summer wynter [series cancellation]

afterwards

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M O N D A Y
2 : 1 4 p.m.

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BOWYN POV

     I'VE BEEN IN A DEPRESSING MOOD SINCE THE PARTY. Noen doesn't help with what's going on, nor does Maia. I have been keeping to myself the past three days, stuck at home in bed and not really returning any messages from the 'new friends' I've made.
     I didn't really want to leave my room at all.
     I wasn't so sure why this upsets me. Or why I felt like I was — empty. I have tried to think of it, but it only makes things worse. I thought about going on Instagram, just to see whether or not Chase unfollowed me once again —
     There's a knock at my bedroom door, and I look towards the door, and I just glance over it. It's probably Benji, who I haven't seen since the party, or it could be Noen trying yet again at another attempt to get me out of the room today.
     But the door opens, and it's my dad that walks in. I don't move, but I watch him walk over to me, and he gives me one of his dad looks; the one where it's concerning, and worry — I don't want to make it seem like it's taking an effect on me, because if it does, he's going to give me a lecture.
     We're having a stare off.
     And it's only just a few seconds that I give up, and give in to the power of the dad look. I sit up against the head board, and nip my bottom lip. I don't look up at the old man, but I can see from the corner of my eye he's moving towards the bed.
     He sighs, "what's going on?"
     I shrug my shoulders slightly, "I'm depressed, not suicidal, dad.
     "I didn't say you were," he tells me. "But, why are you depressed? Did something that I should know about?"
     "No," I told him. "I'm just—" I pause.
     He exhales a sharp breath, "kid, it's the summer. You should be out with friends, having fun — not drinking, or getting high, of course. You shouldn't lock yourself up in this stuffy room."
     I try to think of something to explain to him why I felt like this, but I didn't have a reason anymore. The empty feeling was making things a whole lot worse for me.
     "What happened?" I hear him say.
     I shook my head slightly, "nothing," I mumbled. "It's nothing. I'll get over it soon." A small smile form in my lips, but it was obvious that dad could see through the facade.
     "What happened, Bo?" he repeats himself, only this time, he pushes the question. He's being a parent — a concerning one that I should trust.
     I give in.
     "I met a boy," I told him.
     "Oh," he says.
     "Oh?"
     "Yes," he says, "oh."
     I was taken back by his reaction; I was thinking he would react another way — I literally just told him I'm like this because of a boy, and he's reacted a certain way that I — I was so confused.
     "What do you want me to say?" he tells me after I had paused for a moment to look at me. "Oh, a boy? Wow." Now, he's a sarcastic asshole.
     I glare at him slightly, which stops his chuckling.
     "Kid, I'm listening," he says, nudging his hand against my knee. "So you like the boy, and he's making you feel depressed?"
     I look at my hands on my lap, "I don't know," I mumble, as I start to fiddle my fingers against the fabric softly.
     "You don't know?" he questions me.
     "I don't know him that very well, dad. And he's messaged me online, has liked my pics, and we met at the bonfire for the first time, and he told me it was a mistake, and I'm not even sure what it meant but, I felt empty afterwards..."
     I paused myself.
     I was in my thoughts again. It's his fault. He's the one that messaged me — followed me. He's the one that was acting so weird. Not me.
     "Boys are stupid..." I groaned, as I went back into my covers. I hear dad laugh a little as he tries to pull back the covers from me.
     "Boys aren't stupid, not all of them."
     "Dad," I told him, look at me when I sat this: boys are stupid, and they don't know how to show their true feelings."
     Dad cocks an eyebrow towards me.
     I shake my head, "don't look at me like that." I cover myself with my covers again, and mumbled, "I know what I feel."
     "And what are you really feeling?"
     I stay quiet.
     "Depressed..." I told him. Dad uncovers me, and gives me on his other dad looks: the sympathetic smile look.
     "You should talk to him," he says. "It will help if you got an actual answer from him."
     "You're really bad at giving advice, do you know that?" I told him, which makes his smile a little wider than before.
     "Either you talk to him, or I drag you out the house, lock the door and make you fend for yourself in the outside world."
     "I'll talk him," I smile back.