A boy in my class went missing today; in fact he's hidden in my attic.
Up amongst the cobwebs there are suitcases, and an old rocking chair, and rag dolls with their faces stitched into smiles, and then him.
He met me after school and said he needed a place to stay, he's told his mother about 'us'…poor sod.
I've already seen his father stalking the streets outside wanting to know why he isn't home.
In a way I think I like it, it's sort of like he's trapped up there, he's mine. I wait calmly for my own parents to leave the house, then climb the attic steps, pull my self up through the small square of black and see him sitting on the thin rectangular bed in his pyjama trousers.
"Ernst?"
"Yes?"
His sinewy body is hunched and his chaotic shock of hair falls over his face, but I can still tell.
"Why are you crying?"
He lets out another bitter sob, "Why do you think?"
I stop taken aback. He's never spoken to me like that before. I retreat rapidly down the ladder and back into my room, heart thumping heavy against my chest.
Bastard.
"I never loved you much anyway" I whisper. Except that isn't true is it.
I hear the creaking of the rocking chair above me and feel my muscles tense. A key in the front door. My father-
Tells me that sleeping with another man is sinful, and those found guilty of that 'crime' make him sick to his stomach.
My father-
Tells me that love does not exist; only a fleeting lust and a desire that soon burns out.
My father-
Tells me never to let my guard down, never to let anyone else get inside my head. 'All relationships are meaningless.'
My father-
Echoes the views of my family, my school and my church.
My father-
Has just opened the door and walked into the hall.
"Hanschen!"
"Sir?"
"Do you know Ernst Robel?"
I freeze and it's almost as if the creaking above me stops.
"Yes father."
"Have you seen him since you left school this afternoon?" he bellows up the stairs.
I glance awkwardly up at the ceiling. It would be so easy to give in now. To let you take the blame and save myself. But I can't. What's worse is I don't think I want to. The walls seem to hold their breath.
"No father."
I wait, he seems satisfied, the door slams.
I race back up the steps, ready to tell him to get out, to leave. This is his problem, who was he to tell his bloody mother?
He's curled up in the rocking chair tracing the faded stitched-on smile of one of the shabby rag dolls, tears still staining his pale cheeks.
He eyes are closed, knees hugged close to his chest. I'm scared-
"I don't like feeling like this." I plead.
No reply.
You're all I ever think about. I can't stop, I can't stop feeling-
I sit down heavily. "Sometimes I think you're the only one who understands that."
The sound of rusted bedsprings echoes through the frozen room. The nights are getting longer. I always think that in this town you can pinpoint the exact moment when summer turns to autumn. An inky darkness presses up against the window pain and when I look out I only see our reflection. I cross the bare attic floor and place a hand on your shoulder. You flinch away and the tears come again, your chest heaves.
Everything you've had to leave behind…
I try again and you angrily shrug my arm away, but this time I'm not running. I grab both your hands and try and make up for all the things I can never say by pulling you close.
Fuck them, fuck what everybody else thinks.
You and me, we're going to take on the world.
The end
A/N: So a little different to how I usually write Hanschen but hopefully you it enjoyed :]