Chapter 16 | Aaron
Aaron couldn't hold eye-contact for too long (because he totally wasn't insecure). But when he did, in that split second he'd notice that people generally looked at his eyes, not him. Even though his eyes were part of him. So that didn't make sense, did it?
Aaron wouldn't be surprised if it didn't. It wasn't like he ever made sense. A series of contradictions, that was all he thought he was.
Presently, someone was looking at his eyes, or him, or whatever—it made him uncomfortable regardlessly.
"God, your eyes are so beautiful, do you know that?"
Aaron forced a smile. He'd be an arrogant jerk if he said yes, an idiot trying to seem "humble" if he said no. Ninety-nine percent of the compliments he'd ever received were about his eyes and he still didn't know what to say. His social skills were definitely a strong point.
"Yeah, um, thanks."
The girl in front of him kept staring. "Can I keep staring? Just a little bit."
No, no you can't. Get the hell out of my face, Aaron thought. He said, "I... I mean, if you want to? I just—" he pointed over his shoulder "—need to leave... soon."
She smiled. "Don't worry, dude. I'm not gonna actually do that, I don't wanna creep you out."
"You already did."
She'd begun walking away but she turned and looked at him again. "What?"
"Nothing." Aaron smiled. You'd think he was the happiest person alive. The mastery of pretending was possibly the only thing he was good at.
She left again. Aaron breathed out as he turned but two steps past his spot and a boy one year older than him appeared by the corner, arms spread out grandly.
"There's the pretty boy!" the boy said. He ambled closer, brow raised and eyes daring. He cornered Aaron against his locker and caught his chin, lifting it so he could look at his eyes like they were an item to buy. "We should find another name for you. You're not actually pretty. And I have no idea what the hell all the girls like about your eyes. They're hideous."
Aaron put a hand on his chest. "I'm hurt."
The boy—leader of the rebellious group of edgy guys who thought they ruled the school—snorted out a derisive laugh. "You should be."
"I am."
"What a snowflake."
"You're just too good at hurting my feelings." Aaron pushed his hand off and tried squirming away. "Now if you need me, I'll be in the bathroom crying. But shhh please don't tell anyone."
The boy cut Aaron's way off by crossing an arm over, fingers splaying out against the locker. He intended to continue bothering him but the principal rounded the corner so he calmly took a step back from Aaron.
"I'll have to finish this later. You're a lucky one, Aaron."
"Only if you say so." Aaron turned nonchalantly and walked towards the entrance of the school. In reality, he'd shit his pants at the thought of how physically weak he was compared to those boys but he wouldn't show them. Sarcasm was a coping mechanism for him. They'd bother him no matter what he did.
Just as he was about to step outside, a hand gripped his arm, pulling him back. Erika. Aaron turned to her, shaking his head questioningly. "What?"
"Nothing. Did he bother you?"
Aaron faced away. "No, don't worry."
Erika knew better than anyone that he wouldn't outright tell her. She dropped it. From the corner of eye, she caught the side profile of the girl who'd talked to Aaron. "What was that girl saying?" She raised her brows at her.
"That my eyes are pretty."
"Oh." Erika stared at the girl behind, then back at Aaron. For a moment, they just gazed each other. Erika's expression was weird.
Aaron pursed his lips then said, "I have to go now."
Before he could move, Erika quickly reached forward and hugged him. Aaron didn't see it, but she glanced back at something or someone then looked at him again. "Bye. See you tomorrow."
"Yeah, see you." Aaron liked a warning before hugs. Even if it was from Erika. Usually, she'd at least tell him first because she knew he was unpredictable when it came to touching.
Aaron stepped out and meandered across the roads all the way home. He walked slower than usual, kicked every pebble he saw. It was his way of postponing getting there. He hated school and he hated home so was the road connecting both the safest or the worst?
When he made it home, he opened the door and stepped inside. And the moment he did, he knew there was something wrong. It hit him like a meteor dropping from the sky right on his head.
His father was sitting there on the couch, legs crossed, arm curled over the backrest. And worst of all: smiling. Not a normal one, the kind that implied deceit, connivance.
Aaron didn't even realize how hard he was frowning, how slowly and cautiously he was moving like he was aware a dynamite was planted across the floor. He closed the door behind but his eyes remained on his father.
"Son!" David said, patting the cushion beside him. "Come here, come here. I have some terrible news."
