Short Story Collection

Never Mind

'His name is Nathan Foster -'

'Why doesn't he speak?'

'Did you not hear -?'

'- Oh, it's awful! His mother -'

'- She overdosed two months ago, -'

'It's terribly sad, he has barely spoken a word since -'

Nathan could hear the gossip, though they spoke as though no one could. The snippets of conversation reached him, throwing him into a rage as he stomped towards his locker. Ripping it open, almost ripping it off its hinges, he stuffed his bag inside and grabbed his lunch, hoping to find somewhere quiet. No people, no gossip, no whispering.

"Hey."

Never mind.

A tall boy had approached him, his hood pulled up, covering half his face in an ominous shadow. If Nathan had cared, he would have had to look closer to make out his facial features, only his square jawline was apparent. The boy slid into the seat next to him, lowering his voice. "If you want something to take your mind off... Stuff..." Nathan felt a plastic bag shoved into his hand. He glanced down to see a white powder. Drugs.

Nathan could feel his eyes burning. He jumped up from his chair, throwing the plastic bag onto the table in disgust, ignoring the clatter of the chair as it fell from the force of his push. As the burning sensation became more intense, he hurried from the boy, catching a faint, "Never mind." as he left.

He stormed through the corridor, the image of the drugs burning in his mind. Once he reached his lockers, quicker than usual as everyone leapt out of his way, he felt a hot tear slide down his cheek. He fiercely swiped at it, a stinging sensation erupting across his face as he accidentally dragged his nail.

Nathan gathered himself and set off home in silence, letting his thoughts wander as he delayed his arrival. A sudden shout yanked him from his thoughts as he turned the corner to his alley between flats.

The low-pitched yell had sounded from a group of teenage boys surrounding a pair entangled in a brawl. Nathan stopped dead in his tracks, staring almost wistfully at the flat door they were fighting in front of. It was so close, could he make it? Although tempted to try, with a plan to justify it with the fact he had nothing to lose, he slid down behind a dumpster, hidden from sight.

The shouting got louder as Nathan clutched to his school bag, hoping against hope they wouldn't notice him. He could hear a cry of pain, a thud and a cheer then suddenly it all stopped. The volume lowered to chatter as the group of boys filed past. He held his breath for a moment before sighing in relief when they were gone. As he approached his door he caught sight of a limping, bloody mess of a boy almost dragging himself away.

He reached for the door, graffitied beyond repair, and shoved his whole body weight against it to force it open. Nathan waited for the solitary lift as it shuddered its way down the floors, finally reaching him with a crash. The lift doors slid, well clattered, open, immediately engulfing him with the smell of urine and alcohol. Nathan slumped against the wall, ignoring the urge to vomit.

Eventually reaching his apartment, there was silence and Nathan let out a breath as he realised his brother, Kyle, was not home. Suddenly the rustling of keys could be heard from through the door, the scraping of metal against metal. Kyle was drunk. After fumbling for a moment more, there was a click and the door slowly opened, Kyle practically falling in.

Nathan felt a growing dread at the sight of his stumbling brother and reconstructed his protective wall. Preparing to use that as armour against his brother's possible attacks Nathan tentatively approached him.

"Nathaaan! How - h-how are you doing?" He slurred, stumbling over his words. Taken aback by the seemingly polite question. Nathan stared: Kyle was being nice? "Oh, I forgooot! Y-you don't talk. Coz you're a baby!" Kyle giggled.

Never mind.

Nathan bristled at the comment, leading Kyle to the sofa before he hurt himself. Kyle sat with an almost childish frown on his face. At Nathan's curious expression, he glanced up, eyebrows furrowed in pure concentration.

"I was thinking," he said in a musing tone, "th-thinking about our life before you, with mum and - and - and dad, happy times. But then you were born." Kyle glared at Nathan, "Yeah, that's when we all stopped being happy. Dad left, he did, and mum was sad and now she's gone. Gone! So, I was thinking it must be your fault that mum chose to leave. Yes, it must be, it must..."

Crack. A crack in Nathan's wall. He watched helplessly as it crumbled to the floor, leaving him vulnerable. Time stood still for a moment, Nathan frozen in his position, an intense burning filled his chest, as though he was a volcano with bubbling lava searing his insides.

His hands; he could see his hands rising before him. They were moving almost involuntarily, reaching towards Kyle. He could see his fingers wrap around his neck, almost delicately, itching to squeeze. Itching to cause his brother the amount of pain he had felt. Itching to -

Kyle's loud snore woke Nathan from his crazed trance. He had not moved, his fingers were not wrapped around his brother's neck, he was not killing his brother. He had just wanted to. Slowly, his previously clouded head cleared and guilt slithered up his body, triggering a self-disgust in him. He was in emotional turmoil: anger, disgust, guilt. If his anger over took him could he really do it?

Nathan trailed to his room, lying on his bed. He stared at the white ceiling. He almost wished to be white. Bland. No emotions. To never feel grief, even if it meant sacrificing joy, he wasn't even sure he would be able to feel that anymore. White instead of red. White instead of anger. Instead of feeling he was crumbling inside, slowly breaking into tiny, pathetic fragments. He felt something warm on his face, trickling down his cheek. He did not move a muscle, he just laid there, tears flowing and soaking his pillow as he stared blankly upwards.

A few days passed in a tense and infuriated silence. Kyle said he remembered nothing and somewhere in the back of his mind, Nathan hoped his words were not his true thoughts.

As the days melted into weeks, Nathan found himself in his imagination, deep in his horrific thoughts. The clink of a bottle had spurred on this sudden attack of hideous ideas. Kyle was drinking again and he was painfully reminded of how Kyle really felt. Nathan found himself standing from his bed. Almost zombie-like, Nathan trailed to the kitchen in a trance.

My mum killed herself. Kyle blames me. Kyle hates me.

These thoughts echoed through his mind as he grabbed a knife from the drawer. Wrapping his hand round the blade, Nathan registered a sharp sting and a warm trickle down his arm. Too entranced to notice, the mind-numbing pain in his chest too intense to feel anything else, he continued to the lounge and found a drunken Kyle curled on the sofa. Kill him, do it. Forget the guilt, do it. He hates you, do it.

"What do you want?" Kyle sniffed, his eyes red and swollen. Expecting to find himself in his bed, just imagining the actions, Nathan was shocked to find himself standing in front of Kyle, blood dripping onto the carpeted floor.

Self-loathing and revulsion swirling in his chest Nathan turned to leave, muttering an almost inaudible whisper.

"Never mind."