See In Him

1

Kennith was angry.

  No, he was fuming. Enraged. Livid.

  He was so angry that he wanted to cry, and Kennith Arche never cried. His hands were balled into fists, his body was shaking, and he had begun to sweat. Making Kennith angry exhausted him, especially when his mother was involved. They acted akin to oil and water, and as much as he hated it, Aja Arche tended to win their battles.

  But not that morning. Kennith wouldn't lose, he couldn't. He couldn't see his opponents well, but that didn't stop his mother's dark figure from trembling as he shook with rage. The living room window was behind her, so he could see the blurred outline of it and his mother in front. Kennith knew that his father, Micheal Arche, stood to the side, but the corner of his vision was far too dark to see anything. He wouldn't involve himself in the fight, anyway, not unless Kennith decided to spit anything truly harmful at his wife.

  "You don't fucking get to make decisions like that for me!" he roared. Kennith could hear his adopted mother's deep breathing. Both already had boiling blood. "I can when you stop taking care of yourself!"

  "I do take care of myself! Getting me a fucking nurse isn't going to help!"

  "He isn't a nurse," Aja sighed, exasperated. "He's just someone who can help you! He can work around here and teach you to be more independent, better than we can!"

  "I am independent. You're the one who doesn't allow me out of my bedroom without holding my hand and fucking helping me with everything! I can do stuff by myself, believe it or not!"

  "We know you can do stuff by yourself. But he can offer services that neither of us can," Micheal added finally, his voice softer. "You didn't even leave your bedroom the two days we left you alone last time they needed us on business. You didn't eat for two days!"

  "I did eat. There were chips left out downstairs. I don't need some asshole to grab me chips when I need them!"

  "Chips isn't a meal, Kennith. That's all you ate that entire weekend. What are you gonna do if we have to leave for a week? Or if you have to live by yourself one day?" Aja's voice was quieter. Kennith's ears were ringing from the noise. A headache pounded in his skull. He closed his eyes tight momentarily. "I don't fucking want him here. You can't make me-"

  The doorbell rang. His eyes opened, still almost completely unseeing. His parents fell silent. The anger made the light in his vision red.

  "I swear to fucking god... get him the hell off our property! I don't want him here!" Kennith, in his anger, accidentally knocked over a lamp as he passed the back of the couch. Normally, he had memorized the house's rooms and furniture, but the glass lamp was something that stuck out. He knew it would fall the moment he brushed the corner of the table, but he gritted his teeth and ignored the rush of air at his back. He only twitched when it shattered, his mother gasping. Micheal sighed. He left the room, putting a hand on the living room door frame and turning left.

  He didn't have to think about the steps. Even through the rage, his mind subconsciously felt the height of the steps and how many there were. Kennith didn't answer the door. He couldn't hear his parents do so because his own bedroom door had been slammed hard enough to knock pictures off the walls. Even in the sudden silence where his books could comfort him and his heart could still, his body shook. He didn't like the sensation of his trembling hands on his scalp. He pushed them against his ears hard enough to hear the blood against his drums.

  But Kennith never cried. He wanted to; he could feel the burn of boiling water behind his lids, but he never allowed it freedom. Crying hurt. Everything but his books and the quiet hurt. His father once called it 'sensory overload' and usually left him to cool down alone. How the fuck would a stranger be able to help him with keeping his life quiet? Why couldn't Aja and Micheal just leave him alone?