Terrible, but he was smiling. It totally made sense. Aaron figured out where he'd inherited his contradictory mind from—his dad. That added one more reason (over the two thousand others) to hate himself. "What?"
"Sit down first."
Aaron did, only because he knew his father wouldn't spit it out if he didn't. David stared at him, still smiling.
Aaron tilted his head slightly. "That's not creepy at all."
David laughed a pitched laugh before focusing again. "Well, what about this?" He showed Aaron his phone. "What do you think?"
Aaron's heart froze, then dropped. On the screen was a picture of a woman in a cheap-looking wedding dress, holding an unfamiliar man's hands. None other than Jannette.
Aaron didn't say anything. He swallowed.
David laughed again. Again. Aaron would punch him if he could. "So your mom got married. Without telling me, or you. Guess her son wasn't invited to the wedding."
Aaron couldn't understand why she'd do that. He blinked, detached, robotic. Voice straining, he mumbled, "Cool."
"And guess what?"
"I don't wanna guess—"
David slapped Aaron's thigh and chuckled. "She's here! And she wants to see you."
If Aaron was attached to heart monitors, this would be the moment you'd hear a long beep, the moment you'd see the electronic graph collapse into a straight line. He wanted to throw up but he swallowed down the bile.
Jannette. His mom. A corpse crawling out of the graveyard in his heart.
Aaron's face paled. He curtly repeated, "Cool." Then added, "I hope she enjoys her time here. I don't wanna see her." When he started getting up, his father forced him down.
"Good. But you're gonna see her and tell her that. That you don't want her. She's been annoying the hell out me. She thinks you're here against your will or some shit. I think she forgot she's the one who left you."
"I don't wanna see her. Tell her that." Why he didn't want to see her was a mystery to Aaron himself. He didn't know what to feel, how to feel. A little over eight years. Less than two years away from marking a decade since he'd last seen her.
Why? Why now? he wondered. Why would she just now decide to live, after he'd died? After his heart had died? He'd buried her in his heart and he preferred things to stay that way.
"Your hands are shaking, Aaron."
"They're not," Aaron quickly dismissed. He looked away, shaky breath seeping through his nose. "I'm fine. I just don't wanna see her." I can't see her. I forgot what it feels like to have a mom, I forgot what it feels like to be remembered. "I'm going to my room. Tell her I'm sorry, but I can't."
David caught Aaron's arm with warning in his harsh grip, threat in the circle of his fingers around his flesh. "Look at me, Aaron," he ordered. Aaron looked. "You two are gonna meet, and you're gonna tell her to get lost. Tell her you don't want her."
For the first (or second) time in existence, David spoke something partially correct. Aaron wanted her to get lost, get buried back where she belonged in the graves in his heart. Fourteen-year-old Aaron wasn't six anymore. Eight years hadn't been a breeze.
*_*_*_*_*_*
Late Latte Coffee was a café more than one hour away from home. Which also didn't make sense, because Aaron used to associate home to his mom. But now, he associated her to death and pain and abandonment, to sleepless nights spent begging the sun to love him because she wouldn't return.
Where was home now? What was home now?
Aaron didn't know anymore. But he went with the shallow meaning just to give himself an answer: home was walls and a roof.
His knees felt weak as he walked towards the café where his mom was waiting. His father stayed in the car.
No more than ten minutes and you come back, his father had said during the ride. For once, Aaron appreciated the time-limit.
The glass door creaked as he pushed it further open. The place was small and stuffy and vintage. Burgundy walls, stylishly worn wooden flooring and tables and chairs. Antiques misplaced around. For a second, he thought he'd accidentally stepped into a store rather than a café.
But then he spotted her. Jannette. The same woman he used to call mom. The same woman he'd last seen over eight years ago. His heart constricted a lot harder than he'd like, chest tight like someone had dropped three hundred pounds of rocks in there.
He walked to her table, pulled out a chair and sat. Jannette stared at him. Aaron could already see the tears in her eyes. He'd cry too, only he wasted his in the first two years after she'd left. After that, it was a lingering numbness that gradually turned to resentment.
The awkwardness was slowly killing them both. Jannette's fist was clenched like she was fighting back the emotion, trying not to pounce forward and hug him until she'd fill out years of missing her son. She'd wanted to meet him in another place but David had insisted here.
Jannette finally spoke, "A-Aaron, you grew up so much." A tear slipped down her cheek. The tragedy in his eyes was poison to her heart. She knew it was a bad sign he hadn't initiated nor went in for a hug. She could already tell she lost him.
