A/N: This story takes place after Zero hits Pendanski with the shovel and ran into the desert, and before Stanley went looking for him. It is, basically, my take on Pendanski's 'obsession' with Zero.
WARNING: This story has intimations of slash, and hints at a relationship between an adult and a child. If any of this disturbs you, please leave now.
Disclaimer: Holes and all characters therein belong to Louis Sachar and Disney.
"You know why his name's Zero?" asked Mr. Pendanski. "Because there's nothing inside his head."
Sometimes, when I had nothing else to do, I would just sit and list all of his faults in my mind. I would just sit there, staring off into space. He was stupid, and short, and quiet, and couldn't read; the list goes on and on. Sometimes I would go on for so long that I would have to invent more faults, if I want to continue listing them. I would tell myself that he doesn't have a very good sense of humour, and that he doesn't like Rolling Stones music, and that he doesn't know how to swim…
Most of the faults I came up with were ridiculous, really.
But I had to keep listing, because thinking of his faults was the only good reason to be thinking of him at all. I couldn't think of him in any other way because he was stupid, and short, and quiet, and couldn't read, and (attractive) -
No. Can't think like that, not even now that he's gone. Not even when he would come back to Camp all sweaty and hot from digging all day, and I was the only person there because he finished digging his hole so quickly. Not even when he would glare at me with those gorgeous brown eyes that were so filled with hatred (he hated me, and I hate him, I hate him) Not even when he would start to take off that orange jumpsuit to take a shower, and I would hurriedly look away.
I constantly had to remind myself that I hated him; that I shouldn't think of him at all. That I wouldn't mind if one day he suddenly disappeared.
And, suddenly, he did.
I was taunting him. I was taunting him to remind myself that I hated him, and because I loved seeing how long I could push him and insult him and taunt him before he would break.
He broke.
He hit me with his shovel and started to run. I think someone was shouting at him, encouraging him, but all I could think of was that he had hit me, and that proved that he hated me (like I hated him, I hated him). I decided that I didn't care if he was gone; why should I? He was stupid, and short, and quiet, and couldn't read.
It didn't hit me until yesterday evening, after talking with the Warden and Mr. Sir about how we were to handle his disappearance, that it fully registered in my mind that he was gone, and he was going to die out there, and that no one would care because he was nothing; a nobody.
A zero.
And it wasn't until yesterday evening that I realized that I would care that he was gone, and I would care that he is going to die. That I do not hate him, and never have.
And I hate myself, now. Because even though he was stupid, and short, and quiet, and couldn't read… I let myself fall in love with him.