Anathema

forty one - anathema

The ride home was a blur. He couldn't bring himself to do anything but stare out the window with a blank expression and a numb heart. Both his parents had come, and his father drove while his mother coddled and fussed over him.

Are you alright.

Are you hurt.

Are you hungry.

Do you need anything.

They weren't even questions anymore. They were merely statements he didn't respond to. What did she care, anyway.

Sometime between the moment he got in the car and the moment they pulled into the garage, she called the police to tell them they'd found him and that he was okay.

"Hello."

"We found him. We found my baby boy."

"Is he hurt."

"Everything is okay."

"Is there anything else we can do."

"No. Thank you, Officer."

And then she checked his wrists and his stomach and even his thighs to make sure he hadn't hurt himself again, constantly asking him if he needed anything. He needed her to stop talking.

It was the longest two hours of his entire life.

Finally, they reached home, and he climbed out of the car as if in a trance. It seemed to him that he hadn't seen his house for months. Everything was different now. Quiet. Clancy wasn't there to hold him back. Nico wasn't there to tell him how awfully wrong everything was. And Josh wasn't there to smile at him and love him. Everything was empty.

His siblings were in the family room playing a game, but they quickly stopped and shuffled into the kitchen to meet him. They'd never cared before. Why did they care now. Why did anyone care. Why did people only notice him when something horrible happened. No. When something inconvenient happened. When they had to do something or be charged with negligence. How dare he inconvenience them like that.

"Hey, Tyler," Zack said.

"What." He stared blankly at him and didn't offer any sort of real response.

They all shifted uncomfortably, and he turned without another thought, only to run into his mother again.

"What do you need," she said.

"I need you to stop talking," he said.

"That is no way to talk to your mother," his father said.

"Sorry." Though he didn't mean it.

He started for the stairs, but he stopped him. "Where are you going."

"To my room."

"Don't you have anything to say to us."

"I shouldn't have run away," he said.

"You promised you wouldn't run away again," his mother said.

"I'm sorry." Though he still didn't mean it. "I won't do it again." He was telling the truth this time. He wasn't going to run away. He was going to stay in his room forever. He wasn't going to come out until the day he died.

"Tell me if you need anything," she said.

"Okay."

He waited. No one said anything.

"I need to go to bed," he said. "I have a headache." Which was true. He hadn't taken anything for it.

They didn't move.