out again.

He didn't even look up to see who it was. They all sounded the same. Everyone was the same.

That evening, when the final bell rang, Eli left without a word. He moved through the town like a whisper, head down, hoodie up, sneakers scuffing the pavement. He lived just three blocks from the school, but the walk home felt like a thousand miles.

The apartment door was already unlocked when he pushed it open.

Inside, the lights were off. The place smelled faintly of mildew and cheap air freshener. He stepped over his stepdad's discarded work boots, careful not to make noise.

"Eli?" his mother called from the kitchen, her voice flat.

"Yeah?"

"You ate at school?"

He hesitated. "Yeah."

She didn't press. She never did. Just went back to whatever she was doing - probably scrolling on her phone or smoking by the window.

He passed the living room. His stepfather, Gary, was snoring on the couch, half-empty beer can clanking in his hand. TV blaring some news channel. Shirt stained with something dark. His face red ,angry even in sleep.

Eli didn't stop. He walked straight to his room and shut the door quietly behind him.

Inside, it was cold. The window didn't shut properly, and the wind slipped in. Still, it was the only place in the world that was his. He dropped his bag and sank to the floor, back against the bed.

His palms stung from the fall. He peeled back the sleeves of his hoodie and looked at them,his bruises. Scraped. Bloody. Already beginning to swell.

He didn't cry. He never cried. He had kept his feelings hidden for too long. He knew that one day it would break him apart.

Instead, he pulled his sketchbook out and flipped to a new page. Pencil to paper. Slow, careful lines. He drew a boy. One he hadn't met yet. A boy with wild hair and a smile kind yet troubling. A boy who wasn't afraid.

Nothing like him. He always drew someone who was nothing like eli, someone who could maybe save him.

Eli didn't know where the image came from.

But it made his chest ache in a way that felt like longing.

He heard his mother laugh at something on the TV. Then a door slam. Then silence.

Dinner never came. It rarely did. Going out of his room right now would definitely not result in any good. He found a granola bar in his drawer and chewed it slowly, sitting on the floor like a secret.

The moon rose outside his cracked window.

And Eli stayed there, drawing shadows and smoke until his fingers stopped shaking.

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Hi! It's my first story. Please let me know how it is. And don't be shy to leave and comments. I will appreciate if you point out any mistakes or something to add in the story. Any criticism will be appreciated. Thank you the updates will be every four days.

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