Numb and Dumb

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Numb and Dumb

Rated R for drug usage/mention, strong language, and sexual content.


          I knew the moment the kid started hanging out with us that he would be nothing but trouble. Not only was he a complete poser, but he had money. That alone proved he didn't really belong with us. Yet, he thought we were somehow the 'in' crowd and therefore decided to follow us around everywhere. I knew it wouldn't last long, we were just his way of showing his teenage rebellion, but still, I wanted him gone. He was sure trouble.

          "Who brought the baby?" I asked the day he first met up with us. It was true about him seeming like a baby, he had the adorable look to him. He was attractive in a save me sort-of-way. He had a sort-of sadness to him that definitely struck me as beautiful, but then again, I had always been attracted to that type. I’ve always found melancholy guys attractive, Rev knew that.

          Unbrushed dirty-blonde hair. Clean shaven. Bright and curious blue eyes. Short in height. Skinny in weight. He was just my type and that’s what scared me.

          We were in the farmhouse that had once belonged to one of the guys' Dad before he kicked the bucket. Jimmy, Mason, Vinny, and Collin were already stoned out of their minds. Collin had one of his trashy little girls over in the corner doing unspeakable things to one another. Vinny and Mason were both sitting on the pile of hay passing their bottle of Hennessy back and forth, attempting (and failing, I'm sure) to drown their sorrows with an expensive bottle of brandy. Jimmy was just being Jimmy, talking about shit that didn't really matter, thinking he was becoming some sort of philosophical being when he was just as stupid as the rest of us. He had taken so much shit that none of us was really sure he could even function well enough to hold a real conversation with and yet, we didn’t really try to hold one with him anyway. Even sober, he was never the brightest guy. That only left Rev to have brought the youngin' to our place; Rev always liked jail-bait.

          My suspicions were confirmed when he mumbled something about having thought the kid fit well with our little group. He mentioned something about the kid being like a younger version of him mixed with that Kurt Cobain look. A good look at the boy he had brought proved he was right; he did look like a really young Kurt. I should have been more against it then, after all, he was underage, we were probably going to fuck him up for the rest of his life, and well, I always had a weakness for guys with that sad and hopeless look. Rev knew this, I believe that’s why he brought the kid with him that day, he knew I’d have an infatuation with him.

          "For goodness sake, he looks thirteen, Rev," I groaned. I was half annoyed that he brought him without asking and half annoyed at myself for thinking he looked good, even though he was young. I didn't want to seem like a pervert.

          Rev sighed loudly, running a hand through his shaggy brown hair, resulting in it sticking up every way possible. "He's not that young, just a few years younger than us."

                   "How old exactly?"

          He paused for a moment, as if to think about it. Then finally, "Fifteen or sixteen I think...”

          "I'm seventeen," the kid piped up. His voice was calm and steady but you could easily tell he wasn't actually comfortable just by the way he stood there, staring at us, studying us.

          "No shit?" I shook my head slowly at him, he wasn’t as young as I suspected. Six years in age was still a big difference though. Why did Rev think we should suddenly become babysitters? Even if the kid was good looking, I didn’t want to have to worry about him all the time.

          The boy just looked at me with an expression on his face that showed his naivety and innocence all in one. He wasn’t lying, he just had a baby face.

          “Well, that’s interesting,” I mumbled. I turned to Rev, who was smiling broadly, and then turned back to the kid ‘cause I’d rather hear his soft voice than Rev’s hard one. “What’s your name?”

          “Sylvester, but call me Sly,” the boy told me. He had a sense of security about himself, something I’d have given my left nut for when I was his age. It took me a long time to figure myself out, figure out what got to people, figure out what I could say to people without getting slapped. He seemed to already know what to say and when to say it.

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