Silver (BoyxBoy)

Chapter 13

Grayson’s POV

I sleep all night. I sleep all day.

I sleep to the extent where Aunt Cecilia and four other people are banging on my door so hard, I can feel my whole bed shaking. I don’t get up, though. I lie in the dark with the curtains drawn, and I stare at the glow-in-the-dark raindrops on my ceiling.

It’s basically a glowing shade of gray, seeing as the world wanted me to be colorblind. But it reminds me of London; a place where my dad had taken me when I was younger. I was always a dark, moody child, and I suppose he thought that it’d suit me appropriately.

How ironic that he named me Grayson. So. Damn. Ironic.

“Graaaayson! Open up your door!” I hear voices on the other end, and there’s more frantic banging on my poor door. “Grayson!”

I roll over and look at the clock. It’s about two in the afternoon. All I’ve done is sleep and dream and think about a certain boy who shall not be named.

When did such a little twat get so much control over me, though? That’s what I don’t fucking understand.

I close my eyes and put the headphones on again, and I blast it on high. I can feel the bass, and it seems as if it is thudding to the beat of my heart.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

“Graaaayson!”

Shit. I can still hear everyone from here.

I wish that there would be just one day where everyone would leave me the fuck alone. One day where I can simply just curl up into a little ball and bawl my eyes out and throw paint around my room and scream and cry

and cry

and cry

and cry.

That will never happen.

Someone will always need me as their maid. I’m going to have to clean up a juice spill or help weed the yard or some stupid shit. Then I’m going to have to do some asshat’s homework because Aunt Cecilia will get her ‘kids’ taken away if they don’t do well in school.

“GRAYSON!”

A startling sound comes from the direction of my door and I leap up, feeling the cool skin on my bare chest. There’s a saw coming in through the middle of my precious door, and I tug the door open before any more damage can be done.

“You motherfucker!” I yell at Lucca, who has let go of the saw.  He jumps back in surprise once he sees me. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m cutting your door open? Everyone thought you were dead?” Lucca says in that annoying let’s-end-everything-with-a-question-mark voice, as if it were so fucking obvious. His voice irritates me so much, and I just want to hack a saw into his fucking vocal chords.

Everyone thought I was dead.

And the most they could’ve done was cut my door open?

I mean, if I had a child and I thought they were dead, I’d be calling the damn police and breaking down windows and calling everyone I could find. I would…care.

Is that want everyone wants? For me to be dead?

Because I have no problem with that. If I was gone— hey, one less mouth to feed. One less burden to take care off. The annoying asshole will be gone. There’ll be no more grouchy boy who lives in his aunt’s house. One less person to tolerate.