pencil shavings

twenty-two: matt

Love is just a liability.

That was what he wrote.

"What happened?" Sam whispers. Her face looks older without the smile. Beautiful, even, but in an ugly way.

"His brother's missing."

Her eyes darken. "And you didn't do anything?"

I step forward. "Didn't do anything?" I repeat. "I found him, lying in the rain on a park bench this morning. I took him to my house. I tried to talk to him. This is Peter we're talking about. I tried to talk to Peter. What more did you want?"

Though she's shorter than me, I can't help but shrink a little as she gets up in my face and snarls. "He needs more than that. He needs to find his brother. You know that, don't you? He's clearly got problems, Matt Ko. You're an idiot or a jerk for not helping him through this.

I can't breathe right. Little spots cloud my vision, but I growl back anyway. "So what, you wanted me to drop everything and go chase after the brother of a guy I met two days ago? I did my best, Sam, without overstepping."

"So if something happened to Peter, would you tell yourself that and just forgive yourself?"

I squint at her, rolling my eyes. "What?"

"Could you forgive-"

"Sam," I glower, staring down those golden eyes. "He's not going to die or anything. Relax."

She blinks, her first clenching and unclenching. For a moment I fear for my life as she bites her lip and looks up at me, but then she just shakes her head. "I'm going to find him," she whispers.

The door slamming behind her shakes something deep inside me. I don't let myself move, or breathe, or blink until I know they are both gone.

The room is empty before an hour passed from the start of the camp.

I sit on a bench in the park a couple minutes later, still mentally paralyzed.

I wish I knew where they were. Maybe I could apologize. I wish I could go back to not caring if I knew they were okay. Not my problem. Maybe Peter was right - love is a liability. I wish I could be like Sam, and always know how to bring people together, to play to their strengths and be empathetic. God. Sam. What happened?

The sun warms my neck as sweat trickles down. Friends. So close. But not really. Never really.

It's like I was standing right there on the threshold of a future as friends with them, and then someone slammed the door, and just like that I was right back where I began, as far away as ever. Only now I know that there are people like them out there, and now I know they would never be the friends for me.

I call Carly.

Busy.

I text Rogers.

Busy.

I run my hands through my hair again and again, my knee jogging.

Running is the only option left.

In the atrium of our house, as I grab my shoes, I hear my parent's voices sputtering in and out from the kitchen. And it's stupid since ditching out of camp like this would get me grounded, but I stay a moment longer by the door to hear just a little of what they have to say.

"-been over this-"

"Diane. This cannot go on. He's not going to be young for much longer. I never had anything, Diane, never had anything given to me like this boy. He has the world at his feet. Do his grades reflect it? His athletic ability? No, Diane. No, no, no. He needs to start interning - the rest of summer. And that boarding school - Doug can get him in for next year. Regardless, he's getting rid of that girlfriend and switching to a more competitive basketball team, or quitting altogether."

"Richard!"

"I will not settle for mediocre in this household, Diane."

The silence hurts as I slip outside. No. God, no. Boarding school. Interning with my father. The rest of summer. Carly. A new team. Or no team.

But with every step, with every too-loud pound on the sidewalk, it's a darker chant that seeps into my mind.

Never enough, never enough, never enough.

I'm mediocre. Not enough for my father. I'm not perfect. Not enough for my family. I'm nothing spectacular. Not enough for my opportunities. I'm not compassionate. Not enough for my friends.

I lose myself to the gnawing thoughts as the trees close in over the trail. Below the net of branches, I savor the pull of muscles in my legs, and the sweat stinging in my eyes, and the rasping of air scratching into my throat. And then I run from it all, my father, my friends and lack-thereof, my imperfect self. I run until exhaustion replaces any emotion. Until even the deepest of angers fades into quiet resolve.

I collapse in my room that afternoon, lost in a place in my head that is miles from the present. Peter can wait. Sam can wait, and Carly, and my father. It's easier then, with tiredness heaving my eyelids shut, to pretend not to care about anyone else. Sometimes the exhaustion creeps in so much that being a snapping jerk isn't even an act.

Every tattered, insecure piece of myself embraces it - that ability to pull all sense of feeling deep inside. Not that I've ever really learned how to feel in the first place.

"Matt, honey, you look terrible."

I raise my eyebrows slightly at my mom. "Running," I mumble, pushing past her. I scowl at my phone when Carly hasn't texted. I throw my phone when Rogers isn't free. And it feels good.

Love is a liability. So is kindness.