Chapter 35

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Tyson POV

"What's the worst part of it all?" I ask Tiana after she's woken. We're in the living room, watching a TV show we both don't care about. She looks tired and out of it and it makes me want to talk so I don't have to think about it.

"Worst part of what?" she asks, face still turned to the TV.


She sigh, still not looking away. "It's living 9 years of your life in a trance. It's all this shit happening to you and you don't acknowledge any of it because. Tyson, you remember your childhood, don't you? At least some of it? I don't. I get sudden... flashes and then nothing. In theory, I know they're there. The memories I mean. I can feel that I had some childhood. But I can't see it. I write and I write and I write to figure myself out but all I do if make up fancy words to describe nothing. Nothing. It's all these memories that haunt you but you can't remember any of them. But they still control you. Because, maybe you don't remember a lot of it, but you can feel what you felt then. And those feeling are dangerous. Painful. I don't remember a lot of it, but they suddenly jump me and I remember them a little too intensely and I can't control my emotions for a while after that and then it's all numb."

"Tiana," I say, then hesitate. "Tiana, I think you forget that I spent a part of my childhood homeless and in a bad household. Why do you think I try so hard to control a lot of things around me? Why do you think I have such a huge fucking hero complex that no one appreciates? It's... it was horrible too. Living like that when I didn't even know yet if I liked cars or superheroes 'cause they were both cool. When I didn't even know I had permission to like two things I was forced to know which shops are kind enough to feed a little kid with no one around to protect him and which shops don't give a shit. I don't remember a lot from that time because I don't want to. But I know what I felt. Fear and fear and more fear. I..."

What was the point of this? I ask myself, trying to get myself out of those memories. Why the fuck did I start talking about this?

"Tyson? Tyson!"

"Hm? Yeah?" I feels like sounds are coming through a filter. Maybe water. I don't know. I was just a little kid. A little kid filled with curiosity looking at my parents so they can tell me who to be. They thought me to be a joke and then when the Bents took me in I was thought to be a stereotype I don't even like.

"Tyson please."

Shit shit. I'm making this about me. Am I selfish?



"Are you okay?"

I don't know, am I?

"I'm fine, princess. Just a little lost."

I am so appalled by myself. Who am I supposed to be? I don't have parents to tell me who to be. I don't know who I am. Father thought me to be stereotypical. Is that what I should be? No. No I don't want to be stereotypical. Who do I become when no ones there to watch me? No one. I'm no Prince Charming. I'm not the perfect son. The perfect friend. Did I really focus on everyone around me to distract myself from me? I don't know. I don't know.


I'm sorry I'm sorry I don't know what to do and I can't help it. I can't help if I'm like this. I was never taught to be anything else. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm so sorry. Who am I? Tyson Bent? No. I'm not that. I'm not anyone. I don't have a name. I don't know what to be anymore.

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