Hard To See (Gawsten)

one

Trigger Warning: This book has abusive themes all throughout- Mentions of Child Abuse, Brief Violence, Child Neglect, Mental Abuse, Drugs, and Alcohol. I will put warnings at the tops of chapters when necessary.

***

He hears his mother call from her room on the other side of the house. Her sleepy voice rings out, motivating him to walk down the dimly lit hallway. The walls are a dirty off-white, stained by soot. The bare bulb at the end of the corridor provides just enough light to avoid the small pieces of trash lining the floor.

"Yes, mama?" The boy asks, his light blond hair falling into his eyes slightly.

His mother is a woman no older than thirty, but she acts like a sixty year old and an eighteen year old all in one. If she isn't at work, she's either asleep or partying.

"Would you get me something to eat?" She asks, mumbling since she's still half asleep.

The boy looks at the clock next to her bed.

8:09pm

"Yeah, it's dinner time anyway," he says, and retreats back down the hall.

The kitchen floor is cold under his feet, and slightly sticky. He wraps his arms around his thin frame and looks around the kitchen for a moment, deciding what to do for dinner.

He isn't completely used to cooking every night, even though he has been doing it for approximately two years now. No one taught him how to cook, and experimenting with new foods and recipes is not always a safe thing to do.

He walks over to the pantry and finds a loaf of bread, figuring that fried egg sandwiches will be good.

As he busies himself with putting the sandwiches together and cooking the eggs, he thinks about how different his life must be from his classmates' lives. Most of them probably have plans tonight. Some are probably out at restaurants or shopping, while others stay in and play videogames online. Some are maybe just hanging out, not really doing anything specific but enjoying each other's company. Most probably have friends to do all of those things with.

That's something the boy lacks- friends.

The counter space is limited. Red plastic cups with week-old alcohol filling them take up a lot of the room. He doesn't drink, and neither does his mom, but she still likes to throw parties. Or 'get togethers' as she calls them.

He hates the smell of vodka, but there isn't much he can do except pour all the cups' contents down the drain and hope the house has a chance to air out at least a little. Not that it will matter much though- the cups will be replaced within a few days anyway.

The smell of vodka gets worse as he continues pouring, and he opens a window quickly after pouring out the last cup- letting in cool fresh air. He's so used to the smell that it almost doesn't phase him anymore, but smelling fresh air always reminds him of just how rotten the air inside the house is.

He leans over the newly cleaned off counter and sticks his head out of the window. A soft hum leaves him as he breathes in the refreshing air. A slight bit of wind tousles his hair.

He finishes cooking soon after that. He looks down at his own plate and sets it on the table. The table has piles of mail all over it, with just one clear spot for him to sit and eat. He takes the other plate down the hall to his mother before he sits down, and she grunts a thanks before he exits the room. He sits down and looks at his plate again. Suddenly, a jolt of realization goes through him as he remembers that he hasn't eaten all day, and he begins to eat his sandwich.

Everything the boy does is quiet. The most noise he makes is when he softly hums to himself, yet the house is quieter. The smallest noise makes a dent in the silence, so when three boys pass by on the sidewalk in front of his house, it's easy to hear everything they say, especially with the window open.

"I think that's Awsten Knight's house," one of them says, and the sound of their footsteps on the concrete stops. Judging from their steps, there's three of them.

"The one who always throws parties with college students?" Another asks.

"Yeah, he's so quiet during school, it's hard to believe he's the partying type, but then again, maybe he's quiet because he's always hungover or something," the first guy concludes.

The footsteps resume, and Awsten briefly wonders what the third person is thinking, since they didn't voice their thoughts. Does everyone assume he's the one throwing the parties? Most high schoolers would love to be able to say that they threw parties with college students every week, but that isn't Awsten's personality at all. That's not who he wants to be. He gets up and dusts crumbs off of his oversized tye-dye shirt.

After putting his plate in the sink, he walks over and closes the window carefully.

***

"Do you think he heard us talking about him?" The boy asks, his nose ring glinting in the moonlight.

"I don't know, Otto, but I hope not. That's embarrassing," answers a boy with bright red hair, which is only slightly muted because of the lack of light.

"Should we ask him tomorrow? Apologize maybe?" Otto asks, staring at the window that just closed.

"Well I have nothing to apologize for, and neither do you two. I didn't even say anything, and it's not like you guys said anything untrue," the third boy speaks up. The soft pale light bounces off of his brown hair.

"Jawn, what do you think?" Otto asks, turning to the red-haired boy.

Jawn hesitates. He doesn't want to apologize, but something makes him feel like he should. Maybe it's the way the window slid almost shamefully shut after they walked off.

"I think it'd be a good idea to make sure we're all cool, just so there's no unchecked hard feelings or anything," Jawn replies. The other two nod.

"Think he'll beat us up, Geoff?" Otto jokes, laughing as they continue walking once again.

Geoff chuckles and replies, "if he so much as looks at you guys wrong, I'll fight him."

...