"Yeah." Aaron forced the muscles in his face to contract until he could smile. "It would've been concerning if I didn't. It's been eight years."
It hadn't felt that long for Jannette but it had for Aaron. She almost laughed at his response but she couldn't midst the sorrow. Somethings would never change. She inhaled shakily through her mouth. "How's it been here?"
"Here? You mean Disneyland? It's been great." Towards the end of the sentence, Aaron's voice changed slightly. Not quite a crack. More like a small sorrowful rise and drop in the pitch.
Jannette looked down, ashamed, brown hair curtaining her face. "You remember?" she croaked out.
"I never forgot in the first place."
Jannette nodded. Of course he wouldn't. She looked at him, biting her lip. His face seemed fine but God knew what was hidden beneath his sweater. "Did your dad ever hurt you?"
"No." Aaron noticed her eyes drift lower, to his torso. He felt scrutinized even though she couldn't actually see his skin.
"Aaron. Please be honest. He used to hit you when you were just five, are you sure—"
"I'm sure." When Aaron looked at her straight in the eyes, it was disconcerting—the expression. The width of his pupils. It was the kind of lie that wasn't really a lie, just a distortion of events because he didn't think he wanted to discuss this with her.
She let out a small, barely perceptible cry but Aaron caught it nonetheless. This was why he hadn't wanted to meet her. He knew this would happen. He knew she'd cry and he'd watch, and her heart would tear but his was already torn. Why? Why put each other in this much sorrow? Why couldn't they grieve each alone, in separate places, the sun a common guardian? There was a connection that wouldn't fade despite everything and he didn't want to ruin it.
Aaron hadn't noticed that his hand was on the table until he felt Jannette's fingers against his skin. He pulled back, quick and sharp and thoughtlessly like a reflex.
Jannette tried not to pressure him but it was hard. Partly, she understood him. Another part wanted him to stop this and call her mom and run into her arms like the abandonment hadn't ever happened in the first place. She reached again, tried forcefully holding his hand. Just to get a sense of what his skin felt like.
"No." Aaron hid his hand beneath the table. "Please don't make me more uncomfortable."
More.
How uncomfortable was he then? He hadn't moved but Jannette felt he'd pierced a spear in her chest.
She lifted her gaze until their eyes aligned but a genesis of I love you and I miss you never happened. At least not on Aaron's part.
Aaron couldn't stand the painful emptiness in his heart. He said, "How was the wedding?" even though he actually wanted to ask: why?
She put a hand against her face and laughed bitterly to herself. She knew he didn't actually want to know about the wedding. "I needed someone. I couldn't get my shit together. I was drowning in debts for years. I couldn't get a job. And when I got one, it wasn't enough income. Then I met him. He helped me. And- I'm so sorry, Aaron," she cried. "I'm so sorry—"
"You don't have to be sorry." Aaron blinked a lot more than normal. His posture was uncomfortably and uncharacteristically straight. Stiff. He sounded genuine but detached. "It's your right to get married."
"You're not upset about it?"
I don't know what to feel. "No. It's fine."
"But I didn't forget about you," Jannette continued, sniffling and wiping her cheek. A smile stretched the corners of her mouth. "I just wanted to make sure I could give you a good life. And look—" she breathed out and rummaged through her purse, bringing out a ticket. "—I booked you a flight. You're going back with me. You'll live with me and my husband."
She placed the ticket on the table and pushed it over to his side. Aaron looked at it without touching it. The flight was in two days. He blinked and gazed back at her.
"No."
Jannette frowned. "What do you mean no?"
"I'm sorry but I'm not going, that's what I mean."
Jannette laughed. "Your step-dad isn't like your father. Don't be scared of him. I promise he's better."
Something about the way she was talking pissed Aaron off. Like she didn't understand, like it hadn't been eight years without a single phone call. "I don't want a step-dad."
"But you said you're fine with me getting married."
Get a hint. Don't let me say it. Aaron shifted in his seat. "Yeah, but I didn't say I wanna live with you two. I didn't say I wanna travel back with you."
Jannette's frown seemed offended. "Aaron, I didn't come here just to see you. I came here to take you back with me."
"I'm in the middle of a school year. I can't leave everything behind and just suddenly travel. Not like this, not now." Aaron didn't know how to put this out without sounding rude. Without offending her or her sudden efforts. "I literally just got to know you're here, and now you expect me to travel with you out of nowhere?"
