Brandon Parker | TVD

Who's A Good Boy

Somewhere in Virginia, 1981

I sometimes wonder what it feels like to hurt someone. I didn't care anymore--anything would be better than this. It had been nine whole fucking years of my existence, and for the past couple of years, I've been trying to come to an understanding of why I was abandoned in the first place. Though, at times I could barely imagine myself living happily with a family I deserved. 

Instead, I sat in a dark and cold room with the chilly morning air drafting in causing goosebumps to erupt across my bare skin. My nose was beginning to feel numb, but these days it was almost like luck was trying to fuck with me. While other kids were going down with pneumonia or other tragic illnesses, it seemed like no matter how much I wished to die, death never seemed to come. 

These thoughts run through my mind more often than they should. It used to be like clockwork, but then they just happened so often that I'd just become accustomed to the numbing feeling I got, I used to feel like I was drowning in the darkness of this place. But, I simply didn't care anymore.

The light bulb in the room had shattered again at some point in the night, so I carefully looked around where the glass fell and I focused on it a bit—consciously picking up the pieces as a means of fixing it. My vision was still a bit blurry due to the lack of sleep I got again, but I still managed to form the bulb.

I stepped forward and snatched the light bulb hovering in the air. I went over to my dresser, placed the bulb on it, and then, grabbed a clean shirt to wear. I noticed how my magic was still tingling beneath my fingertips, but chose to ignore it. 

The amount of control I had over what I did regarding my abilities had easily gotten better as time went on. However, there was always the occasional surge that shot out unannounced when I least expected it. I knew just how much I could do at this point and all the fucked up things I could easily do with these powers. I suppose I was dangerous. Or could be if it ever came to it. Though, I like to think I would never purposefully hurt anyone with it-- Not yet, at least.

I glanced around the empty hallway from a foot away from my door. It was usually empty at this time, not a single noise. Which meant there wasn't anyone up to mutter under their breaths, about me. I didn't feel like listening to another person talk about my origin, that I was from a cult family that wanted nothing to do with me, or that I was conceived under a satanic orgy-- I still don't know how they came up with that one. 

Even if the lights flickered violently when I was around the other annoying children, it didn't mean that I was the cause of it--even if I was, they didn't know anything.

As I walked quietly down the hall, I thought I had heard some sort of a cough somewhere along the way but my attention was quickly taken the moment I heard one of the doors behind me open with a loud click. I turned around, halting in my steps to see whoever it was.

"Bill," I muttered, uninterested. "I'm not surprised to see you here again."

Just from one look at him, anyone with eyes could tell that there was something wrong with him. His under-eyes were ringed with dark circles from what I guessed was from lack of sleep, his face had thinned sickly. 

If I could pretend, I would've tried to look at him with some form of pity, but I didn't, because I couldn't. I've known him for years, but there's never been anything about him to like.