calling up rebellion [brance]

chapter six: the air of autumn

SITTING AGAINST HIS bedframe, he covers his face with his hands with the urge to scream. A myriad of thoughts raced through his ever thinking head, a myriad of vance thoughts, rather. It was the second night in a row he'd been sat thinking about him, he's never thought about somebody as much as he's thinking of Vance right now.

Bruce repeated Vance in his brain, like a record skipping. His eyes appearing in his mind first, his nose, his freckles, his hair, and then his lips. The way they smoothly moved when he spoke, Bruce could swear his mind was playing it in slow mo. The small smirks and grins every few seconds, the way his eyes glistened in the sunlight or the way his blond curls shaped his face in an angelic way. An Angel in devils clothing.

Bruce sinks down into his bed, grabbing a pillow from besides him and throwing it onto his face. He didn't understand himself, or his thoughts right now. He wanted to shout, and cry, and laugh, the mix of emotions sent him insane. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him, or why his face heated up every time or why he had the strangest of feelings in his stomach when he thought of Vance. His smile was unforgettable, imprinted in his mind. It was a rare sight, but boy was it magical, almost as if it were an artefact in a museum.

Bruce was frightened of himself in this very moment, he was distracted lately. His parents where on his case about it, telling him to stop getting wrapped inside his thoughts. He, himself, wanted to escape his own brain. He wanted to crawl from his body and never return, he wanted to stop feeling like this about a boy. It felt wrong, it was wrong. Bruce shouldn't be feeling like this and he knew that, so why wouldn't it go away?

Pushing the pillow away from his face angrily and deciding to stare at the ceiling above him like always does. But the more he tried to organise his thoughts, the worse they'd become. His own mind seemed to be working against him, taunting him. The more he tried to think about something else, the more his brain retracted him back to Vance. The array of thoughts covering his mind like a TV show, an unscripted TV show.

The ebbing guiltiness of what he was thinking, what he was feeling. It was almost unbearable, he was told since young that falling in love with a girl was okay, bringing home a girlfriend was okay, so why did he feel like this for a stupid fucking boy.

Turning to face his pillows once again, stuffing his face into them and letting out a shout this time. God, he felt so pathetic right now. He couldn't talk to anyone, like he could before anyways. He was always alone, his problems always had to be kept away from others because he couldn't talk about them. He couldn't cry about them, he couldn't hint them or feel them. He couldn't feel anything because he wasn't allowed too. His parents, his mother, supposed to be the people he opens up to when really he feels as though he's the people that shun him away.

He began crying, his tears wetting the pillow. They fell from his eyes like a tsunami, never ending. When Bruce thinks of him, he struggles to find the air to breathe, his tears were the pain of his thoughts escaping his brain. Each drop representing every emotion he had to repress. He hated himself for how he felt.

Rolling over he was now facing his bedroom window, however the curtains were shut this time. Tears stained his cheeks, he didn't bother to wipe them away like he usually does. He deserved this, he let out an anguished sob this time. His chest felt heavy and he had a hard-to-swallow lump in his throat, no matter how many times he swallowed it wouldn't budge.

Great, now he's crying over a boy.

Bruce squeezed his eyelids shut in the hope that his tears would stop, wishing that by the morning sunrise these feelings will have dispersed and it's just a small phase.. an overnight phase, that he's having. He knows plenty of people who've had a crush on Vance.