CYRUS | 2020

eleven

2 months later

Cyrus breathed in the smell of the salt spray and smiled up at the blue sky contentedly. 

He was on the beach his parents were going to teach him to surf before they got into the crash.

Cyrus had always been too scared to come; scared he would be reminded of that day. But he was done shying away from something he hadn't yet done.

His parents would always tell him don't make a face until you try it.

They had first said it to him when he was old enough to try octopus without choking on it. It had creeped him out as soon as he saw it but his parents laughed and told him not to make a face until he had tried it.

He did try it and it was... alright. Decent.

But he at least could say he tried it. He was able to tell Rosie what it was like; but he taught her not to judge food because of someone else's opinion. Everyones taste buds were different and the comment had stuck with her. She wasn't a picky eater unless she genuinely didn't like the food. 

He missed Rosie and wished she was on the beach him right then. But this was for the best. he needed to do this alone. He needed to heal and not depend on her for his happiness. 

He felt like he was killing the happy mood in the Syke's house just by sleeping and eating there. And despite the house being huge; he still felt trapped. And he didn't want to be ungrateful but he had to get out. 

He stepped into the water and bit his lip, memorizing the feeling of the water in his mind. It all felt surreal.

He dropped down and reached for the powdery sand, laughing when a wave came and knocked him over suddenly. He was almost shocked that a laugh had just come from him. It was rare.

He took a moment, just staring at nothing as he tried to process the sound of his voice which had suddenly gotten deeper. He didn't remember it being so deep. But then again, he hadn't actually listened to himself for a few weeks. 

He quickly took a picture and saved it to a folder that he would send to Rosie once he was ready to talk to her again. He hadn't talked to her since he left because he knew he'd just go running right back at the sound of her innocent voice. 

He just hoped she wasn't missing him as much as he was missing her because it hurt. A lot.

___

Cyrus looked dejectedly into the public bathrooms mirror. His skin was starting to lose its paleness and was being replaced by a slight warm tan. His new haircut was looking fresh. His muscles were looking.. toned. They were a bit smaller than he was originally setting his goal for, but that was okay, he had time.

His appearance looked good. But his heart did not feel as good as he looked.

He sighed quietly and ran his hands through his wavy hair before pulling it up into a small man bun revealing the shaved bit under all of his hair. He had two horizontal zig zags faded into the shaved parts at the back if his head to look like waves from an ocean.

Though Cyrus had physically run miles and miles away to get away from the stress, pressure and dissapointment of bad influences; trouble seemed to follow him anywhere he went. And of course, one of the first friends he had made in the area had access to a large amount of the devils lettuce.

He had been avoiding eye contact with himself for the past fifteen minutes as he peered into the mirror. His blue eyes were bright, like always. But the whites of his eyes were redder than the sunburn on his friend, Javi's, back. Javi only ever seemed to burn rather than tan and when he did burn, it was very noticable.

Cyrus took a deep breath and finally made eye contact with himself through the mirror, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped the edge of the sink. His reflection seemed to smile teasingly at him, though he knew for a fact that he was frowning.

He'd lost to his own selfish wants. Again. He wanted to get better. To be better. To be healthy. And happy. Without the help of others. Or weed. Or any sort of drug.

He wanted to find happiness in himself. But it was all so hard to do.

So so hard.

"Sh~t," he cursed, his thick brows furrowing together as the dark thoughts began invading his head.

Failure.

Druggie.

Lost boy.

Weakling.

Cry baby.

Orphan.

Dumb.

The words bounced through his head like a pin ball, back and forth, back and forth.

Each word was a sharp hit to his pride. To his mental health.

All Cyrus wanted to do was climb into bed and lay there and fade away slowly.

But that was all the opposite of what he wanted when he left the Syke's house. He wanted to be healthy. Happy. Content. He wanted peace.

No more panic attacks. No more depression. No more bad dreams.

He just wanted out of his head.

But of course, that was where he mainly resided. Where he stayed when he had nowhere to go.

How could he leave the only place he'd know his whole life?