Flower Boy

Flower Boy

By Paige Jansen

Blaine hated the word crazy. It was frozen into his brain, the dark overcast of the word leaving a heavy shadow over his thoughts. He spent countless hours sitting in his pitch black room, the only light source coming from the screen of his laptop. His eyes stared at the words on the screen, the definition of what was haunting his everything. Crazy; Mentally deranged, especially manifested in a wild or aggressive way. He took a deep breath as his eyes raced across the sentence, the words sinking into the void of his body. He wasn't crazy, he couldn't be. He didn't understand why his father snarled the term at him as his fists collide with the soft skin of Blaine s face, leaving a galaxy of bruises covering his cheeks and forehead. He couldn't remember what he looked like without them, his skin not soft purples, blues and blacks splitting around his eyes and nose and mouth, making him look like an abandoned canvas from some twisted abstract artist.

All the nights he spent glaring at the screen never helped him escape from the worries of the world like he hoped it it would. His pupils enlarged as his eyes went too long without blinking, the term crazy taking control of his sense to see. He tore his head away, unable to face the definition any longer, finding that anywhere he looked the word appeared, written in blood red across his walls, the floor, the bed, ceiling and anything thing else in the existence of his room.  He took a deep wrenched breath as the letters began to ooze off the wall, turning into a dark hole of pain enclosing around him. His nails clawed into his wrist, digging their way into his previously scarred skin.  The pinch stung, as the pain of his own bringing started taking over the whirlwind of terror in his head. Blaine  shook his head and the words around his room began to fade, his wall coloring back to the pale blue that they have been for years. He let out a sigh, half relieved that the word went back into his head where it belonged.

Crazy, crazy crazy, crazy, he thought as he felt his skin break under the sharp pressure of his nail. Not that he would ever admit it outloud, but he knew his father was correct. He was somewhat crazy. The acceptance of knowing that he wasn't sane didn’t make him try his hardest when his father told him he would be going to the Twin Lakes Psychiatric Institution.  He knew he needed to go or he was forever going to be trapped in the grave his life has dug for himself, and he didn't want that. Blaine looked down at his arm as a sense of relief flooded his body.

______________

The car screeched as the brakes were pressed, bringing it to a quick stop. Blaine 's head was thrown back hard into the headrest, as he faintly opened his eyes to look at his father who was driving.

“ Ouch,” he hissed as he removed his headphones and reached back to touch the matted curls that were tucked underneath his beanie on the back of his head.

“ We’re here,” his father said in a monotone voice as he turned the car off and stepped out. He started walking to the building, leaving Blaine  to grab all of his things on his own.  He let out a slight huff as he slammed the car door shut,  wincing as the loud noise made his head vibrate. He yanked down his sleeve subconsciously, a habit that his body picked up after countless years of doing it. He threw his duffle bag over his shoulder as he followed him into the building. His father began an emotionless and boring conversation with one of Twin Lakes countless employes, finalizing some last minutes costs, as Blaine  stepped into the building. His eyes went wide as he adjusted his beanie and he glanced around the building. His nose was overwhelmed with the scent of laundry detergent and rubber. The building interior mildly reminded him of a mix between a nursing home and a hospital, he already despised the place. His father ended the conversation and gave him a slight nod before leaving the premises. Blaine  sighed as he looked down at his well worn sneakers. His shoulders tensed as he felt a strong hand clamp down on them. He jumped and turned around looking at the monster of a boy behind him. He  gulped, as he stared up at him. The boy had a good 7 inches on Blaine's own short, 5”8 frame. “ Can I help you?” he declared as he yanked down his sleeves and crossed his arms, trying to look somewhat intimidating.