BRANCE + RINNEY

the tragedy that was vhopper

"I tried to laugh about it
Cover it all up with lies
I tried to laugh about it
Hiding the tears in my eyes
'Cause boys don't cry"
-

"I just don't know what you were thinking, really. It took two goddamn officers to even bring you back here." The house was quiet, dark with the shutters of windows pulled closed. "It was self defense Ma." The kitchen sink had soft taps of water dripping into it, seeping into the metal bottom and down towards the drain. The moon peeked through the window behind, a white light that held only a glimpse of warmth. "Self defense, self defense. You look better than all of those boys who, by the way, are in the hospital right now." The wood decorating the table was worn down, stained with spilled drinks and crayon. "They had a knife Ma. I only had my hands." There was a soft chorus of chirps outside, summer crickets that had sheltered underneath the thick blades of grass occupying the ground of the front lawn. "I don't know what to do with you anymore. I can't keep getting called home from work for you." The vents were humming, a sharp blow of heat coming from them in music notes. "Ma, come on. It's just me and you here, please." The floor had been scratched up, consequences of pulled out chairs and thrown objects. "Go to your room. I can't, I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Vance knew it was better if he didn't argue with his mother. The wrinkles engraved into her skin, the dullness of her once bright eyes, told him all he needed to know. So, without another word, he pushed his chair back and made his way upstairs.

His mother had looked at the new scratch mark on the floor, smiling as if it were a present complete with a red ribbon. She wished other things could change.

The bed was like a warm hug, something he couldn't quite remember. He knew his mom loved him. He knew the woman would do anything, and everything, to make him even the slightest bit happy.

And he was sorry for everything. For the sleepless nights. The unpaid shifts at work. The anger. The tears. The tiredness.

Vance was rubbing at his eyes quickly after he settled his chest firm against a pillow, occupying the side of his face with another. The tears on his fingers were warm, salted with sadness and self-hatred.

He didn't understand. He couldn't understand. He never picked on anyone, despite what others would say about him. He fought, yeah, but to protect himself. To protect his mother, her name. It was always just the two of them.

The moon was shining through the room, but it's light did nothing to warm the teenage boy. His bed rocked softly, mocking his sobs and aching limbs as he tucked himself farther into his mattress.

It was half-past midnight when Vance finally fell asleep, his limbs grown heavy with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His mom was gone when he woke up, a letter in her wake with only one word printed on it.

"Sorry"