Short Story Collection

Quiet

  Trigger warning: derogatory language, self-depreciation, very brief mention of thoughts of suicide, cursing

A nice breeze swept through the trees, shaking the branches and showering dead leaves upon the path a sunglasses-clad young male was walking on. He took a sip from the Coffee House mug he held in a shaking hand, the motion an addition to his "what a cool guy, everything is peachy keen" act. The sunglasses were another addition, because as long as he didn't let the tears fall, no one could see his watering eyes.

"Why do you think you've been with so many foster families?"

   The boy took a long gulp, hoping the scalding sensation of the coffee would replace the burning feeling of repressed tears building up in the back of his throat. He sniffled, playing it off as just fall allergies to his invisible audience. His lip wobbled for a moment with the reminder that he was all alone on this little trek. That is, before he stopped the wobbling by biting down on the treacherous lip and forcing a smile. But this only raised the question in his mind again: who was he smiling for, again?

"Because they can't handle the amount of cool and chill I bring to the house, of course."

   Nobody. That was the answer. He wasn't smiling for anyone because he was all alone, no one to hold him. No one to just hug him and tell him he was loved. No one to let him just rest his head on their lap or shoulder while they watched a movie. No one to just show him genuine, unconditional love and support and affection. Nobody.

"Well that's a damn lie, and you know it. They gave up on you because you're not enough. Because you're not the 'cool guy' you have everyone thinking you are. And because you're too damn insecure to even acknowledge the very idea of that."

   And maybe he was right. Maybe the boy couldn't admit that he was flawed. Maybe he couldn't admit that he wasn't as cool as he thought he was. Maybe he was insecure. And maybe he had a lot of problems, a lot of emotions. One thing was sure, though: he couldn't keep up this poker face for much longer.

"Well I don't suppose you have a valid answer, either, do you?"

   That sure as hell wasn't the right thing to ask at the time. He knew that now. If only he wasn't such an idiot, such a dumbass, such a dolt-

"Actually, I do. You're insecure, you're dependent, you crave attention so much that you wear slutty clothes to attract that attention. You push people out and put on an act. You don't let anyone get close to you. You flirt with people only to drop them, and that demolishes everyone's respect for you. And to make it worse, you're a fag, and nobody wants a fag. You-"

   Maybe he wouldn't have said all those things. All those true, true facts. Then he wouldn't be sobbing over the railing of a road bridge, sunglasses clutched hard in his hand. He wouldn't be looking so pathetic right now.

"Hey, woah! I get it, I get it. No need to continue. I get the message."

   The boy stared at the bottom of the pit underneath the bridge. The thought of jumping crossed his mind, but was completely erased after a second. Jumping would be the coward's way out, as Jon had said multiple times before. And he didn't need to add to the list of reasons why he was utterly useless.

"I don't know if you do. I'm gonna be real clear with you right now. Nobody wants you because you're useless in every front except being a slut-"

   Useless slut. That's exactly what he was. See, Jon? He's admitting it now. Are you proud of him now? Probably not. Jon wasn't proud of anything the boy did.

"I SAID I GET IT! I GET IT, OKAY?"

   He should've just stayed quiet. Stayed silent. Kept his cool. He wouldn't have been kicked out of his latest foster home if he'd just stayed chill. Kept his poker face. Things always went better when he didn't speak.

Slap.

   He touched his cheek gingerly, letting silent tears roll down over the area. He allowed himself yet another sniffle, before he covered up his mouth and closed his eyes tightly.

"I...- I'm sorry, I'm-"

   He'd tried to apologize. That was his mistake. He just couldn't shut up.

"Leave."

   "GALEN?"

"I-I'll be quiet, I swear! I'll stop talking just don't leave-"

   "GALEN WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE?"

"What did I say? Leave."

   It was worse when he didn't yell.

"I'll do more chores, I'll help out, I won't talk back, I'll shut up-!"

   "GALEN COME ON, YOU DINGUS, ANSWER ME. ARE DEAF O- oh. You're crying. Did that fucktard do something again? I'LL FIGHT HIM IF YOU WANT!"

"Don't make me throw you out myself."

   Galen shook his head. "Don't."

"Okay. Okay, I'll leave."

   The other boy sighed. "FINE. Come on, I'll take you to my bro's place. We can hang out there and eat all the damn DORITOS you want and use our cooking supplies and do whatever the SHIT you do in the kitchen."

"Good riddance."

   And the other boy picked Galen up bridal style, and Galen sank into the other's touch. Craving it. Craving the affection of another human being.

   This was nice. This was good. And if Kalist taught him anything, it was that he didn't need to be quiet. Kalist sure as hell wasn't.