I want to apologise for not updating this story earlier and leaving it for this long. I had exams during the period of me updating this story and I couldn't find the time to update.
I am now on summer break. Updates will be weekly. Enjoy.
Chresanto killed himself at the age of 15/16. Here, he is 10/11.
"Chresanto," his mother called out, her hand stretched out for him to grasp. A small smile etched onto her face, her curly hair pulled back into a bun. So presentable. He thought, staring at her as she fiddled with the hem of her black dress, trying to distract herself. He sighed, standing up from his seat, grabbing her hand tight, letting her lead him towards the front. "Do you want to talk about it?"
He shrugged his shoulders, squinting his eyes at the sunlight once they reached outside. He sighed, for the second time, wishing he had brought his hat with him in the morning. Chresanto followed her towards the car, standing in front of the passenger seat door patiently. His mother pursed her lips, unlocking the car, watching as Chresanto hurried inside, throwing his bag in the backseat.
She followed suit, a conflicted look on her face. "Chresanto," she called out, her eyes shifting towards her son, whom had his eyes focused on the school building they had just walked out from. "What happened?"
But still, Chresanto kept his gaze on the school, biting his lip. He wanted to tell her--spill the secrets about what happened and what names they called him-- but he stayed quiet, avoided eye contact and thanked the lord when his mother started up the car, proceeding to drive out of the parking lot.
The whole ride, Chresanto replayed what had happened; the name calling, items thrown and the constant degrading. He flinched slightly when he thought about the words said, wanting to cry right there in the car. But he didn't. He kept his eyes on the scenery, paying attention to the trees, the way they moved at the force of the wind, the flowers along the road and the many houses.
Chresanto wondered who lived here, took care of the flowers, the whole way home, not looking at his mother once (or even trying to face reality). He felt it easier this way. He wasn't being forced to talk about what happened and if he tried hard enough, Chresanto was sure that he would eventually forget about everything.
When they reached home, he reached back, grabbing his backpack, following his mother into the house. Once the front door was closed and her back was turned, Chresanto ran upstairs, not waiting for her to start bombarding him with questions. He slammed his room door, dumping his backpack onto the ground, lying back on his bed, his arm draped over his eyes.
He fought the urge to cry, sniffing repeatedly, roughly wiping the tears away from his eyes. Chresanto didn't do crying. He was a smart kid, on his way to greatness-- there was no time for crying or any other form of emotion. He groaned slightly, using the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away the stray tears, determined to stop crying.
"Jesus," he mumbled, sitting up on his bed, staring at his wall. Chresanto slowly shrugged off his jacket, placing it bedside him on the bed, lying back down again, his arms spread out beside him.
His mind kept replaying what happened-- the look on everyone's faces, the few snickers that quickly turned into full blown laughter; the pure humiliation. He frowned slightly, upset by his constant state of embarrassment. Chresanto didn't know why he felt like this, he just did. He didn't know why he wanted to crawl underneath his duvet, bury his head into his pillow and disappear forever -- all he knew was that he just did.
He involuntarily opened his mouth, a yawning coming immediately after. Chresanto felt his eyes start to close, the need to sleep taking over him.
-
"How is school?" His father asked, seated at the dining table. Chresanto, who sat across from him, played with his food, pushing it around the plate, taking a few bites here and there. He grumbled under his breath at the taste, quickly recovering, opening his mouth to speak.
"It's good." He said, lying to himself and his dad. Chresanto knew that school was hell on earth. Ever since they moved to the town a few months back, he felt more like an outsider here than anywhere else. Everyone was posh, had multiple friends, the latest gadgets and more -- everything he wasnt. Chresanto didn't care for the latest gadgets (his phone did him justice) or about money. He just wanted his education.
"Oh, there's parents evening next week,"
From the corner of his eye, he watched his mother nod her head. Chresanto didn't look up at his father, already aware of whatever excuse he would use to get out of this. Either it was work, family troubles or illness; his father would do anything to get out of going to parents evening or spending more than five minutes in Chresanto's school.
"Dad," he called out, looking up from his plate. He would at least try to give his dad another chance. "Are you going to come?"
He watched as his father hesitated, his hand losing its grip on his utensils. "I can't." He answered, his lips pursed. "I have a meeting at work. When you get home, your mom can tell me what they said."
Chresanto gave a curt nod, pushing his plate forwards. He rose from his seat, a forced smile on his face. "I'm going to bed." He announced, walking out of the room quickly before his mother could call him back to tidy up. Chresanto made his way upstairs quickly, closing the door behind him. He sighed to himself, stripping down to his boxers. He climbed into bed, switching off his bedside lamp. Chresanto lay back onto his bed, arms clasped together above his lower abdomen.
He felt his eyes starting to get heavy and he fell asleep with one thought in his mind; what would come of school tomorrow?
-
I apologise that this chapter is a bit boring but I wanted to give an insight to Chresanto's life and what his family is like. I hope you got from this chapter that he was being bullied and his father was distant.
