Superimposed

2

'Another day of hell' Taron thought as he pulled himself from his bed at 7am to get ready for college.
He hated A-Levels, he knew he didn't have the mind for it and yet Phil had insisted that he get them anyway.
'You'll never get anywhere with acting jobs son, you're better off going for something stable'. He can still hear those words in his head now, the word 'son' being a sting in that memory. Taron was not related to that man at all, had nothing to do with him and consistently wishes his mum never met him.

The two had met at the hospital Lisa, Taron's mum, worked at. Phil had been a patient who had an appointment in the unit Lisa was a receptionist.

God how Taron wishes he never made that appointment and never met his mum.

"Hurry up in that shower son, you'll be late for college" Phil called from the other side of the bathroom door.
Taron never understood why some days Phil was okay and bearable, whilst other times he may as well be spawned from Satan himself.
Phil's intentions were always there though, that silent undertone that made the whole house fear him, even when he was being 'bearable'

If only Taron was doing what people do in the shower, wash.

Instead, he saw it as about the only opportunity he could to not wear a mask and just think for a second, as him. He'd begun to believe what Phil told him every day, the words melted to his flesh as if a red hot cast-iron bar had pressed them into him.

This insecurity and hurt he'd never show to his mother, he always wanted to make her believe that he wasn't losing faith. That he would keep at his acting dream even if Phil tore him down every single day of his life. Lisa already felt incredibly guilty for ever falling for Phil instead of just remaining a single mum. God she reminded Taron all the time that she was sorry and that she wanted him to still live the life that she couldn't.

It was this desire to make his mum happy which made him continue to audition and rehearse in small local play productions. But it didn't mean that he didn't need to breakdown every day, that he didn't need to punish himself in order to feel strong enough to live through another day.

"Taron, get the fuck out would you!" Phil shouts this time, anger filling every word with bad intentions.
Immediately the water shut off and Phil smirked with accomplishment. He'd used his power again to tell people what to do. He was content with that.

Taron came out of the bathroom just a few minutes later with clothes on - even though his hair was still dripping wet.
The outfit of choice was black skinny jeans and a blue polo t-shirt.

"Why do you dress like such a fucking chav? You look like scum" Phil spat right in Taron's face as he walked past him. The truth was, it wasn't even that chavy, not yet anyway. Not until Taron chucks on is Adidas jacket from his room, dries his hair and chucks a snapback on.

But Taron liked to dress like that, it made him feel stronger and almost transform into someone he really didn't feel he was.
People feared him in the streets, most of which knew Phil and just thought Taron was just like him. Often mistaking him for his actual father because Phil had been with the mother and son for so long now.

Taron stared at his reflection in the mirror, a small smirk tugged the corner of his mouth. It was like his superhero outfit, the clothes that made him feel and look completely different to who he really was.
If he dressed as Taron Egerton he'd wear jumpers and normal t-shirts with no gold chains or earring. He'd give himself a softer, more friendly appearance. But that's not who he can be around here, he's got to be the strong one. Or at least act it out as best he could, after all - he was an actor.

It was as if his whole life was a play, he was playing just 'Taron', Taron from that council house who has a 'well-ard dad'. Taron who would 'shank you if you chatted shit'.
He could really figure out who his character was and play it like a role in a play. Speak as if he is reading from a script and take actions that had been directed to him by the director.

A whole facade in his head, a whole made up situation that simply helped him get through each day. No one knew the real Taron Egerton because he didn't let them, he was scared of letting anyone in. He didn't truly know how to, he didn't have any real friends - only people he was seen with around. He never has truly let anyone in because he was scared to. The only person who knew Taron Egerton was his mum. Someone he had never actually let in, rather she was always there - birthed him. Only she knew the real Taron Egerton, but only because she'd witnessed his character change and evolve.
The only time real Taron showed was when it was just him and his mum, when Phil was out drinking down the pub and his stepsister was out. But at every other time, the act continued. Only breaking character momentarily in the shower and in his pokey little room. The only two places who could be alone.

It was as if going to these two places was walking off stage, disappearing behind the curtain where the audience couldn't see him. That's what the people around him were, an audience that watched his performance. Except they hadn't paid to see it, Taron wasn't paid to play it. He didn't want to play it, but he had to. To get through each day and protect his mum.

He pursued acting for his mum, she lived to see him happy. It was the same with the therapist, Lisa knew Taron needed help. She could see him struggling and she did the only thing she thought was right, get him to talk about it to someone who could help.
But it wasn't helping because Taron Egerton was still playing Taron, he'd wear his stage outfit to the therapist's office, perform his lines and go back home. That was it. Yet if it made his mum happy, that's what the real Taron did.
If his mum could be led to believe that he was getting help then that was perfect to him.

It was this act that he played that made the diary writing thing so much harder. He had to find a halfway point, a point between being Taron the fictional character and Taron Egerton the person.
Taron had found the best thing to do was to play as Taron, with small parts of Taron Egerton mixed in occasionally. Just a few small genuine lines that would assure the therapist that he was being honest and open in the form of his words. If only it were true, Taron would give anything to truly speak as himself. To truly tell someone what he was going through. To almost share the burden that was weighing on his shoulders at every second of every day. But he couldn't, so he didn't.