Scarred Knees

three.

three.

this tale is about a boy that lets his past become his biggest diffidence, but soon he realizes that he's not the only one who feels gravely about a fueling insecurity.

[Daniel's P.O.V]

My head throbbed electrically against my cold pillow as the pounding sound of my alarm clock hovered over the ajar space of the room. My hands crawled across my scattered sheets to the nearby nightstand, reaching for the pulsating object. Snoozing it promptly as the ground beneath me began to jiggle with the sudden vibrations, I sighed in relief.

Groaning to myself, I tumbled lower underneath the warmth of my duvet; trying to find comfort with whatever time there was left before the clock began to chime once again- alerting anyone near by that it was time to leave the coziness of your luxurious bed. As my eyes once again fell in to the familiar REM cycle, the buzzing noise of the fierce object jotted me out of my sleep, completely.

I slowly opened my eyes, allowing my pupils to dilate to the brightness of the room. I pushed away my silk comforter, as I virtually sat up straight. My feet touched the coldness of the polished wooden floors and I was on my feet, standing to my full height. My eyes roamed around my room, evaluating my surrounding- everything seemed to be the same as last night; velvet curtains that masked the daylight, a king sized bed- big enough for two speculating bodies, and two nightstands dazzled with night lamps.

Likewise many pupils in my school, I was filthy rich. I had it all: cars, bikes, mansions... and money. After my family had died, I was solely left alone with all the wealth- nevertheless, I was the only one left to empower the heritage. Being at the age of 17, I was still not legally allowed to control business, and that's where my only living family member comes in, aunt Lily. She monitored my whereabouts, and she regulated my dead father's business. But even after everything I had, I felt empty- like a part of me was missing: perhaps the comfort, the love, and the want.

People think that being rich means winning at life. But they don't tend to look at the negativity it spreads, sure it attracts people towards you, but they are only there for the sake of the benefit or money they would get out of it. The hurtful truth is that, they wouldn't give a single damn if you were to be taking your last breath on your deathbed. They won't even give out sympathy on your funeral; rather fight about whom the wealth was going to be given out to next.

After doing at least fifty pushups, I stretch my muscles as I make my way through my walk-in-closet. I grab a clean pair of Calvin Kevin boxers, a Nike hoodie along with a black tight, ripped jeans.

Closing the door to my shower cabinet, I stepped under the scorching water, which burned as it trailed down my already scarred body. The fiery stream was like a remembrance of what had happen 10 years ago; it was an equivalent reminder of the night of the fire- of the day I had lost my family.

As I got out of the shower, I rubbed the back of my hands against the steamy mirror, catching a blurred glim of my appearance. My face remained void of emotion as I stared blankly at my distorted reflection. My eyes fell on the burned marks on my chest, and I felt myself built with anger. I survived that night, but they didn't. You couldn't save them, Daniel. You are off weak blood. I thought.

Appointing myself to the living room, I find my aunt doing her daily dose; screaming at young men for not being perfectionist.

"You are given jobs at my company! Feel honored! But no, you bring shame upon us all! How could you be so careless? I want this deal with Mr. Kingston's family! Get me an appointment with him." She yells sternly, and I shake my head. I slowly make my way towards her and hug her petite frame from the back. She remotely stills, but starts breathing normally again as she realizes it's me.