Beautiful Words

Word 6

A|N >>
Ngl writing this keeps me floating, so much so so much. And now I have limited things to say to you so enjoy the ride for this chapter, guyss!!

Lesgoooo!!

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ᥫ᭡
"Won't it be difficult though?
To care about someone without understanding them,
I don't think such a thing is required in my case,
Even when I can't tolerate their ethics,
They're still precious in my heart anyway;
all enough reason to never try understanding them."

*0:*0

I always know that something is definitely wrong with me. I'm not that brainless to not even notice. Okay, that sounds crucially rude.

Let me start again. My personal story.

When I was in elementary school, Ian got really worried about me almost all the time. He won't tell me why, he refused to drag the topic firther and I found myself never questioning his silence.

Kyle, you cut yourself again, he said to me on the days where I came back home with a blue bag slumped onto my back. The car keychain attached to one of the bag's zippers is long gone now, probably down to the drain it falls off and I never try to notice.

Where, I asked him about the cut, and he took my hand before turning it over; a fresh trail of blood stained my uniform sleeve, when he rolled it over my elbow he immidiately winced.

Seriously you're unbelievable! Ian would grumble his signature nags; Can't you feel pain? You should be more aware if you're bleeding, this kind of cut is a pain in the ass!

I can't feel pain.

If I tell the universe that, surely its contents would turn to me with barrels of laughter. But it's the truth, I can't really feel pain.

Or should I rephrase it...? I'm no good at explaining things, anyway.

I can trace its presence, but I can't stop myself from ignoring it. Would that make sense?

No? Cool, I don't care.

I'm sorry, I mumbled an apology all the time, just because I can't form other words to reassure Ian that I'm fine. And Ian, back when he was years younger than today, had a habit of glaring up at people- his bright blue eyes flaring like blue fire, silently questioning; what are you feeling sorry for, to hell with the sorry you're hurt.

Little did he know, I was never hurt on the first place. And I feel guilty for lying, although not really lying, to his grim face.

The red liquid, my blood, was trailing out of my body, river by river, like a violent pour of the waterfall, the floor could possibly make a pool put of it, but I felt nothing.

I'm standing stiff and still like a soldier, I shed no tear unlike a normal elementary schooler would do when they got even a glimpse of a red dot on their fingertip.

I always know that something is definitely wrong with me.
But I never take it seriously.
I regard it as a part of my nature as a living being.

I don't care if they call me human with inhuman senses, I don't care if they ask me to be more of a human already; I'm alive and breathing and well, they can say what they want to my face or behind my back for all I care.

Don't make such words of apology sound so cheap, Kyle. Ian had once said that to me.

My older brother always took petty things seriously, and I can't argue with him over a single apology. He would get mad, he would have this devastating expression which shall drain all blood from his face that people find delicate, and he would tremble while gripping tight to my hand. As if my life depends on it.