Haunted

Twenty Three

I care? I care! Of all the words that people could use to describe me, caring isn't one of them. I only care about two things in this world, my family, and me.

Wait, I do care about Kay. And I guess I do care about this girl now. But why? Why would I, someone who spent years being bullied and beaten, and then years bullying and beating, all of a sudden start to care about people?

Maybe it's because I always have cared. I always cared about my family. I always cared about my friends. I used to care about everything. But that was before the hell started.

The hell, or my old town, was not my home town. No, I grew up on a farm out in the middle of nowhere. I was a farm boy through and through. Until we moved to the city. We had no choice, mom was dying, and she needed the medical attention.

That city became hell on earth for me. I was beaten daily, just for being small and an out of Towner. When mom died, it only made things worse. We never left the city, but a part of me died the day that mom did. I no longer felt pain when I got beaten. I no longer cared.

Then I hit 14 and grew to six foot two. My dad got me joined up in a gym. I went from the scrawny little punching bag, to the beast of my class. And I didn't care. I didn't care two hoots who I was beating, or why I was beating them. All I knew was it was payback.

But underneath it all, I think I did care. Maybe that's why, even though I made a big deal of it, I wasn't all that upset when we left hell. Maybe that's why I'm starting to care for people again here, now that I've been removed from hell.

I care. I really do care.

I look deeply into the girls eyes, then, before she can even move, I lunge at her, taking her into a hug. It's just as much for me as it is for her.

I care.

"I care"

To be continued ;)