Dust ✔️

Chapter Seventeen -- Remorse

Chapter Seventeen -- Remorse

    The first day I met him, I had a cut under my eye and a bruise in the shape of a hand on my arm. I didn't care about the fact that I had a minor concussion and could barely think straight, no. I didn't care that the people around me speculated and whispered as I walked past them, no. In fact, I didn't even care that I was on the verge of passing out in public from dizziness and nausea, no.

    I kept to myself a lot so far, and I had no plans on changing that anytime soon. I don't like people, I don't trust them. I had no issue with ignoring people who approached me, and being distanced by people I collided with in passing. We're the worst species of existence, and I despise the human race.

    Unfortunately, I grew up this way. The hatred for people was influenced by the works of my father and his ways of raising a child and punishing a child. He taught me that if you do wrong, you get hurt. He taught me if you do right, it's never good enough. He taught me to never let your guard down because at any moment, the very second you become vulnerable, you've already stopped breathing.

    I had no doubt in my mind, that if my mother was still alive, I'd have a completely different perspective on life.

It's funny how much you don't realize that another human being can alter your whole outlook. Another human being can either make you, or break you.

And that was terrifying.

Through all of the things I was taught, and all of the built up anger in my body, through all of the reasons why I told myself that I would never care or bother with another person, I gave in. Pitiful.

There was just something about him. I've seen him around, once or twice, awkwardly rushing from place to place, never making any formal eye contact with anyone. He seemed to be unassumingly malnourished, considering he was all skin and bones and more pale than I was.

Something in me that day snapped. When I looked at his fragile body being crushed by two people twice the size of him, it made my blood boil. I saw nothing but red. I didn't care about any consequences at that time.

I'll never forget the day that I punched that guy who was even bigger than me, so hard in the face that I thought I broke every bone in my hand. I'll never forget the moment where his friend hit me back which made me come back at him twice as destructive. I was taught to be a fighter; I carry my fathers traits along with me.

The way that scrawny kid looked at me, was as if he's seen the light. I had no idea that by standing up for this one insignificant human being, that my life would change.

Ever since I met him, he'd follow me everywhere I went, even when I made it clear to back off. He was persistent which I almost admired, and he actually spoke to me, which no one ever really did. The way that scrawny kid spoke, was so intelligent, that I had to give in because I saw something deep in him. Who knew that I'd actually meet a friend.

The thing about him was that he was smart. We'd actually have intellectual conversations and discuss life issues. He'd always talk more than I did, which we both never seemed to mind. I think he was just happy to have someone to talk to. And I was just happy to keep my mind off of my home life.

He was sharp. He saw through my shitty excuses as to why I'd miss school or how I got this scar or how I got that bruise or how I got that cut. He knew as much as I did when it came to the underlying truth. But we both never said a single word on the exact topic. He knew better.

I don't know how I came to name him Twig, or why it stuck, but it just suited him so well. Shockingly, he didn't mind it even though it was quite offensive. He was so thin that he just reminded me of a baby tree. I don't think I ever really called him by his real name.