G was standing over him again. He shouldn't have to do that, Kew should be big enough to take care of himself (he was trying too, but G was standing over him, and he lived in his house, and everything was not right) but he didn't have the energy to do it at the moment.
Today hadn't been a great day, for no particular reason. He had woken up, like he did every day, and eaten his breakfast. He hadn't been able to put his homework in his backpack though, something under his skin not sitting right, bugging him. It didn't feel like ants, no. It felt like thousand hooks were seated right under his skin, and someone was pulling at them, all of them. That's what he had woken up to. So his homework was lying on his desk in his bedroom, when he went to school, and sometime during the day something had happened, and he had knotted himself up in something he couldn't manage to get out of.
They were discussing popular literature in his English class at the moment, people were made to present their favorite book to the class. Kew's presentation had been on his desk, at home, but that was just the written work, he could talk about it still. And the teacher made him, or encouraged him to tell the class about his book.
"Evil" was a book by a Swedish author, and not one of the common ones, like "Harry Potter", "Twilight" or "The Hunger Games". Kew had read the first series, but only managed to read about half through the second book of the last. So he hadn't been all that afraid, since no one really knew anything about it, he couldn't say anything wrong.
"Evil" was about a boy who was beaten by his stepfather, before going on a boarding school where things didn't improve. It ended with the boy returning home after what Kew thought was supposed to be something like high school, and started beating his stepdad, like he once had done to him. It wasn't a happy book, it didn't brighten ones mood, but Kew liked it the same.
After his presentation, the teacher had said that the book sounded interesting, and gone back to the class, before the bell rang. And that was where it started. Interesting. Not sad, not terrible, not dark. Interesting. From there on and out the day, Kew hadn't been able to think about anything other than that. He didn't take offence, he didn't really care, but it was like he was trapped inside his own mind, thinking about if anything could be interesting.
The symptoms came fast after that. They weren't actual symptoms, but tells that told Kew it was going to be different evening, and an even worse night. The fact that he couldn't remember the last two classes he attended was just the beginning. When he was going home, he suddenly realized that he was walking in the wrong direction, towards his old home. That was interesting, right?
When he came home, G was already serving dinner, and Kew had taken a seat without saying a word, and eaten what little he could. G had seen that something was off, Kew noticed his assessing glance and the way he talked more that he would have done usually. That was interesting, something that could say something about G, right?
After dinner, he had gone to his room, taken one look at the bed, before started removing his pillows and blankets, laying them on the chair (they tipped over and spilled out on the floor, but that didn't matter, it was just interesting) and then he had removed his mattress from the bed frame, tipped the bed up against the wall, before laying the mattress on the floor, then placed the pillows and blankets upon it once again.
Was he interesting? Other than as an object to be used (not sexually, never sexually)? Was he interesting as a human being, as a creature to study and figure out of? Or was he interesting because he broke so easily. It only took about five years and Hannah dying in his arms before he broke, did that make him interesting? Would G be interested in interesting him?
That was about the time G came into his room, taking only one look at him and the bed put up against the wall. He didn't say anything, G seldom did unless he felt like he had to, or really meant what he said, but there wasn't much to say about the situation really, so G didn't say anything. Much like Kew he wasn't that good with words, but unlike Kew was he good with actions. And Kew supposed he had to be, working for the government, chasing (killing?) the bad guys. Was that an interesting job? He had killed Mike, who many afterward had said was an interesting man, even though no one had ever told him why.
"You want me to hide the stuff in the bathroom?" G asked, without entering the room, his room, Kew's bedroom, only his, no one else slept there. Trying to calm himself, Kew looked around, winning time. That was before he noticed that he was shaking, his hands not able to stay still, and he gave up, and nodded to G, who only nodded back, before disappearing into their bathroom, taking every razorblade and pills that could be seen as unsafe, and hiding them in his own room, where Kew never entered. No, Kew never entered the master bedroom because if he had done that with Mike, he would have had to be prepared for at least one night in the basement, maybe two, and if he was really lucky there was a crowd as well. It had never happened with G, and he was pretty sure it never would happen, only when Kew was like this, too caught up in his own head to even hold an conversation, it didn't matter. It also didn't matter that Kew never truly had ever tried to hurt himself. He had never used a razorblade in himself, never tried to swallow too many pills, 'cause he had seen Hannah do it, over and over again. She mostly favored the razorblades, possible to hide in her purse, and the marks under a thick sweater or her jeans. The problem was that he wasn't who he thought he was at the moment, wasn't someone he made his own decisions. He wasn't more than a shell, tumbling down around himself because he had woken up with hooks under his skin, and his teacher had chosen to use the word "interesting".