Forgetting Logic | Book One

Chapter 4

Alexander.

The following day unfolded in a manner far from my expectations, culminating in a chaotic scene where I found myself forcibly separated from Jefferson, my appearance disheveled with unruly hair and torn clothing. As for assumptions, well, let's just say they couldn't be more off the mark (shame on you, you nosy folks).

But truth be told, it's even worse than that—engaging in a brawl right in the midst of class. Am I proud of it? Honestly, I'm torn (okay, maybe a tiny bit proud), and my reputation as the good guy is probably in tatters, but hey, what can you do?

It all began when I woke up on Saturday morning, feeling grateful for a solid eight hours of sleep, a rare treat lately.

While Hercules was out fetching breakfast, I decided to scribble a quick good morning note in my notebook. But when I went searching for it, it was nowhere to be found! I scoured every nook and cranny—under pillows, in backpacks, beneath beds, even in Herc's "special" box in the closet (note to self: never venture into that again). No luck. I'm not one for searching, as you may have guessed.

Herc burst through the door later, panting and empty-handed. Collapsing on the floor clutching his stomach, he looked like he'd run a marathon. I refrained from asking about his well-being, instead cutting to the chase: "Where's the food, Herc?"

He remained sprawled on the floor, huffing, as I lounged on the couch, watching his dramatics. After ten minutes, he finally rose and joined me, "So, you weren't planning on helping me?"

"I don't help anyone. But have you seen my notebook?"

He pondered for a moment, his breath catching, before declaring, "We've got a major problem. I mean, major."

Standard Herc. Always finding something to gripe about and labeling it a catastrophe. I braced myself for the impending doom. "What now?"

"You know how you couldn't find your notebook? Well, I found it, and let's just say it's not in the most ideal places."

"Places?" I echoed, my curiosity piqued.

"Just come with me."

In less than five minutes, Herc, John, Laf, and I were outside, met with smirks from the crowd—a sure sign that something was afoot.

"There stands my imperfection, laid bare for all to see. I may not be perfect, far from it, but I attempt to camouflage the flaws to present a more palatable image, a facade masking my worst blunders."

I heard it—the echoes of my spoken word piece reverberating through a crowd of over a hundred. My initial instinct was to storm the stage and snatch my book back, but by the time I reached it, it was too late. He had moved on to the next lines—lines that would unveil my deepest fears to the entire campus. I missed my chance.

"He watched as my defenses crumbled, as the very essence of who I was eroded away. Why didn't you intervene, Thomas? Why didn't you save me when I needed you most? I thought you were my savior, but you were nothing but a cowardly bystander."

Silence enveloped the crowd, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Slowly, I made my way to the stage, where he stood, mouth agape, our proximity palpable. His breath brushed against my skin, and the crowd held its breath, awaiting the next move.

"You're still heartless, I see. Fine, if that's the game you want to play—exposing vulnerabilities, inflicting humiliation—know that when I set my mind to something, I follow through. No empty threats here. Consider it a guarantee."

John tugged at my arm, urging me to retreat, but I couldn't. It felt as though gravity itself held me in place.

"I'm so sorry," he stammered, tears streaming down his face, the entire audience frozen in time.

My composed demeanor shattered, replaced by a simmering rage. He witnessed my innocence being forcibly taken, and now he dared to shed tears? Those tears held no meaning, no value to me.

"Forgive me," he choked out.

I bit my tongue, stifling a scream, my gaze locked on him. "Rot in hell."

Nothing remained the same after that day. My once warm heart grew colder, and though others attempted to reach out, I pushed them away. I'd managed four years without support; I could endure another four without it or anyone else trying to offer solace. And I remember the last words I spoke to him:

"I want you to bleed, just as I bled out on that cold, unforgiving mattress when they violated me. I want you to feel the agony, the anguish I endured during those endless nights of solitude, where no one comprehended my pain. Die, and maybe then I'll find peace."

_______________________

Well.....that ended on a sour note.

Sorry.

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