MORTAL ✰ ISAAC LAHEY

[CHAPTER 29]

Moment

The hallways are crowded, as usual, but there's a hint of distress shared vicariously through the students shoving their way towards classrooms. The laughter has ceased to ring through the hallways and bounce off of joyous students. The loud clangs of lockers and heavy footsteps fill the air.

It's Monday now, but everyone's thinking about it—the accident—and there's so many mixed emotions clouding the hearts of the young teenagers. Some people can't help but feel glad that it wasn't them in the situation, whereas others are deeply sadden or even uncaring.

No matter their emotions, the students are all whispering about it—did you hear? Isn't it terrible?—as if this was a gossiping matter. They marvel at the unfortune of others without regarding the severity of the events.

No one seems to consider the few who have their heads buried underneath hoodies, desperately trying to sink into the ground. They're unseen, invisible even, especially with their heads tilted toward the tiled floor of the hallway, but the ache in their hearts and the tears softly cascading down their faces burns a mark into their souls.

They go unnoticed—and they leave no trace other than a few stray tears that are quickly stepped on in the stampede of students.

It's only when the students are called upon in class that anyone seems to notice their presence.

The name "Allison" is drowned out during roll call, but when the teacher abruptly looks up, he finds her sitting at her seat with her head buried in the sleeves of an oversized hoodie. There's pity in his eyes for a split second, and he skips over her name, preferring to call another in its place. His voice continues to call out, almost drowned out by the now chattering students.

"Isaac," he calls out, almost unaware of the boy's existence. He's confused for a second on whether he had an Isaac in his class the entire year, but a wavering hand raised pulls his attention. His eyes fall upon the sleep-deprived boy in the back row with his arm raised while eyeing him nervously. The teacher has a double-take, uncertain on whether or not he recognizes the boy, but merely brushes it off as his mind registers the face and reminds him of it, continuing to call out names.

"Lydia" falls short on his lips as well, and he looks expectantly for her but finds only an empty seat. He finds it odd, but doesn't even realize that it's the first time she's ever been absent.

His voice falters when he follows with a "Scott," and the very name brings the dull roar of the classroom to a silence. Narrowed eyes find their way to inspect Scott's face, but he holds his head down, refusing to glance upwards.

The class knows by now, of course. They know exactly what happened last Thursday night, and they're infatuated with the sheer atrocity of it all.

Humans, as always, are entranced by the macabre, and of course, ignorant of the implications it holds upon those in the center of the storm. They flock to the scene of accidents and look on curiously, only looking away when it is convenient for them. They flock to share the news of another accident, another misfortune, another occurrence, and they are unafraid of announcing the news, knowing full well that for once, it fails to regard them. They're divulging on the details of the event—gossiping about a regular Thursday night that ended with the mishap that could destroy a family—completely publicizing a shared pain as if it the individual amounts weren't important.

The sharp eyes prying are no different. Numerous sets of eyes are glancing at Scott McCall, almost expecting him to react. They're expecting an outburst of some sorts—they're expecting him to break apart in front of their eyes—as if it would sate their curiosity and fuel their gossiping nature.

They're so curious that they don't even register the tears that almost slip down his face. They're studying him, aware that they couldn't see through him, and they don't understand, not even for a second.

When the silence finally lifts and the students eventually look away, none of them realize their fault. They all turn away and fall back into their lives as if the moment had no significance—as if it didn't hold the very fears and hopes of a boy who has seen his sister slowly die before his eyes and the pain of loss that follows such events. They turn away without realizing the complexity of life and the individual worlds every person is engulfed in.

They don't see Scott McCall in that moment. They see a boy who may just lose his sister in the most heartbreaking of ways, and they brush it off. They see a Lacrosse Captain who is expected to fall apart instead of hold a team together. They see a failing student who is destined to never graduate high school or at least, barely pass. They see whatever they want to see, but not necessarily the truth.

They don't see Scott the overprotective brother, or Scott the devastated family member. They don't see Scott, who is deathly afraid of losing his other half, or Scott, who is terrified that his family will be torn apart. They don't see Scott, who worries about whether or not his mother will survive the loss, or Scott, who knows that his friends will all fall apart from the impact of pain. They don't see Scott, who is burdened with fighting an Alpha, or Scott, who is aware that he can't juggle so many things at once. They don't see Scott, who's mind rushes to remind him of the sight of his twin lying desolate in a hospital bed, or Scott, who's mind reminisces of the times he took his sister for granted. They don't see all the sides that make a whole, and they don't see Scott McCall at all in that moment.

// i don't really know where to go from here to fit it in the storyline of season 2 but i think i've got it all planned out well enough. hope you enjoyed this chapter (and the emotional trauma mixed in with some weirdly tangible insights on death and humans) and leave me feedback if you did.