Broken Boy

Four

- J O S H U A -

Home.

It's such an odd word.

Some may define it as where you live, while some say that it's where you feel safe. The most popular definition it has is that it's where your heart is.

Bullshit.

What happens if your heart is broken into pieces? Where would your home be?

- x -

"Dad, you're home early," I greeted as soon as I enter the house.

"Yeah. Shift ended early. Your mom's not home yet. She texted me she said she was out with Lucy for a couple of hours for some 'bonding time'. And you? I'm surprised Felicity isn't here with you."

"We're facing the same dilemma then," I sighed as I flopped down on the couch beside my father, "What do you want to do?"

He shrugged, seeming careless and nonchalant at the fact that we're left alone in our home.

Home.

For me, home is where I'm comfortable in.

Home is where I see my parents dancing in the kitchen as I wait for the dinner to finish.

Home is where I play games with Lis inside my room.

Home is here.

Dad stood up from the couch, headed straight for the kitchen to probably cook us a meal. "What do you want, kid?" He asked as I heard the pots and pans collide with each other.

"I don't know. Whatever you're having, I guess."

An hour has passed and dad and I were sitting on the couch, watching a baseball game with a bottle of ice cold beer in our hand and a plate of half eaten chicken wings on the table.

Around a random time in the game, I looked over at my father to see the resemblance we have. We basically look the same. Pale skin, dark hair, blue eyes, lean build. It's actually crazy to think that my dad and I aren't close, when the moment I was born, I was basically living in his care.

"Dad, how did you feel when you first moved in with mom? Did it feel like home when you did?"

He looked at me incredulously, as if to ask why the hell I asked that question, when in fact, I don't know myself either. He took a swig from the beer in his hand before he answered my question.

"Actually, the moment I met your mother was the moment I felt like home already. With her, I could see myself happy, and that's saying a lot. Just because I moved in with her doesn't mean I didn't feel comfort in her. It's because I know I'm committed and she's the only one for me. Anywhere could feel like home with people you love, Joshua."

- x -

Blue, purple, red, and yellow tainted my pale skin like paint as I look in the mirror. It's... cruel to think of my body as a canvas now, as I'd been told that human bodies should be looked at as if it was art.

This is not art.

A wave of hatred and worthlessness washed over me as I stare at my reflection way too long. Even though I told myself that I wouldn't cry, I still did.

I cried a thousand tears the same way as I did before.

I cried for my dad.

I cried for my bestfriend.

I cried for myself.

- x -  

Words I didn't mean fell out from my mouth before I could even stop them. Words I shouldn't have said to the person who's helping my mother from her grief.

I'm so useless.

Sorry was the only word that I said before I ran up to my room to regret the things I said.

Words that could be interpreted a thousand different interpretations.

Words that also affected me and my choices as a pathetic, grieving teenager, crying over his lost soul.

"Joshua, it's me, Aunt Lucy. I know you didn't mean them," a voice said as she knocked on my bedroom door.

I hugged my knees tighter as I heard her saying how she says she understand. But how could she? How could she feel how I feel?

"I'll open the door, hun. Is that okay?" Not a word was heard after that, just a whimper that escaped my mouth.

As she said, she opened the door to my room to see me curled up beside my bed, regretting the mistake of my wrong chosen words. I whimper in sorrow as she walked closer to console me. A hand was felt on my head and soon after, she hugs me.

"I'm sorry, aunt Lucy. I didn't mean them. I'm sorry for hurting you."

"I know, honey. I know how much of a sweet boy you are. I know that you're hurting right now. I'm sorry if I ever made you feel that you are alone when you are not. Aunt Lucy is sorry for making you feel alone, honey."

"I'm sorry too."