Trust Your Instincts

-62- Second Contact

 The walk back to Jack's house was eerily quiet. Mr. Castillo had offered to give them a ride back, but Mark declined before he was even able to finish the question, a hint of disdain still present on his face despite the improving rapport they were developing. They stepped out onto the sidewalk not long after, noticing that the rain had remained just as heavy as when they had arrived, if not heavier.

 Jack didn't even seem to notice. He felt numb as he walked down the quiet streets, his hands dug deep into the pockets of his jacket and his eyes fixed on the green converse that had seemed to darken a few shades with the rain.

 He had barely spoken once in that house. He had assumed that he would be taking the lead like last time, but evidently that wasn't the case. 

 The thought never even crossed his mind beforehand that stepping foot in that house again would be so difficult, but as soon as his feet were on the front porch, the tension and incurable fear that he felt in that moment was almost overbearing. He admittedly felt somewhat stupid that the thought never even crossed his mind that he might be overstepping his mental limitations.

 Of course, he kept his composure throughout, and even comforted Mark when he needed it. The last thing he would ever want to happen would be for Mr. Castillo to see how vulnerable he really was, but with every moment that passed, his panic and anxiety multiplied tenfold, and even the look of pure penitence in that man's cold grey eyes weren't enough to calm his nerves.

 The fact that Mark's hand was wrapped tightly around his wasn't even enough.

 That was two days in a row that he was forced to face the fact that he wasn't as strong as he had dictated himself to be. Deep down, he was still that lost boy that would quake in his questionably styled boots whenever Colton or Alex walked into the classroom back in Ireland, and maybe it was Isaac's death, or maybe it was the effortless manner in which Mark was picking up what took him months to perfect, but with every day that passed, he was feeling himself backpedal into that weak pathetic excuse for a boy, incapable of doing anything, and devoid of any natural skills or talents.

 It reminded him that he was barely even able to fend for himself, and he was smacked with the overwhelming need for his mother to wrap her frail arms around him and tell him it was going to be okay, and that he was special in a good way, or for his father to cook the three of them a hearty meal so that they could sit around the table and chat, just like they did every night. Like the well functioning family they were.

 You never really realise how much you depend on your family until you move out, and don't see them on a daily basis anymore. Everything that you once took for granted; cooking, cleaning, laundry; all of it becomes your responsibility, and in most cases, you can take it a step at a time. You can ease yourself into the independent lifestyle, but Jack couldn't.

 Jack didn't have the opportunity to go home on the weekends. He couldn't call home to ask how much detergent was safe to put in the machine, and right now, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a nice home cooked meal with more than two people at the table. 

 He had convinced himself and everyone else around him that he was thriving alone, but after all the pressure he was going through recently, it wasn't too hard for those walls he had spent so long building around himself to come crashing down and for him to realise just how deprived of that familial loving support he really was.

 He just wanted to have a family. He wanted to come home from school and be greeted by the smell of his dad's cooking and the sound of his ma's laughter as she watched the TV after a long day at work. His biggest problem would be his homework, his main concern would be what university he might get into, and the land of the supernatural would be just as much of a myth in his mind as it was in everyone else's.