Two Introverts ✔

9 | Music

...It's long af again

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He ran. Ran from the person who didn't have to, but comforted him and made him feel better. From the person whose eyes held genuine concern. From the person whose hands clenched at the mention of worthlessness. From the person who he barely knew, but poured his heart out to.

He didn't know what to do. Besides being introverted and down, his mind didn't let him think straight. He had never done such a thing - talk, no, ramble to someone whom he barely knew, and then mutter something under his breath and run. No, that wasn't something Sam did at all, he didn't know what had possessed him to act that way in front of Charles.

By the time he reached his house, he was scared out of his guts. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead and tickled his eyes. He didn't know if he was sweating because he was nervous and scared or because he was running as though his life depended on it. His mom would be eagerly waiting for him to show his marks - the marks of the test he'd worked so hard on, the one test that he'd been really confident and happy about.

Before tears could take over him, he decided it was better to get it over with and slowly opened the magenta colored gates of his house. He stepped inside, taking his own sweet time to remove his shoes and socks and place them neatly on the shoe rack. Making no noise, he went in to see that his mom was fast asleep on the couch. He decided it was best if he didn't wake her up and quickly went to his room to change into comfortable pants. The hoodie can stay since it was his favorite. Whilst changing, he heard a knock.

"You're home, Sammy?"

It was his sister.

"Yeah, I am."

"Okay," she said, stifling a laugh, "mom said she heard some noise and decided to keep quiet and see what 'the thief' was up to." Hearing that, he himself couldn't help but laugh softly despite being a ball of nerves. His mom really was something else.

In seconds, he changed and was opening his door. He was met with his mother's expectant eyes, clearly wanting to know Sam's marks. He'd started fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie yet again. He suddenly wished June was here to hold his hand while he talked to his mom. Alas, that wasn't the case as June was nowhere to be seen the whole day.

"So...?" his mom started off.

Sam shamefully went back to his room, dug his bag and took out his answer sheet to hand it over to his mother. He was scared. Genuinely scared of what she'd say. He was prepared for the "You need to stop disappointing me," the "No one's gonna look at your face with these marks, you're gonna get walked all over" and, of course, the "Marks define you. They define and determine your future."

He only started at the floor while his mom went through the whole paper. He was sure of the look of disappointment and disapproval on her face without even seeing it, and he could imagine a hundred ways of how his day would become just like the dozen others he's experienced.

For what seemed like a good five minutes, Sam stared at the floor, suddenly noticing the way the tiles seemed to have gotten really beautiful, the way the patterns on the marble somehow matched and created a pattern with the others, how-

Interrupting his thoughts, he heard a loud sigh, which unmistakably came from his mother. He dared to look up, look at his mom's face. By this time, he'd already shed as many tears possible so he knew he wouldn't start crying. He was too tired. Tired of crying, tired of being a disappointment, tired of everything.