"Why not? Haven't you been waiting for me to return? I came, Aaron, I finally came."
"Not really. I stopped waiting."
"What?"
"I stopped waiting like two years ago, when I realized you took too long. I waited for years, mom. Years. I cried every night. It made me sick. I talked to the sun, I used to wish it could love me until you'd come back. What kind of idiot personifies the sky? I stopped expecting you to return, I stopped expecting anything out of you."
Jannette narrowed her eyes. No understanding, no putting herself in his situation. "This, this is what you say when I finally come back?"
"You don't get it," Aaron quickly explained. "I know you suffered too, I swear I know. But the last time I saw you I was six, mom! I'm fourteen now!" When he felt his voice louden, he quickly breathed out and composed himself. Don't be rude. "You can't come out of nowhere, throw at me a ticket and tell me to travel just like that. I have school, I have a life here."
"Oh my God," Jannette mumbled to herself, leaning back in her chair whilst chuckling bitterly. She looked away for a second then back at Aaron. "I can't believe it. I can't believe it. This is what you care about? You changed so much. This isn't the Aaron I love. This isn't the Aaron I raised. Where's my Aaron? Where's my boy? Where's the child who used to love me? Where is he?"
Too many questions Aaron didn't have an answer for. He didn't know where that Aaron was either. But he knew that the Aaron Jannette wanted wasn't the Aaron that his father wanted. And the Aaron that his father wanted wasn't the Aaron that Erika wanted. And so forth the chain of people wanting him to be a replica of their beliefs, a toy to play with, a boy to call son because that made them parents.
Aaron didn't say a single shit. He kept quiet even though there was a vortex of words on the tip of his tongue. Somethings were better left in his head, unsaid, like: you only raised me until I was six, and then you left the rest for dad.
"Aaron, look at me," Jannette tried. Aaron did, barely. "For God's sake, just come with me. Please. I don't wanna lose you again."
Aaron didn't answer. How many times did she want him to reject?
"Aaron!" Jannette straightened in her place with an incredulous expression on her face. "Why are doing this? Why?"
He looked at his lap. I don't know, he wanted to scream. I don't know. I'm sorry I'm like this. I'm sorry I'm the way I am. I'm sorry I'm a mess. I'm sorry I don't know how to feel about you anymore.
Aaron said, voice low and hurt, "Please don't say that."
"Why should I listen? Because you listened to me?" Her voice gradually loudened. The kind of grief that was grief but sounded like anger echoed in the undertones. "I'm begging you to come with me. But no. You have to be stubborn. Don't be like this, Aaron, don't be like this."
This, this, this. Don't be like this. What was this? A theory about him, like the countless ones he'd read. A theory of the version of Aaron that didn't please them. But how could he blame them when he couldn't even please himself?
Aaron reached his fingers up and subconsciously started scratching his neck. Still, he kept his eyes fixed to his lap. "Please don't say that," he repeated to himself. She didn't listen to him just like he didn't listen to her and so they just continuously hurt each other. "Please don't say that."
She continued rambling. She should've noticed the signs, noticed that he was getting more and more uncomfortable. Scratching his neck, skin red, eyes to his lap, constantly pleading her not to say that.
"I don't know why I even returned for you. I should've just forgotten about you and gotten a better kid from my new husband. Maybe he wouldn't have turned out ungrateful!"
This caught Aaron's attention. Despite the tragedy, despite his heart crumpling in his chest, he narrowed his eyes at her. When he spoke, his voice was unintentionally loud yet pained, "Then go! Get a better child!"
The tension was starting to suffocate them both. Jannette's chest heaved. "But I want you, Aaron! You don't want me. I came here for my son. I came him for the child I love but you're not the same anymore!"
Aaron lowered his voice but the sharp anger was still tangible. "What did you expect? You wanted me to just run into your arms? Didn't you think for a second that I'm probably not gonna be the same six-year-old you left eight years ago?"
Don't leave me with a monster then ask me why I changed. Don't leave when I'm six for eight years and expect me to stay mommy's boy. So many words to say, so much pain to express. But he didn't think his sorrow was worth letting out.
Jannette nodded vehemently, tears glistening against her eyes. "Yeah. Yeah, I expected that my son would still love me. But you don't and it's not my fault! What can I do to get you to love me again, Aaron?"
