𝐇𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐌𝐞 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 ; 𝘉𝘺𝘭𝘦𝘳

𝟏𝟏.

The Harrington Res. | Thur 5:32 PM
Troy Walsh

"Troy?" Steve knocks on the door twice, putting his ear up to it. He barely said two words on the ride home, and locked himself in his room as soon as they got there. "You ok, bud? Wanna talk about it?"

"Go away Steve..." Troy groaned, wiping his eyes with his wrists."Stop pretending like you give a shit about me!"

"I-I do! Troy, you're my brother."

The younger boy's eyes sting, warm tears dripping on his hands. He's sat on the floor. Back against his dresser. He shivers while staring at the old shoebox in his hands, shakily taking off the top and looking inside at the old Polaroid pictures filled to the brim.

Troy grabs one that's flipped over, a blurry date written on the back in black permanent marker. 3 years ago. The summer before 9th grade in Chicago. A boy in black underneath a tree, smiling and sticking his middle finger up at the camera. He gets another one, with himself in it. Next to the same boy. On the back of his dad's truck they'd sit and drink beers on.

He looked happy back then, but he wasn't. Just a scared, confused boy clinging onto anyone he could trying to get over an identity crisis. The boy in black using that to his advantage to get what he wanted: his virginity.

And Troy never thought he'd have to deal with it or think about it again, but of course his mom had to make them go to therapy. Sure, maybe he ran over someone but he swore he was fine. And now he left therapy more depressed than he came in.

He tears the pictures in half, than again and again until it was into tiny little pieces. Troy used the wall to pull himself up and grabbed the entire box, unlocking his window and throwing it outside. Hearing it thud! against the ground before turning back around at the sound of more knocks.

"What!" He yelled, throwing his arms down in frustration. Why couldn't Steve just leave him alone when he asked? It's not like he'd bother him any other time.

"Someone's at the door for you."

Troy wiped his wet face with the bottom of his shirt and yanked the door open, passing by Steve and trailing down the steps into the foyer of the home. He assumed it was Isaiah, because he literally had no other friends. He's only slightly acquainted with people at his old school and it's not like Mike or Will would ever come anywhere near him again.

A doorknob twist. The light from outside blinding him for a moment, before the darkness came back.

"Hey, stranger."

Back in sight, there he was. Smirking, a hand stuffed in his pocket. Body leaning against the door frame. The boy in black.

Patrick Hockstetter.

• • •

Troy felt like he was going die three times in his life. First, being shot at by Mr. Hockstetter after he found them together. Second, Will strangling him after he brought Mike to the hospital. And now third, clinging onto to the little air he had left, his throat forcing out the tube down his nose. A thumping pulse in the back of his head.

He wheezed heavily, staring up at the ceiling but Patrick's face being engraved in his vision permanently. He had a curly head in his lap, back rising and falling. Troy ran a hand through it, breaths becoming easier to digest knowing he was there.

Isaiah's soft snores halted, the boy sitting up in his chair and smiling while rubbing his eyes. His voice scratchy when he asks, "You up, baby?"

"...What happened?"

"You had an anxiety attack—b-but you're ok now. He's gone. I'm here. You'll recover."

Troy sits up, his back against the head board of the bed. He doesn't like crying, especially not in front of other people. It was only one time, Mike, comforting him when he had no one else. Being kind to a complete asshole. It could've been the start of something, but then he had to kiss him and ruin it. 

"T-Take me home." He sniffles, rubbing his temples to relieve the ache. It was also extremely exhausting being sad. Or feeling any emotion other than slightly annoyed or happier than usual. "The bills will be so high—"

"Don't worry about that, it's out of your control."

Out of your control.

Out of your control.

Out of your control. Echoed in Troy's ears. Bringing up and old memory he thought was lost in the box. But he was starting to realize that bridge was never truly burned. Not when the scars were still there.

There was a hill separating their neighborhoods that they would meet up at to go to school. Troy would be dressed up in one of his vests, layered in a peacoat, wearing silver glasses with circular frames. His mom wanted her to look like the prodigy her parents wanted her to be, and he hated it and wanted to look more like Patrick. He'd always be wearing dark nail polish, eyeliner, and sometimes even skirts and dresses when they were alone.

No one at their school could understand why someone like Patrick would want to hang out with someone like Troy, the younger boy assuming it was because he didn't talk as much as everyone else. Gave Patrick the space when he needed it and never made a fuss.

On this particular day though is when he got a direct answer, which started with him making a joke, saying, "Its funny how your the only reason people know I exist."

"Why is that funny?"

"Because, I'm like...way cooler than you."

He expected Patrick to just chuckle at his dry humor or say something like "Sure, kiddo." But instead, he nodded. Agreeing with him.

"You're right. I need you more. Because you actually listen to me, and you aren't always tryna be like someone else, and you are more badass than anyone I've ever met. So yeah, it's hilarious those idiots can't see that."

Troy stayed silent for a moment, processing and trying to find the sarcasm in that statement and there was none. It was genuine. Made the bad kind of butterflies do summer salts in his stomach, creating this warm feeling in his chest. Giving him the courage to ask, "So that's why you like me?"

"Sort of...but I think that sort of thing is out of your control."

Out of your control

Out of your control

Out of your—

"Troy! You're awake!" Steve said when he entered the room, Mr. Harrington and Troy's mom behind him. "You feeling better?"

"Mhm," he hummed, turning his face away so they can't see the tears welling up in his eyes. He really didn't feel better at all, psychically or otherwise. The fact that he was being cared for by a family that he doesn't want made it feel like a handout.

Like they were doing him a favor by not letting him die.

To be continued...

I had to rewrite this because originally Troy and Isaiah were just gonna do cute couple things again and I'm Lowkey bored of it now + sorry it's short (more was supposed to happen but I'll add it to another chapter)

[3/4/21 | 1232 words]