Wilder

15.

The sun sipping through the curtains stained with dust and the absence of an adult, my hands felt light but somewhat soiled as I poured coffee. Wilder had never been to my place before. He's a rich kid, something that was always an unattainable and quite the abstract concept to me.

I won't be that pathetic and pitiable guy even if it means the death of me, but I knew my house looked like I was one. It was not something I wanted to advertise, and I hid it in a manner similar to how Wilder hides his scars. Not having is something that pained me for most of my life.

The house small but appearing big because of the lack of presence, the odor of independence a poor kid attains far too early lingering in the air.

My brother was out, he had a day off, and he was partying, drinking, having meaningless sex, driving off into the distance. Whatever it took to forget the fact that our mother died. It indeed is a clishe story, and it's not worth telling.

I sighed into the air, my fingers shaking lightly and my lungs going down in a series of crippling cramps because of the fear he might hate me because of it. If I turn out to be more broken than you, will you leave me, Wilder?

His eyes seemed blue as he took a sip of the silky liquid that burned my tongue and made my heart race, his glance indifferent and distant in a way that calmed me. Maybe our broken can stick together to one whole, Wilder?

"About...her", he looked up, his eyes greyer and more cracked than I could fear for, "I thought you'd want to know"

I nodded, leaning against the sink and ignoring the water that soaked through my shirt.

"Her..ah, I won't tell you her name. It's irrelevant already", he waved his hand as if to dismiss it, prickling on my curiosity but continuing before I had the chance to say anything, "She was...sad. Yeah, she was sad and distant. Her lips were grey and her hair was the color of ash, and she knew of the world"

"Although she was only a year older than me, she was overwhelmingly more mature, in a way I couldn't grasp her", he took a gulp of coffee in a manner you would think he was downing a shot and not just caffeine, "She was..unstable and she was alive. She knew she wanted to live, and she knew I wasn't ready for love"

"So she broke my heart", he ran a hand through his hair, and I remembered what he had said about little things, little tragedies, "Just like that"

"And that's it, Cas. It's just that"