"Okay—let's say it's not your fault you left me. So imagine I agree, I'll leave everything behind and travel with you now. What will you do if you lose your job again? Send me back here? Every time something goes wrong you'll just leave me for eight years? Every time you can't handle a problem I'll pay the price?"
When Aaron stopped talking, he was able to comprehend the expression on her face. He knew what was about to come. He saw it in the defensive lean of her shoulders, in the clench of her fingers on the table. He felt it before it came, sensed it before Jannette moved.
She slapped him, hard and unforgiving.
This hurt a lot more than it should've. Aaron didn't say a word. He blinked a couple of times. Jannette watched the imprint of her hand on his cheek, pink and tangible.
"Oh- oh my God," she suddenly rambled, hand quickly covering her mouth in realization. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I- I didn't mean to. Oh God." She leant forwards and tried to cup his cheek but Aaron turned away. "I don't know what I was thinking, I was just so hurt because of what you were saying and, and—"
"It's fine," Aaron said, terribly calm. It wasn't and it hurt but he kept the feelings in his gut. Without warning, without a word, he started standing up.
"Wait!" She reached across the table and desperately caught his arm. "Where are you going? I'm sorry. I can't believe I said that, I can't believe I slapped you. I didn't wanna do that."
At this point, Aaron was just tired. "It's fine," he repeated. Out of words, out of energy, out of soul. He sighed and tried slipping away but she kept her hand on him.
Jannette knew she'd messed up. That now, if she'd ever had a chance to convince him to come, she lost it. She surrendered to reality, slackening her hold on his arm.
"Wait, at least let me hug you. Please, Aaron, please."
Aaron looked at her. He remembered the times he wanted a hug but found no one but the pillow. He could torture her, burn her hurt. He could leave right then and there, without a word, without a hug.
But he stepped forwards, towards her, closer. He didn't make another move, didn't lean in. He just stood, stiff like a board, as Jannette curled both arms around him.
Last time he hugged her, he barely reached up to her hips. Today, eight years later, he was taller but not tall, standing but not hugging. Existing but not feeling.
Why wasn't he feeling? Why wasn't he yearning? Why was he uncomfortable? Why, why, why—he didn't know. He didn't know what kind of monster he was, standing in front of his mother after eight years of departure but incapable of stirring a single emotion other than discomfort. Inches away from her but it felt so far.
Why did he feel she'd been closer when she wasn't here? He loved her but hated the proximity, but that didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. He didn't make sense.
He took a sharp breath when he felt her fiddle with the hem of his jacket, trying to lift it. He jerked away slightly and held it down.
"Let me check if you have bruises, p-please. Let my heart rest."
If she saw, her heart would burn. It wouldn't rest. Aaron pushed her hand off. "Don't. We're in public."
She noticed how he was uncomfortable about touching him yet she leant her forehead against his head, kissing his cheek, whispering brokenly, "When did I become one of these people?"
He knew what she meant. The kind of people Aaron preferably stayed away from, the kind that he wouldn't want them touching him. The kind that triggered his touch aversion.
"Do you actually want an answer?"
Jannette nodded. Aaron pulled back and confessed, "When you sent me here, I missed what hugging you felt like. So I imagined it. When I turned seven, I started forgetting. I couldn't imagine it anymore—" slowly, his voice cracked. Subtle, but perceptible. It killed him to talk about it. "—when I turned nine, I was numb. When I turned twelve, I didn't wanna hug you or go anywhere near you anymore. I didn't wanna know what it felt like. I didn't want you to return."
Jannette looked at him. She clenched the front of his jacket in her fingers, hard like it was a lifeline even though in reality, Aaron was. Or was it the opposite? Was she his lifeline but she'd left for years only to return and find him dead? Her head hung down as she let out a cry. "I'm so sorry, Aaron. I want you back, I know I messed up but I don't wanna lose you again."
Suddenly, she lifted her chin, peeking over Aaron's shoulder. David was at the threshold.
"Time's up. Come here, son." David's choice of words was just to spite Jannette.
Aaron looked at his mom then moved away. Jannette held onto his sleeve, trying to get him back, tearing his heart apart. "Don't do this to me, please Aaron."
"Yeah, yeah." David rolled his eyes as he pulled Aaron forcefully towards him. "That's exactly how Aaron begged you to stay eight years ago. I guess karma really is a bitch. History repeats itself— wait, the hell is this?"
