Eliora (boyxboy)

Ugly and helpless.

Luca and  Andrew moved into a new house while I was at school. It was on the edge of town an hour or so away from Kingston. Luca said that still wasn't far enough, but that it'd have to do until I graduated.

My room was already packed up, my bed right against the window just as I liked and my things all organized to Andrew's liking. The walls were bare. I'd never bothered to accumulate any trinkets or band posters or anything, because it felt like I'd only be staying temporarily. And I don't think I listen to any music.

The house was big. It had its own stable and Luca had bought two horses to start. There was a pond just a bit beyond the stables, a few hundred meters away, there weren't any fish in it, but Andrew liked the idea of having some. And it had its own forest–I couldn't understand whatever for, but it was cool I suppose.

I sighed, flipping through the channels on the TV finding nothing but rubbish on. Until I finally settled on just staring at bright green and yellow cartoons.

I was bored. The sunlight filtered in through the lovely wide windows, as if mocking me. I wasn't allowed to go outside, or do anything but sit on my arse all day and reflect on what had happened to me (Andrew's words not mine.)

Luca said that what I'd done was absolutely irresponsible and life threatening. As if I didn't know that already. I'd almost died! Though, I suppose death would've been much better than the harrowing life I have ahead of me. That is punishment enough if you asked me. Of course I didn't voice that to my uncle's and it seems like I'm much more of a push over than I thought because I'd do anything to make them not worry anymore.

They were trying to be cautious, I'd almost died, I understood. It was fine really, I was just getting restless. Itchy, I had to do something, anything. At this point, I'd even take a vision over the stillwater, monotonous recovery that I'm having. But those atrocious visions have decided to give me a break. After nearly ending my life. Pathetic.

Of course Luca chooses that exact moment to disrupt my wallowing in self pity. The loud sound of the hoover burst through the room. I cringed and reached up to cover my ears, staring incredulously at my uncle. He smiled sweetly at me, then moved the hoover around the room carefully. An excruciating ten minutes later he switched it off, sighing as he admired the work he'd done.

"I thought I was supposed to be recovering." I chipped.

Luca nodded. "You are."

I gestured to the hoover beside him. "That thing sounds like you're trying to give me Acoustic neuroma." He looked confused and I rolled my eyes. "It's giving me a headache."

"Oh, sorry, lad, do you need some paracetamol? I can go get some–"

" –Wait, no I'm fine. I'm just being pissy." I waved him off. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it again when Andrew walked in a big box in his hands.

He dropped the box on the table in front of me and stepped back. I blinked slowly at the box. "Uh, Thanks?"

"Your old art." He said. "We wanted to burn em but we thought that maybe you'd like to save some of the art." I nodded. "They're taking too much space and the attic is starting to get claustrophobic, it's starting to get on Luca's nerves." Luca has a mild case of OCD. With mild being a more light word, but he swears on his mother's grave that the rest of us are just dirty. His mother isn't dead.