The Wise Child (BNHA x OC)

5. Loud

(TW!!! mentions and implications of abuse

This chapter will contain talk of neurodivergence. If there is any abilsm in the comments you will be blocked. If I have written something you would like to correct, feel free to do so and I will attempt to accomodate to the best of my abilities. This is my first time publishing something with specfic talk of neurodivergence, and though I have done research and am likely on the spectrum myself, I may absolutely make mistakes.)

The home felt empty. Cold. Whispers of ghosts haunting the reflections in the windows, the flickers of the lights, the creeks of the floor. They told memories. Faces. It wouldn’t let us forget the two that were now gone. The ones that broke. Like fragile glass hitting stone floors, their now sharp edges left to cut anyone not intelligent enough to leave them be. 

I supposed I was not intelligent. Because when the lights went out, and the others were fast asleep, I couldn’t help but return to the empty bedroom at the end of the hall. The one I wasn’t even supposed to look at. And let the sharp edges attack me.

My feet, hidden in lion socks, skated across the floor. My breath came out uneven and uncertain, waiting for the slightest hitch to wake everyone up, to bring their eyes down on me in judgment. The wallpaper allowing my shadow to dim its lovely flowers, falling in a long line. The petals shifted in their places moving to a rhythm I could not hear. 

‘Out again, Silly girl.’

‘Should be sleeping.’

‘Should be quiet.’

‘Refusing orders, how vindictive.’

‘All to mourn a boy who wouldn’t want it.’

‘Disrespectful.’

I moved on through the hallway. But I did not ignore their words. I let them sink in and wither. It was only fair. The only payment I could give was rightful guilt. 

The door had come to a stop in front of me. And it leaned tall and terrifying, glaring down. It did not want me to enter. But I couldn’t let the ghosts go unnoticed. I couldn’t let their words be left behind, or swallowed whole by time. 

It creaked angrily as I entered, but I had no time to panic about waking the others, because a silhouette had stolen my attention. A tall man, a sad man, only appearing through the dim moonlight from the window. Even so, his blue eyes were bright against the background. 

He didn’t move. I tried to speak. But words avoided me. 

Eventually, after a long while of silence, I realized something. He had been crying. Tissues crumpled on the ground, redness surrounding his iris. Form crumpled, almost weak. 

I felt that this wasn’t my father. Even when I knew it was. 

“I’m sorry.” my voice was merely a whisper, barely even that. “I...I” I attempted to think of an explanation, but I couldn't find one. 

He sighed and crumpled his hair in his hands, “You should be asleep.” I thought he would sound mad. I was sure of it. But he didn’t. He sounded tired, worried, and almost humored. 

“I couldn’t sleep, I’m sorry.”

I expected him to scold me with scorn, but instead a dry laugh escaped him, “Me neither. It’s always loud at night.”

I blinked, staring at him as if he had turned green. Could he hear the ghosts too? See their shadows, and listen to their whispers? 

No, no, of course not. Those were the silly delusions of a child. He was too strong and smart to be troubled by such things.