Short Stories (bxb)

Happy Place Pt. 1: The Boy at the Fence

Back after like half a year ;)

This story is like the lovechild of an orgy between a bunch of my other stories. It's got Twenty-Four Hours's timeline + Remake's character dynamic + Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year's angst + Two Birds, One Stone's family issues

The main characters are both from Spanish-speaking families, so when they're talking to their parents, italicized words are spoken in Spanish (they speak in English to each other almost all the time, and when they don't the Spanish is written out)
There are some short sentences spoken in Spanish. I won't include translations, but they're not that tough to figure out, I promise

Trigger warning: if you're sensitive to abuse (both verbal and physical) and/or thoughts of self-harm, proceed with caution. The former applies to the whole story, the latter is only in it for a short time, and I'll give a warning when it is

–A.W.

+++

Sad eyes met Scared eyes, and together they made a Happy Place.

+++

Danny's parents never hurt him when he was a baby.

They were always distant. Maybe they never wanted a child; maybe they changed their minds after they had one. Whatever the case, they created a mere caricature of a family: one which was hollow, warm to the eyes but cold to the touch. Since before Danny had the ability to remember, they regarded him at an arm's length, taking responsibility for their mistake, but nothing more.

Their distance had a lasting effect. Danny formed no secure attachment with his mother or father -- hardly any attachment all, besides his reliance on them for whatever food and shelter they were willing to give him. He never knew comfort; or at least, he wouldn't learn it for several years. And so nurture took its toll, and whatever bold characteristics might have shown in Danny's actions -- his mother's outspokenness, perhaps, or his father's adventurousness and ambition -- were subdued beneath a coat of quiet. From the day he learned to talk, it was clear that he wouldn't do so very much.

When Danny got older -- when he would no longer cry for help, but would help himself as much as a child could -- distance was replaced by coldness. Suddenly, he was not just a responsibility, but a nuisance. His parents never vocalized this; not once did they say a cruel word to him, maybe because they couldn't be bothered to speak to him more than necessary. But they made their feelings clear in their actions, ignoring their growing son whenever they could get away with it and responding to him only when they had to. If they couldn't get rid of him, it seemed, they would try their hardest to act as if they had.

The only time they treated Danny like they cared for him was when they were outside of the home, in the eyes of others. Then, suddenly, they were family.

One night, when he was six years old, he tiptoed into the living room after having a nightmare, tears trailing down his cheeks, clutching his little blanket to his chest. "Mama?" he whimpered when he saw the blue light from the TV against the wall. He didn't hear a response, and though he rarely did, he ventured further.

He shouldn't have expected anything, of course. His mother had never given him anything to expect. But he was six and he was scared, and he needed a hug.

He crept further, until he could see her long, deep-brown hair -- people always said he looked the most like her -- poking above the couch. She raised the remote with one thin-fingered hand, shifting from channel to channel.