"Perth, what the fuck is this?"
Prem snatched the paper from Perth's hand just so he could inspect it more closely. He was having a hard time believing his eyes. the picture printed in colour on the paper was Son, there was no doubt in that, he had the features, the same blank look that Son gave them some times and worst, the same sadness in those blue eyes. One thing though, he looked younger, younger that he already was, which made Prem wonder how old was he when he was forced to take the picture or forced into this so called institution - Mental Rehabilitation Centre per se (written on top of the picture).
"I don't know, how about we try asking Saint" Perth snarled bitterly, eyes averting from his best mate to Son who was standing there frozen behind Prem "when are you going to tell us your full name eh, Saint"
Son would flinch at the mention of that name - Saint. Prem could see but Perth cannot, he was too blinded by rage, he felt deceived because of course Son was a schizoid, despite his almost mutant eyes and tears, he fit every characteristics there are in a schizoid patient, he knew because he had seen some at the psychiatric ward - he was a medical student, for fuck's sake.
"Son-"
"Saint" Perth corrected Prem and Son flinched again.
Why was it so familiar? That name, why was is ringing so many bells in Son's head and why
"Mum! Saint is teasing me again!" a young brunette screamed as she ran downstairs for her mother.
"Sammy started it!" Saint retorted, chasing after his sister.
"Oh my god. Samantha, Saint, will you two get along!?" another brunette, who looked like a much older version of the girl, earlier came into view. She was sitting by the kitchen table and in front of her, scattered all over the surface of the brown wooden table, were loads of papers. Saint caught onto the writings written on those papers and they gave him the same thought - bills, bills, bills.
"Saint-"
"Son-"
"Son?"
Son shook his head, shutting his eyes so tightly "No."
"Son, what's the matter?"
"His name is Saint, Prem - Son is for short."
"Saint."
"Saint."
"I'm so sorry, Saint, I'm so sorry" now the woman was crying. Why was she crying? She looked so much better smiling but Saint seemed to forget when the last time she did so. It was always forced - her smile - it never reached her eyes. It never reached Saint.
"Mae?" Saint wanted to give her a hug, to tell her to stop crying but two men came and held him back by the shoulders. He looked at them, they were huge, they were wearing white and they certainly didn't smile. He looked back at his mother, pleading her with his eyes to not leave him with them.
The woman took his hand, gave it a little kiss before backing up from them. Saint tried to step forward, towards his mother, but they wouldn't let him. "I'm sorry, Saint, you be good, alright? I'm sorry I had to do it."
"Mae, please don't leave me.'
"I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry."
"Mae!? Mae! Please, don't go! Don't leave me!"
"Don't leave me!"
"Please don't leave me!" Saint screamed, his voice breaking and those radioactive coloured tears streamed down his face.
Prem gave Perth an accusing look, one that looks like shouting at him 'you fucking did this' before hurrying over towards the boy who had fallen to the ground, covering his face with his hands and screaming "don't leave me, don't leave me" over and over again. Prem pulled on Son's wrist and there was resistance at first but soon Son succumbed to Prem's persistence and he fell into the older lad's embrace, sobbing into his chest, his tears wetting the t-shirt Prem was wearing.
