To my dear boy

Chapter 4

He was staring at the paper in complete silence, reading the words over and over again, until everything looked so blurry he couldn't understand them anymore. He thought about crumbling up the paper, throwing it in the trash and forgetting about it forever. But he couldn't bring himself to move. His body was frozen, his mind was blank and all of his senses were numb. He could have stayed in that trance forever, if only he hadn't been called by his twin sister.

"Come on, dipshit, we've gotta get to school. I'm coming without you if you're not getting off your ass in five minutes!"

Andy was instantly snapped out of his thoughts. Without a second thought, he threw the letter under his bed with the rest of the presents he'd bought, so he could give them to Mario after school was over. He grabbed his bag, muttered something under his breath and hurried after his sister.

Every single second of his existence felt agonizing, the thought of the letter constantly lingering on in his mind. Despite how much he was trying to listen to whatever his sister was talking about, he could feel himself zoning out and drifting back to the nerve-wracking plan he had. As the seconds passed, he couldn't help but think that maybe he should give up, that it was obviously a bad idea which would have awful consequences. He was gambling away his best friend, and he knew damn well he was just going to lose everything. And yet he couldn't give up the thrill that had now taken over him. The chances that this confession would lead to something were beyond slim, but never zero. That glimmer of hope was the most intoxicating feeling, and he was hooked up on it like it was meth.

He walked inside the classroom, throwing himself on his seat right next to Mario. Mario was chatting away with their other classmates, barely even glancing in Andy's direction, way too distracted by whatever he was trying to explain. Andy watched them for a few moments, bouncing his leg anxiously and wondering what was so important that he didn't even get a lousy 'hello'.

"What are you guys talking about?" he finally asked, interrupting the others' conversation.

"Oh, well, you know that girl Andra from school no. 8, right? The one I've been hanging out with the last couple weeks."

"Yeah, I know her. What happened?"

"I was just telling them that I asked her out and she's my girlfriend now."

Andy stared at Matt for a few seconds without saying a word, expressionless. His leg stopped bouncing and he couldn't get a single word out. Every dream or fantasy he'd ever had about the blonde boy had just been shattered in front of him. The last bit of hope, his last chance, gone. The words had hit him like a brick, so hard he couldn't even react. He could barely even move; the only thing he could do was clench his jaw as tight as possible. His mind had gone blank, not a single coherent thought coursing through his head. Everything had become numb and his vision was hazy.

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Matt asked, his voice laced with a hint of irritation.

Andy snapped out of his thoughts, not quite fully, but enough to mutter a few words in response:

"Yeah, good for you, man," he replied simply, before turning away and stepping out of the conversation. He laid his head on the desk and pretended to go to sleep, hoping he'd be left alone that way. And thankfully, he was. Nobody spoke to him the entire day. They didn't even ask him what was wrong, or if he was feeling well. His friends just acted like he wasn't even there. And although it was probably for the best, nobody bothered to check up on him. The realization that not a single person gave a shit about him hurt even more, in some ways.

Six hours later, as soon as the bell rang, Andy grabbed his bag and walked out of the classroom before everyone else. He got home and ran straight to his room, closing the door behind him. He lifted his mattress, under which he kept a bottle of vodka. He started downing the liquid almost instantly, enjoying the way it made his throat burn and caused his thoughts and feelings to start blending into each other, the line between reality and perception becoming more and more blurry. Despite all of that, he could still clearly feel the devastation trying to swallow him whole, the self-deprecating thoughts creeping into every corner of his mind. And I mean, if we're being honest, who was he trying to fool? Did he actually believe he stood a chance? God, was he genuinely this stupid? How many times did he have to remind himself he was an actual abomination? How could he genuinely believe Matt would stoop that low? Maybe because he didn't. Maybe he just wanted it to be over once and for all, to live like a normal teenage boy for once. Or maybe he just wanted to screw his life over, so he'd have an actual reason to be depressed and miserable all the time. Did it even matter what the reason was? The only options were either stupid or down-right insane, and he wasn't sure he truly wanted to find out which one it was. In the end, there are lessons to be learned, consequences for all the stupid thing he'd done. He needed to finally understand: he'd never get what he wants, and he shouldn't ever try to change that, unless he's trying to destroy whatever he had left. He'd never believed in fate, but he was certain he was destined to this hell.

He grabbed the letter from under his bed, reading the words once more. God, he'd been so foolish. He tore up the tear-stained piece of paper, until you could no longer piece it back together. He did the same thing to the flowers and the chocolates, letting them scatter all over the floor. His hands were smeared with blood; he'd hurt himself with the thorns of the roses. The sight of the red stains on his palms made him burst into anger and kick his bed frame with all of his force. The sound caused by the impact faded into the unbearable silence of the room. He needed to break everything in sight, but he knew he couldn't. So, instead, he picked up a blade he kept stashed away, taking out all of his anger on his already worn-out body. He drove himself to exhaustion, eventually dozing off hours later, while staring at the ceiling.