Dear Adonis

01

I am, as poets say, a tragedy.

Ahmed Saetang, the witty boy with beautiful dark eyes, had nothing left in his soul but a broken heart and a smile.

The boy seemed to smile often and that isn't an understatement since he had severe bruises on his body and still managed to smile at his therapist. His eyes had dark shadings of circles below them and it was easy for a fool to spot it because of his pale skin.

As an Asian, Ahmed had received a lot of remarks regarding his race and his light skin tone (some as jokes and some came off as back handed compliments ) but that was how far it went; instead people liked to concentrate more on his looks. Ahmed Saetang, the boy who had the masculine but boyish Asian looks from his father and the well defined Mexican features from his mother. Some might even say that both parents planned to get married just to have a beautiful boy.

Lots of words to describe the boy but not one to captivate the excellence of his feautures: from rosy cheeks and small sharp eyes down to his defined jaw and messy dark hair. Another thing is that Ahmed was quite nice to everyone and he wondered sometimes why people weren't nice to him so he turned the tables and that's why he was in therapy.

"Ahmed?" Dr Margaret, his therapist, called,

" Yes ma'am", he replied sharply as he rubbed the side of his arm. His body was hurting too much.

" Are you still against yourself?" the woman with the thick Canadian accent asked as she looked so worried of the teenage boy. It hurt Ahmed sometimes whenever people frowned at him, pitied him.

"How?"

"How?!" she rubbed her eyes before exhaling, "Ahmed, haven't you thought about how your mother feels about all these fights you get into? Or hearing that her son who goes to one of the most elite prep high schools in New York is stealing from a mart?".

Ahmed shifted awkwardly in his seat as he buried down his explanations in his throat. They were the ones that stole, I took the blame.

Ahmed was going to be a senior in just a week so it was either he was going to cut his friends off or he was going to kill himself.

"How have you been sleeping Ahmed?" the therapist asked him and just looking at her alone was an answer.

They called it chronic insomnia, the disorder whereby you are unable to sleep well at all. Unlike other people, Ahmed had sleeping paralysis too. The situation whereby you sleep really late and still wake up being choked or unable to move is heartwrenching and Ahmed could testify to that, so, Ahmed didn't sleep anymore, instead he rather stayed awake than to experience the feeling that felt demonic.

"C–can we reschedule? I'm not feeling too well", Ahmed grimaced as his throat dried up.

The woman stared at him quietly before nodding,
"But remember if you want to talk to me, I'm always here and you have my contact", she smiled making him smile as he got up to his feet.

"And please, can my mum not know of this?"

"Sure".

When Ahmed left the building, he dropped his skateboard on the pavement before using his right leg to push himself. Sometimes he regretted not accepting a car from his father whenever he saw his mates and younger riding around the city but he was never the envious type; rather he saw the good side of everything.