Trying Too Hard [Bunny Love Story]

►Chapter One◄

As you grow older you'll come to understand how to truly empathize with another human being. The more experience you gain the "wiser" you'll become. This is common knowledge, and not exactly what I'm trying to explain. However, it does tie in with my topic of the day.

My name is Leopold Stotch and I, with every selfish bone in my body, wish for you to at least attempt to dig inside of yourself and draw out a little empathy for this situation.. Because at that moment I was standing in front of a wall. A wooden, shabby wall that helps to serve as a shelter - or "home" if it were coming from the people living there - for a family that I could never consider a whole. I stood on the outside of the building, my back facing the trees along with a few passed out drunkards that like to spend their time in such an area. A spray can nestled snug between my fingers. I was vandalizing the house of my crush with graffiti art that I wasn't even good at; according to my very own criticizing conscious.

Let me explain. I'm not being some over-the-top elementary school kid who has no idea how to deal with his first love. My problem is completely different than that of a nine year old. Graffiti was the only way I could not only let out my emotions in a "healthy" way, but I could also get my crush to notice me without really noticing me. The police don't do anything about it, so I'm pretty much off the hook with them. That doesn't discard the fact that what I'm doing is bad, and if my parents ever found out.. Let's just say I'd be in loads of trouble.

With the release of a sorrow sigh, I had taken a step back to stare down my work. It was nothing more than a singular unattached human eyeball, leaking tears for whatever reason you interpret it as. The color of the iris was blue, and the sclera was bloodshot. Though this piece wasn't my greatest artwork, it meant something to anyone who was keeping up with it. This was the first part of my message, one that no one would understand.

I hope they understand.

As I stand there, staring motionlessly at the drying paint, I begin to wonder if he will notice. If he does I'm not sure how I should react, but I suppose nobody knows it's actually me behind all of this mess so I guess I just need to mimic everyone else.

All of a sudden I hear the back door creaking open and voices filling the previous silence. Panicking, I ran to the nearest tree and began to climb up for fear of being found out. While I'd love to have him actually know that it was me the whole time, I don't think I can handle being confronted. I know all too well that what I'm doing is terrible; lightweight stalking him and vandalizing his own home. How  much worse can one person get?

It could be a lot worse.

"See, aside from these passed out drunks, nobody's out here," came the angelic voice of him. He was comforting his younger sister, a girl I often found myself jealous over due to his immense need to protect her. What if I needed some protecting myself?

I don't.

Peeking through the snow covered branches, I could just barely make out two shadows stepping onto the porch. The smaller one, no doubt his sister, took a step forward and shifted from side to side as if she were on a sidewalk and looking both ways before crossing a street. Then she did a complete 360 and hesitated only a second before replying, "I swear I heard someone outside! It kind of sounded like some animal was clawing at the wall.." She hopped off the steps and started toward where I had stood just moments before.

"Karen, don't run off!" he told her, following behind with purpose. He paused when he noticed what she was talking about and took a step back. "Graffiti art?" he mumbled to himself.

"I told you," said the girl - Karen - as she turned to face her brother. I watched in silence, thinking that it would be much safer if I had just left but knowing if I climbed down now they'd surely hear me. "Who would do such a thing to our house?" she questioned.

The shadow of her brother simply shook his head and shrugged. He stared at my art a moment longer, and I desperately wished that I could know what he might be thinking.

But I'm a creep, not a mind reader.

"Come on, let's go back inside," he said, putting a hand on Karen's shoulder and gently guiding her to the door. "It's late and past your bedtime."

"But what if the person is still here?!" she said, complying to the wishes of her brother but still wanting answers. "What if they try to get inside? Do you think they're mean?"

He shook his head. "They're harmless, Karen. This isn't the first case of graffiti art, and if they wanted to do harm I'm sure it would have been done by now," he told her. They got to the porch steps and I was about to lower myself when Karen stopped. The abruptness in which it happened caused Kenny nearly run into her, and for me to involuntarily let out a small 'Hamburgers!' under my breath. I was frozen in my spot with one leg dangling off the branch and the other bent. I was afraid that if I made the slightest of movements they'd hear me. Karen's got sharp ears.

"I want to investigate!" She turned around to face him with what I could only assume to be a determined look. Oh how much I wish it was light enough for me to see his face. His blonde hair, blue eyes, soft lips..

"Just a moment ago you were afraid of them being some sort of robber or killer. You really want to find out?" he asked.

Karen paused before she shrugged and admitted, "Kind of."

"I'll go search to make sure they're gone" - son of a biscuit! - "as long as you go inside and get ready for bed." He pushed her in and I scrambled to the ground, only to fall on my rear end and letting out a small, barely audible squeak. Both of their heads snapped in my direction and my heart attempted to jump through my chest.

"Did you hear that?!" Karen exclaimed, hiding behind her brother in fear and looking out into the darkness. "Do you think it's the scary person who painted on our house?"

"Karen, go inside." He made sure she was still in the safety of their 'home.' "I'll be back soon," he reassured her before shutting the door and turning around.

By that point I had gotten to my feet and ran further into the trees, deciding to take the long way home that night. I ran as fast as I could, much faster than my speed during Gym class, and ended up at my house after ten minutes of pure running. My breathing came out in huffs and my throat was dry. The cold air whipped at my lungs and I had to cough before slowly starting to regain my composure.

I'm out of shape.

Walking to the door, I silently slid the key in and turned to lock, more than thankful that it wasn't nearly as squeaky as the McCormick's when being moved. Slipping inside, I took off my jacket and hung it on the coat rack before shutting the door softly behind me. I set the keys on the kitchen counter and tiptoed the flight of stairs leading to my room. It seemed like forever before I was finally in the safety of the four white walls that watched my every move. The walls of my room were a plain white, but I've decorated them over the past years with posters of my  favorite shows like any other teenager would.

I fell down onto my bed and found myself staring up at my plain white walls. Slowly, I closed my eyes and gently I let out a lonely sigh and whispered, "I love you Kenny," before turning to my side and crying myself to sleep.