0. Life.

Robin was an isolated individual. Out of choice, he found being alone was better. Gasping could be heard as Robin woke from nightmares. Robin was laid on the sweat soaked sheets, as he looked up at the moonlight peering through his window. He raised his hand up checking his freedom before he lifted his weak body to the window. He opened the window before sitting on the window ledge, The cool wind whipped against his sticky skin. He laid his face against the window frame. Shaky breaths left his lips as he shut his eyes. He wanted to lift a hand out to dance his fingers in the breeze but he knew it would only make him feel trapped.

As the wind cooled his skin he felt his body freeze. He didn't move from the window as he enjoyed the feeling. Freezing was better than boiling.He watched the lights in the City, the sounds calming his mind. The squalor he lived in was enough for him. He scraped by on benefit allowance. Robin couldn't work, he was agoraphobic and haphephobic. Meaning he was afraid of going outside the comfort zone which was his house, as well as afraid of touch. It made going outside debilitating. It wasn't easy to live, he typically ordered grocery to be delivered.

He sat there and soon got up walking to his bathroom.Robin quickly took a cold shower. It felt suffocating, and soon caused Robin to have a panic attack. Feeling suffocated and exhausted he soon stepped out of the shower and dried off. The soft cotton towel ran along scarred and gnarled skin. Soon the cotton tinged red as scabs fell off prematurely and fresh cuts continued to bleed. He dried his skin and then roughly rubbed his head. He couldn't stand the heat of a hair drier or hot water. It reminded him of burning too much. The iron hot pain that mangled his skin, the flames that licked at his flesh and charred his skin black.

His messy damp hair settled on his face, the damp fiery orange strands fell to below his chin. Robin needed a haircut, but feeling someone touch his scalp and hair was too much. He ended up shaving all his hair off most of the time, when it got to be in the way too much. The damp muted strands were soon pushed back. Robin's skin was pale and milky. He could be mistaken for a ghost if not for his vibrant hair which stood out immensely.

Robin soon walked to his mattress sighing looking at the sheets damp with sweat. He gathered his blanket and hung it up then took the sheets off too hanging them up to dry. He soon sprinkled bicarbonate of soda over the mattress and then sighed softly. Robin walked around opening the windows fully letting the cold night breeze blow through. Robin the walked to his soft plush sofa grabbing a spare blanket. He soon wrapped himself up in the blanket then plopped himself down on the sofa.

Dull emerald green eyes sparkled with flecks of gold throughout. Robin had bundled himself up and laid back putting headphones in and losing himself in music. He escaped to his fantasies, a warm comforting home, a warm partner and a gentle pet. He couldn't have a boyfriend. No. Never a boyfriend. Soon that menacing and disgusted voice slipped into his mind, whispering in his ear. "Disgusting fag. You should kill yourself before you spread your filth further!" rang out through his mind. He winced and increased the volume in his headphones till his ears throbbed. He needed to drown it all out. Those eyes always watching him, his filthy skin, his grotesque thoughts. His head buzzed as he slowly couldn't stop, he needed to follow what he knew.

Soon he became clear headed as his skin was scalded from the boiling shower and abrasive scrubbing. His skin was cracked and bleeding as he sat there. Red dripping down his arms as he held a sharp blade in his hands. Red filled his vision as he calmly gathered some kitchen roll and began mopping up the blood. He soon started to staunch the blood flow. He looked vacantly at the blood soaked kitchen roll. He felt the reprieve he needed but knew it was quick to pass. He laid back in the reprieve as he looked at the open windows. Listening to the buzzing of the city. Everything sounded like static in his ears. He was exhausted and desolate. He leaned against the wall as he laid his head back.

Weakly he got up as his arms and legs burned as the fresh cuts wept with blood as the thin coagulated film broke. He was hungry, and tired. He had something similar to anemia if he had to guess. He walked to the small kitchen and looked around the empty cabinets. He made himself some cheap ramen as he barely had the energy to stand around. He sat down as he ate his cheap food and slowly thought to himself.

We as humans love our labels. We limit our world by our words. Labels give us a way to express ourselves. Robin knew he was the same as everyone else. He in no way wished to lord himself above others by understanding this. He loved his labels like many do. We look up to those positive labels, but feel more at ease in negative labels. We end up hating both. Good labels constrict us and leave no room for fault, and bad labels give us freedom but self-loathing, and unhappiness. There is no middle ground. You're either good or bad, no room for growth or okay. If you're not a modern renaissance painter who has some kind of breakthrough in art. If you don't completely change a scientific studies outlook, to the majority you're worthless.

Robin was completely comfortable in his negative labels. He was known as a lay-about waste, and he thoroughly agreed. His mental impairments helped with the acceptance of those labels. He sighed as he finished up the last of the cheap ramen. He knew about his issues, he knew he was letting his issues take root in his life. Some he couldn't help it too, both as they weren't something you could just fix with medication yet. Some things he couldn't fix without intensive help. The deep dark and twisted self hatred inside himself, that coiled around his insides and held traces of the most traumatic time in his life. The vile poison inside him made him hate himself and everyone like him. It bubbled up as homophobia.

This homophobia was vicious and mean. Although the poison inside him ripped him up, Robin wasn't aggressive. Nor was he a fighter. He was a victim of homophobia. From himself but also from others. His childhood experiences had led him to being extraordinarily twisted up inside. Confused and afraid, angry and sad. He was gay. Purely gay. Robin sighed as exhaustion won over his mind. He soon walked to his plush couch, wrapping his blanket around himself before he collapsed on the sofa, and quickly drifted off into the solace of deep silent sleep.

So why did the unthinkable happen. He was asleep in his chair. He had been asleep in his chair. Had he finally lost it? He had to have lost it. No way this was real. Robin went to sleep, not happy, but content. Who would have imagined he'd wake up to a nightmare. No longer in his home. He was no longer in his home . His safe place was gone . All that was left was the merciless and unforgiving world around him. The cold marble flooring beneath him that couldn't be his home. Where was he!!!