My Beautiful Boy ✔️

16

My shirt fell onto the ground next to my feet as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I started with my eyes, looking directly into the blue of them. Then, my gaze dropped to my cheekbones and lips. My straight teeth and my blonde, messy hair. My swollen cheek had slightly died down, leaving a purplish-yellow bruise on my skin. The cut on my lip had almost healed, but the cut on the side of my temple was taking a little longer.

Then, my eyes follow the lines and crease of my collarbone, travelling down to my stomach. I haven't been to the gym in a while, so the faint lines of my abs were slowly disappearing. I should start exercising and working out again.

Slowly, my fingers trace the lines of my stomach and my chest and down my toned biceps. I stop just before I reach my scars. My breath shudders as I stare at my scars through the mirror, my fingers carefully grazing over them.

I've never had the urge to cut myself for a while, now. The last time I did, I had met Alayna and I had stopped myself. Hiding it was a heavy burden and I was at war with myself for so many years. It took time for me to get better. Even now, I'm not fully convinced I'm healed. If I was, would I push away the one bright light in my life just to be thrusted into total darkness?

My scars don't define me. Not anymore. The trauma I felt caused me to lock up my heart and throw away the key. It forced me to mature and grow quicker than I was supposed to. I was breathing, but I wasn't alive. My soul and my heart was dead.

So, I paid attention to what my experiences taught me and I realised that I had to focus on myself. I proved myself wrong and it was possibly the proudest moment of my life. Then, dad's addiction started. Everything went wrong after that. All my progress went down the drain because I was still getting hurt. Even though I wasn't inflicting that pain on myself, it felt like I was. I-

My thoughts are cut off when I hear footsteps on the stairs. I'm turning around just as my bedroom door opens, revealing my mum. She stares at me like I'm a ghost. I haven't let her see my body ever since she found me passed out on the floor.

"We haven't spoken in a while." She smiles at me, resting her head on the door frame. I sit on my bed, picking up my shirt and slipping it over my head. "How's college going?" She asks, still continuing to ignore the very obvious bruises covering my face.

"Good." I clear my throat, leaning back till my back hits the headboard of my bed. My legs were stretched out in front of me. Mum slowly takes a few steps into my room, perching on the edge of the bed. She rubs her hand over the bedding, not able to keep eye contact with me.

"Erm... I've been wanting to ask about... that girl that was here the other week." She gulps, and my heart rate picks up. Alayna. As soon as those harsh words left my mouth, I regretted it. I regret hurting her because she's innocent in all of this. She doesn't understand the story, but I had to keep her away from me. It's too dangerous.

"What about her?" I ask, quietly, staring straight ahead. "You hate her, too? Never want to see her again?" You don't have to worry about that.

"No, Dawson." Mum sighs, closing her eyes. "Look, I know your dad doesn't like people like her, but-"

"People like her- what does that even mean? People like her- humans? Is that what you mean, mum, humans? Because that's what she is. A fucking human!" I yell, throwing my hands up in frustration. Mum glances at me, shaking her head.

"No, you know what I mean." She justifies, but when I don't reply with an answer, she continues to speak. "Coloured people." She says, warily, like it's a crime. Like she'll disintegrate on the spot if anyone hears her.

"God, mum, you're about as delusional and uneducated as dad." I spit. "Grow a fucking backbone, will you? I'm sick of watching you follow him around like a love-sick puppy, waiting for him to give you some attention. You seek validation from him, but you don't care that your own son is getting beat up in the streets." I shake my head at the shocked expression on her face. Her eyes are wide and her skin is pale and her lips are parted and dry.

"Of course I care-"

"Mum, please." I beg her, standing up off the bed. "Don't rub salt into the wound. Just... leave me alone." I tell her, and she gulps before slowly standing to her feet. She glances at me before leaving my room.

I sigh, collapsing back onto the bed. My head hurts from the events of the last few days and I know that I eventually have to go back to college. I can't get a degree by not showing up. It's always been a dream of mine to help kids that were in my situation be safe and have a better family who will care for them properly.

Before I could think more about my future, my phone rang from beside me. Gracie's name stares up at me, and I sigh before answering. "Hello?"

"Hey, Dawson." Gracie begins, a bit too over-excited. "I was wondering if you were coming in for your shift today. The manager said you've not been working all week because of an illness." She asks me, genuinely concerned.

"No, I won't be coming in." I say, closing my eyes. "Is that all?"

"Erm... yeah, it is. I hope you feel better soon." She adds before hanging up. I throw my phone onto the mattress, trying to have a nap. My mind keeps spinning back to her, what she's doing, how she's feeling, if she's thinking about me...

I groan, covering my face with my pillow. I think I like Alayna a lot more than I'm letting on, and it will end up destroying me.