Jeff had learned how to sleep sitting up.
It was easier that way.
The concrete beneath the awning was cold enough to seep through his hoodie, but the wall behind him gave his back something solid to lean against. His cane rested across his knees, the little resin knife charm hanging from its handle and tapping softly against the metal whenever he moved.
He ran his thumb over it.
Liu had given it to him years ago.
Before everything went wrong.
Before Liu became something Jeff barely recognized.
Jeff's hearing aids were still in. He usually took them out when he slept, but the city was dangerous when you couldn't hear anything coming. Tonight, every car, every distant shout, every footstep scraping against pavement made his shoulders tense.
He hated nights.
He hated mornings more.
Morning meant remembering he was still alive.
His reflection stared back at him from the dark screen of his dead phone.
Messy black hair.
Pale face.
The scars stretching into that permanent, awful smile.
A boy's face.
His face.
Jeff had fought hard for that much.
He was still Jeff.
Even if his body hurt constantly.
Even if his knees sometimes refused to cooperate.
Even if walking several blocks with his cane left him shaking.
Even if his hearing aids occasionally screamed static directly into his skull.
Even if his stomach was empty more often than not.
He pulled his hood farther over his head.
A group of teenagers laughed somewhere across the street.
Jeff immediately went still.
He knew that laugh.
Not those people specifically.
That kind of laugh.
The laugh people used when they thought someone was pathetic.
He'd heard it at school.
He'd heard it in shelters.
He'd heard it when strangers noticed his cane.
He'd heard it when someone noticed his scars.
He'd heard it when someone called him a girl.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"Don't."
His own voice sounded unfamiliar through the hearing aids.
He swallowed.
"Don't think about it."
But his mind didn't listen.
It never did.
Jeff had killed people.
That was the simplest version of the truth.
He wasn't innocent.
He wasn't some misunderstood hero.
He had blood on his hands.
YOU ARE READING
The Boy Beneath The Smile
General FictionWitten by Jeff. (I'm an introject/fictive, He/They) 🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪🔪 Jeff has never been the monster people think he is-or maybe he has. A homeless teenage trans boy with a cane, hearing aids, a body that constantly fights against him...