David caught Aaron's chin, gazing at his cheek. "Did she slap you?" When there was no answer, he said, "Go to the car, Aaron. Now."
As Aaron trudged to the car, he heard his mom shout out one thing:
"The flight is in two days. I'm gonna have to go, with or without you. I can't stay."
Aaron snorted then continued to the car. After eight years, close to a decade, she decided to end the encounter with a threat.
David looked at Jannette and laughed. "You really wanna make him hate you. You just keep making this easier on me. This entire plan is so stupid, by the way. I can't believe you even thought you'd win Aaron over like this."
Jannette frowned. "This isn't a game and my son isn't a toy! I did all I can to get him back and look what he did! This is all your fault—" she took a step forward, started jabbing him accusingly in the chest. "—you did this to him, you made him hate me. He doesn't even want me to touch him!"
"Don't be butthurt, he doesn't like it when I touch him either. Guess we're even," David mocked. "You lost him yourself. If you know your son well, you wouldn't have come out of nowhere like this. No one agrees to travel like that. Your stupidity, your fault."
David left her. As he headed towards the car, Jannette followed him out of the café and shouted, "I swear to God, David, I'll curse you to death if you hurt my son, if you leave a single mark on him!"
"If you really care about that, Jannette, you would've never left him here in the first place."
Third time.
David turned and settled in his car. To his side, Aaron was leaning his head against the glass. "Hey," he said as he reversed out of the parking lot. "What's up with you?"
Nothing's wrong. Nothing's wrong. If Aaron repeated it enough in his head, maybe he could deceive himself into believing it. Nothing was wrong except he realized he wasn't a human being.
David decided to prod Aaron's limits by constantly asking, jabbing his arm, tapping his thigh, or pushing his hair throughout the ride.
By the time they made it home, Aaron was on the verge of crying but he had it skillfully hidden. David stayed outside. Aaron sneaked into the kitchen. He saw a pack of cigarettes, and after that, he lost control of his own movements.
Aaron didn't know what he was doing when he stole a cigarette and a lighter and hurried up to his room. Nor what he was doing when he sat at the edge of his bed and took off his sock and rested his foot on his opposite knee.
He put the cigarette in his mouth only to light it. He coughed when some smoke slipped down his throat. What did his father even like about this shit?
He didn't know what he was doing until he pressed the cigarette to his own foot, until the pain woke him. That was when he knew it. He did it so he wouldn't cry. He winced at the disgruntling burn but remembered the threats. Don't cry. Be a man.
When he finished burning his own skin, he stood, hissed at the pain, then limped to the mirror so he'd take a look at his eyes. Dry. Red, but dry. He wasn't tearing up. He'd managed. He hadn't cried.
For once, Aaron felt accomplished.
But then David knocked on the door. Once, twice, three times. He fiddled with the knob. "Aaron, unlock this door right now."
Aaron did after a while. He tried to seem casual but David sensed it. He gave his son a proper look. One hand behind his back, one foot sock-clad and the other roughly put on. He didn't have to think a lot.
"That smell," David said, his nose scrunched. "Cigarrettes." His eyes trailed down Aaron's front until they landed at his foot. "What in the... What the hell were you doing?"
By his voice, Aaron could tell he wasn't angry, just confused. He docilely showed him the cigarette and said, "What you taught me." Are you proud of me now? Am I worthy?
David felt something in his chest at the expression on Aaron's face. He saw a child trapped in a fourteen-year-old trapped in a loop of pain. Like—like him. He frowned as he cautiously backed away.
Sometimes he felt like he didn't even know Aaron.
David's voice was low when he spoke, "What are you, Aaron? What are you?"
Aaron laughed and sat down on his bed, pushing himself up until he was leaning against the headboard. He had an answer to that.
He was this—the notion of what he was but shouldn't be. David's son and Jannette's disappointment, or Jannette's son and David's weakling.
Aaron didn't know if he hated his mom or dad more. Hell, he didn't even know if he could fully hate her. But he knew one thing for sure: he hated himself the most.
*_*_*_*_*_*
thoughts on Jannette and Aaron's encounter?? do u think jannette approached him the right way?
(also that feeling of emptiness/detachment Aaron felt towards his mom, i wrote it off personal experience. i'm not sure how well i explained it but i hope it made sense lol)
Thank you so much for reading/voting/commenting <3 it genuinely means the world to me that you've stuck with me since TB to the prequel.