Crumbling Under Pressure

Introduction

He doesn't have any medals and achievements, and his lack of social skills made him forgettable to the majority of his high school classmates and teachers. Plus, he also have many doubts to gain a talent he can be proud of.

Johan wasn't happy to be a below average guy. A dull life wasn't something that anyone should strive to have, and it seems he was also the only one lacking with goals and dreams that could match his own siblings. How come he only sees black and white?

He doesn't know. He never knows.

Johan sighs, straightening his posture and shook his head. The study lamp beside him radiates unwanted heat causing his forehead to moisten and his eyes to narrow in focus on a textbook placed below him. The clock was ticking from the wall and the sounds of a conversation from the other room was tempting. He licks his lips, and continued to recite a few phrases before going back silent. His mouth was dry, he yearns for a drink.

Water would be great.

The place was like sauna for him and it only boiled his blood. He fanned himself with the collar of his shirt and proceeded to read, examine and memorize one word after another.

Anesthesia - insensitivity to pain, especially as artificially induced by the administration of gases or the injection of drugs before surgical operations.

Insensitivity to pain. A legacy to go on further for more than one generation. They dream to have more than one child to achieve greatness and pride.

He can only run and endure before he can drop dead and realize that he was crazy. His madness or theirs, he can't choose, he doesn't know and he had let them decide his fate before he has the hands to do it by himself.

Johan wishes if there was any anesthesia with him. He really needs it.

A loud moan came from the other room caused his focus to shatter down. His mind began to form an image of what the people were doing and the lessons he memorized a while back has long been gone, forgotten from the moment. His head moved to different directions, his eyes suddenly closes and blinked a few time to adapt the darkness.

Dark, the corners were dark. His vision isn't necessary, but he was grateful he sees a few shadows close to him, and of course the street lights shining through his window were also a great help.

"Fuck, Mitchell! I told you not to do that," a shout came from the other room, distracting his focus once again and it drives him closer to tempt his curiosity.

An argument came after that. Furniture were moved, at least that he hears, and the volume of the TV have been increased. Mitchell's name was used a few times.

For moaning.

No!

He shook his head, trying to adjust his priorities and try to see which is which. He looks back at his textbook on the table and hears an inside shout coming from his head. It shouted phrases and sentences he usually eats and sometimes even becomes the underlining messages under his parents' breath. He bits his gums, eyeing both the door and his school materials.

He gulped, clearing his throat and exhaled. It wasn't much to digest but it bitters his appetite. He doubts he has anything left in his wallet.

A knock on his door re-positioned his head. Three loud knocks that seeks to demand entrance.

"What is it!?" He questions. He clenched his sweaty fists, counting numbers in his head and memorized a few definitions of a few medical terms from his textbook.

Was it Anastasia?

He sweats, the cool liquid dripping down his face and his heart beats faster than he had expected. What made him this way?